Shopping is a pain

In a funky neighborhood in NYC or a foreign city, I walk into a t-shirt shop looking for a cool, graphic tee. All of the racks and walls are full of rugbys and polos in preppy patterns. A black guy about my age comes out from the back and pulls a few shirts out to show me. I tell him I could buy something like that back in Ohio.

Walking through a country fair with row upon row of booths selling local crafts. I enter a booth that is larger than the rest where they are selling ice cream out of big metal troughs like the newer ones that hold water for cattle and horses on farms.
An attractive girl catches my eye as I decide what to order. When I step up to the counter, I accidentally bump into her. Her boyfriend starts yelling at me. I ignore him, until he says, “you people always wait to pay.” I suddenly get upset, turn to him and tell him how uncalled for that was and that he didn’t have to go there. He looks confused, so I say, “oh come on, like you didn’t know I’m Jewish.”