My dad has always been on the over-enthusiastic side... (which is a trait that I have picked up with full force)
Once, we were buying a TV. I remember we had this giant ugly box of a tv for the longest time (2005-2006ish), so we were finally getting a TV for the living room, which was a very exciting event for our family, my dad likes his Lifetime movies. We're at Best Buy, checking out televisions. I'm like 13 years old so naturally I didn't give a shit about the world or anything that was going on at the moment, I was over by the cameras or something trying to blatantly ignore my parents (sorry mom, I was an asshole when I was a kid).
I've always been used to hearing my dad's voice blaring through crowds, he's quite the loud talker (another trait I have picked up with full force) and he's always known to make his presence very known in one way or another.
I hear my dad's voice picking up, as if he's literally turning the volume dial to his voice up to full blast, and he's asking questions. Questions galore. Asking questions is no doubt, NO DOUBT, a trait I have picked up with full force. Poor 18 year old Steve at Best Buy who probably just got that job and is paying for his 1996 Toyota Camry and just wants a little money to be able to hang with his friends every now and then... is STUCK talking to my dad. When my dad finds a person to talk to, it's like he's locked his jaw on a poor victim. As soon as he's talking, there's no getting away. So, my dad is YAPPING. Asking questions, telling the poor kid stories about how he was around during the 50's when there were only 3 channels and blah blah blah Marlon Brando.
My father asks questions as if he's playing basketball, and he's always on defense. The more he speaks, the closer he's getting (unknowingly) to this poor kid.
And my dad spits when he talks.
My dad is talking away. Talking so much I'm surprised his mouth didn't fly off his head. Poor kid is literally wiping his face at this point. Steve did not sign up to be a sales associate at Best Buy to get lectured to about prehistoric televisions. I am sorry, Steve. I hope life is treating you well wherever you're at now.
My mom and I are watching from the sidelines, unable to assist in this basketball game that my dad is winning by far. With every sentence, he takes a step forward and Steve takes a step back.
Finally, my mom rushes to the scene, grabs my dad my the elbow (with the secret yank that tells anybody who has just been grabbed by the elbow "Hey, shut the fuck up?") and that gives Steve just the out he needs to grab another associate for help.
My mother, embarrassed and giggling with me about my eccentric father who just terrified this poor kid with his pure excitement about life and yearning to be friendly and make conversation, rush to the kitchen section in hope of sanctuary for our laughing fits and an escape from ever seeing poor Steve ever again.
We left shortly after, notifying my father of his speech habits.
We did not get a TV that day.
I wish I had more pictures with my dad to post. I'll take more.