Woman marches into my inner sanctum with volumes 1, 3 and 5 of a 1950's children's encylopedia - all ripped and torn, tatty and a little sad.
"How much for these ?"
"I'm sorry ma'am, its not something I can buy"
"Why not ? You are the bookseller - it's your job to buy books"
"No ma'am - the clue is in the title, it is my job to sell books"
"But i want you to buy these. Surely you have to buy books from people"
"Only if i think i can sell them"
"So what will you offer me for them ?"
I gave up at this point, melted into a pool of inconsolable sobbing an leaked all over the carpet - carefully avoiding leaking onto her immensely valuable books.