Laminating sheets, he says.
I'm sorry, I say, but we don't sell laminating sheets.
Plastic film? he says.
We don't sell plastic film, I say.
We sell books, I tell him.
Books, he repeats.
He looks at me suspiciously and backs away from the counter, and then turns his attention to the shelves, slowly walking the corners of the shop, peering into every bay, considering each shelf in turn, before shaking his head and walking quickly out.