Gentleman walks in the door, past the shelves of books.
He walks up to the counter, passing tables of books and also more shelves of books. Undoubtedly, he takes a deep breath of the air all our customers assure is is heavily perfumed with old book-y smell (some of them even complain about it).
"I'm looking for your apricot tea," he asks, undeterred by the utter and complete absence of any tea or tea-related paraphernalia in sight.
On the phone just now:
"I'd like a book for pickup today."
This isn't a pizza parlour, love.
