I take the gallon of "oops" paint up to the old man at the counter. "Do you..." I begin. "Nope," he snaps.
Patiently, I start again. "Do you know what color this is?" I ask. "Oh," he says. He looks at the can. He opens the the can for me, methodically, and shows me what's inside.
"Do you mind..." I start to say. "Nope!" he snaps, assuming I'm going to ask him something that will force him to do more than what he wants to do. "...putting a little bit more on the paint lid so I can get a good idea of what the color is?" I finish.
He glowers at me, but does so, finishing it with the blow dryer so that I can see what color it dries to.
And they say customer service is dead.