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Man, you haven't lived until you've been employed as the sole responsible adult responsible for unleashing a small busload of hyperactive teenagers into an art museum's gift store presided over only by a meek, extremely nervous octogenarian woman.
"Z, don't open any boxes- ask the woman behind the counter to do that for you.
J, you're not supposed to shake it that hard!
Not so loud, Z. I will give you a band-aid for your papercut back on the bus.
No, M, I don't want to smell the book. Yes, uh-huh, baking chocolate, I believe you!"
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