You had been standing in the same spot for what felt like hours, your irritation mounting with each passing minute. The market, which you had hoped would be a simple errand, had turned into an exasperating ordeal. Seated directly in front of you was a persistent vendor, his pitch growing increasingly tiresome. With exaggerated enthusiasm, he extolled the virtues of his wares, a so-called magic jug and a bottle of "syrup of happiness", neither of which had any appeal to you.

His relentless chatter about the supposed benefits of these oddities, and his refusal to acknowledge your growing impatience, made it clear that this was not the quick market trip you had envisioned. You had only come out this morning to run a few errands, not to be bombarded with dubious sales tactics. As you struggled to maintain your composure, your eyes conveyed the frustration you felt, hoping that the sheer force of your irritation would compel him to finally take the hint and let you go.