When customers come into a very obviously open shop and ask if you're open. It's the sort of question that makes me question my sanity.
It is 1:30pm on a sunny August day. Peak tourist season, the streets filled with visitors who are spending their leisure time traipsing around all the shops and eateries the town has to offer.
One such shop catches your eye. An OPEN sign, with some of it's LED lights no longer functional, quietly glows in the window like one of the beacons of Gondor. The shop door, unlocked, is held wide open by a doorstop, allowing you entry without the inconvenience of having to turn the handle or push it aside.
From where you stand you can see the brightly lit interior of the store. Music floats down from a sound system in the ceiling; a siren song to entice you inside.
A dozen or so customers are already milling around inside. A young couple are inspecting the range of backpacks. A family with small children have set up base camp by the t-shirt aisle. A noisy flock of women have commandeered the changing rooms.
A member of staff, who can think of a hundred other things they would rather be doing at 1:30pm on a sunny August day, stands behind the shop counter.
And yet.
Despite the OPEN sign, and the open door, and the lights, and the music, and the many other customers, you walk into the store and up to the counter and ask the member of staff (me) who would rather be doing a hundred other things than standing in a shop at 1:30pm on a sunny August day during peak tourist season: "Are you open?".