“No, I don’t want a ‘laptop.’ I want a computer.” The assistant nods pedagogically.
“A laptop is a computer.” Ove, insulted, glares at him and stabs his forefinger at the counter.
“You think I don’t know that!” Another silence, as if two gunmen have suddenly realized they have forgotten to bring their pistols.
Ove looks at the box for a long time, as though he’s waiting for it to make a confession.
“Where does the keyboard pull out?” he mutters eventually.
The sales assistant rubs his palms against the edge of the counter and shifts his weight nervously from foot to foot,
as young men employed in retail outlets often do when they begin to understand
that something is going to take considerably more time than they had initially hoped.
“Well, this one doesn’t actually have a keyboard.” Ove does something with his eyebrows.
“Ah, of course,” he splutters. “Because you have to buy it as an ‘extra,’ don’t you?”
“No, what I mean is that the computer doesn’t have a separate keyboard. You control everything from the screen.”
Ove shakes his head in disbelief, as if he’s just witnessed the sales assistant
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