Ooops, I stalked you again

A man in his early forties waved me over to the computer. He was wearing a baseball cap and looked relatively normal, considering the Diane Arbus retrospective this place usually is. He was at the Britney Spears official website and wanted to know how to send her a get well e-mail. Whether his get well wishes were for her torn ACL or her spiritual sickness (as evidenced by her descent into moral turpitude and low down man stealing) I don't know and didn't ask. He then said softly, all Mark David Chapman,

"When I send her this e-mail she's going to know it's me. She's going to know it's me by what I say."

Unfortunately, he was at the 15 minute express computer and he had only a minute or so of time remaining before the computer was going to shut off on him. I tried to show him how to send the e-mail, but there wasn't enough time. There was a line of people waiting, so to send his e-mail he needed to wait his turn again at the back of the line. I explained this to him and he got agitated like this was my fault. Perhaps he could sense that deep down I was a little conflicted and didn't want to abet his stalking, and suspected me of hesitating and dragging my feet. He kept saying, “Why wouldn’t you help me faster? Why wouldn’t you help me send her that e-mail? Now I can’t! Now look what you've done! Oh, God, what am I going to do?” He then gave me a dark and wrathful look, like I alone was now responsible for keeping the two of them apart, and stalked off (ha, ha get it? 'Cause he's a stalker), probably to go retrieve some weapon to blow me away, the one and only barrier to his true love, Britney.