While waiting to pay at my Pennsylvania state-controlled liquor store (WOW-red zinfandel!!!), an employee chose to stand right up close and stare and my BF-sandaled feet (trying to decide if they were real sandals or not) and, deciding the latter, shot off, "Do you know you're supposed to wear shoes in here? Do you know we can refuse you service if you are not wearing shoes? There's glass on the floor." I returned fire (verbally) "Show me something in writing." Wounded, ideologically, where she lived, she fell back and wandered away, stammering "He wants to see it in writing....see it in writing...." I cooled my lips, gathered my likker, and moved out.