'Put that back where you found it before I call the salesforce!' you say. 'Shouldn't that be "Waa, waa, gimme a ladder"?' they say right back. The regular customers can smell what's up, and it's not just a head of tuna, so they all pretend they see nothing and busy themselves in a different aisle. The gamins toss the head from one to another across the opening to the well, screaming 'be careful, don't drop it, or you might hurt the good Saint!'

That's it! You blow your safety whistle and alert the salesforce of the problem. A boy takes the fish head and holds it aloft, sticking his tongue out at you through a gap in his clenched teeth, and hurls it down with gleeful spite.

WHAT DO YOU DO!?

Option 1: Spring into action, dodge the head, heroically scale the wall and teach those gamins a lesson! Hopefully...

Option 2: Curl up in a ball, wait for help, and brace for impact.

Option 3: Hey, isn't this how St Colmen died? *splat*

The floorwalker patiently listens to your indignant claim that sitting in a well isn't in your contract, and that you should be compensated for extra-contractual activities. A moment passes after you finish, where the floorwalker's polite silence becomes oppressive, until the baleen bristles of his beard far up above you rustle with activity and a snake-like arm zig-zags out from underneath holding a damp piece of paper. It is your contract.

'You might have forgotten clause 19.7.1.b "Sutlers is the Arbiter of Truth in all things, and the Day Manager is Its Messenger", which you agreed to when signing the contract of employment and which means your job description is as He wills it alone. However, in light of your hardships, I will grant you double time while you play your part with dignity and enthusiasm. Now, do get ready, people will be arriving soon.'

LATER THAT DAY...

You're freezing cold, and don't need to ham up the shivering at all. Children come and whisper down the well of things they want their parents to buy them, while the parents tell you secrets that vary from mundane to diabolic, and you reply to them all the same.

'That’s all very well, but can you please fetch a ladder?’

The sweets and pennies they drop down the well are starting to gather in a sticky mat beneath your feet, slowly raising you towards the surface. The day will be over before it happens, most likely, but it speaks of festive enthusiasm in the customers.

The crowds are thinning out, the day is coming to an end. You hear giggling from beyond the lip of the well and a gang of Troikan children poke their heads over. One of them is holding a frozen head of tuna out at arms length over the shaft.

'Hey mister, Perp here wants a refund on this fish head. It's smells ripe! Toss up the cash, or would you rather we toss this down for you to inspect first?'

Oh oh.

Option 1: Apologise to them for the faulty product and tell them where to find the returns counter.

Option 2: You're not naive, they're threatening to brain you with a frozen tuna head unless you toss up some of St Colman's donations. You're also not above being bullied by children. Throw up as much loose change as you can gather.

Option 3: You're not going to be threatened by a bunch of cocksure gamins! Tell them to put that tuna head back where they found it and shout out for the salesforce to come and deal with them.