"Let him go, you'll disrupt his flow."

No, not some great American writer penning that next great novel.

My dad, shopping.

We go antiquing like it's a sport. You all who run? That's cool. But it's no speed-shopping. I mean, talk about real sport. Pushing past slow shoppers, racing up and down the aisles. Yes.

We went to a couple antique shops; if you've never been, they're usually set up in long aisles crammed full of little cubicle-sized booths split up by vendors. Dave and I like to go through and look through most booths, picking up items and digging for treasures.

Dad goes in, does a little hamstring stretch (jk) and then he's off, speed-walking (not kidding), quickly looking left and right and left and right in each booth, stopping two booths up if something in another booth interested him (little bit of a time delay).

It takes us two hours. It takes him 15 minutes. Tops.

"Randy, you don't have to go that fast. I don't have to work 'til 2."

But he didn't hear.

"No, Dave. This is just how he shops." Now move out of his way or he'll push you into a stack of 45s.