A tribute to fakes

Why is it that we insist on pretending that we are not ourselves?

But seriously. Taking it as far as this guy did?

I was ringing him up. A tall, blond fellow. He bought some sunglasses. A douvet cover. Yes. A douvet cover.

I was willing to look past this.

I said my usual "Have a nice day" schpeil that I have perfected to an art.

His response?

"Cheers."

What does "cheers" even mean? Goodbye? Thank you?

And who the hell says that? Was there some alcoholic beverage I was missing out on? Was he from Britain or someplace better than here where people say things like "cheers" or "bloody hell?"

No.

I really didn't know what to do.
Except laugh.

So, this is my cheers to you, fake British man!