Boy. Checkout lines, huh. Dirk has no idea what's going on at the register; there's at least twelve people between him and it. Forgetting that normal people have things like "jobs" and "schedules," he made the mistake of stopping in at the PokeMart during the lunch rush--and yeah, he could put everything back, leave, and come back later, but when all's said and done, that's actually a less efficient use of his time than simply waiting. He has a tournament to prep for, these Hyper Potions and Revives aren't going to buy themselves.

Which is fucking weird, actually. He understands the function of physical stores, especially in the context of food or medical supplies, even clothes, but why the hell doesn't this world have some kind of Crocker Corp or Amazon style megamonopoly doing same-day delivery? Pidgeys and zigzagoons or whatever have got to be more ethical than drones and overworked human delivery drivers with no air conditioning and a GPS tracking their piss stops--

This is where his train of thought is at the point where he's stacking onigiri vertically in his hand, shopping handbasket hung from the crook of his elbow, expression flat and blank as ever while he expertly places the flat side of one triangle atop the rounded point of another. If you didn't know better, you could almost think he was having fun.