Does Whatever a Weasel Can

I'm in a teeny-tiny study room on the 4th floor of the library. I have an essay due Thursday (that I haven't really started), so I figured I should get some sort of jump on that.

A while back, I mentioned Weasel Man, a short, strange man who works at the library. He added to my stress on the day of the photocopier/printer madness by really not helping whatsoever. Today, I encountered him. Here is our conversation:

WM: HI THERE!
Jam: Uh, hi. I'd like to-
WM: How are you today?
Jam: I'm fine. How-
WM: Good.
Jam: Good. I'd-
WM: I love your pants!
Pause.
I've been going on about manpris (capris for men) for the longest time, and I finally broke down and bought them when they were on sale. They are fabulous pants, but frankly, a creepy 50-something Weasel Man should not be commenting on random men's pantaloons.
Unpause.
Jam: Well, thanks.
WM: *gigantic-and-extremely-creepy smile*
Jam: They're called manpris.
Pause.
I have no idea why at this moment I didn't just ask for the study room. I think part of me felt bad for the creepy li'l guy. The other part was eaten away by the creepy smile of doom.
Unpause.
WM: Manpris, eh? Hmm!
Jam: Ya. I'd like a study room please. *holds out student card*
WM: Okee dokee! *takes card* Alright, Jim.
Pause.
My card says "James". Did I say at any time that anyone could call me Jim? No? Didn't think so.
Unpause.
WM: That'll be room four. Oh. One, big fella.
Superpause.
WHAT? Big fella? Are you kidding me? Did I actually just here that come out of someone's mouth that isn't my great aunt Marion pinching the cheeks of some unfortunate baby? I mean, come on, that's ultra-disturbing. Was he making fun of how little I am? Well that can't be, because I'm bigger than him, so maybe he was making light of the fact that... anyway, it doesn't matter.

I'm thoroughly creeped out and have to go back down there to get my card when I'm done. Terrific. "Hey, little fella, stop gnawing on the books and give me my card."

--Jam