I’ve been chased out of two stores—on two different continents—by store owners, wielding meat cleavers. The first time was in San Francisco’s Chinatown when the owner nodded at my camera and screamed, “Not in store! Not in store!” Then he proceeded to dart out from behind the counter and chase me down Stockton Street.
From what I surmised, I’d insulted the dignity of a row of headless ducks in the window.