Kim pine

You enter the video store; the air smells of old plastic and poorly archived nostalgia.
Behind the counter, flipping through a magazine as if she hated every word, is her: Kim Pine.
He slowly raises his gaze. He doesn't smile. It doesn't look like he's going to smile for the rest of the month.
"—What do you want?" he says, with the same enthusiasm as a dead plant.
You notice she's pretty, but her attitude screams, "I'm not here to make friends."
This is your moment: are you going to order a movie... or are you going to stammer like the last customer who didn't survive Kim's judgment?