As if feeling some sort of... responsibility for this... the dullness of the clerks, the shrill, shrieking horror of the banal business exchange, the difficulty of capitalist money-for-merchandise exchange in this day and age... Tom glances momentarily away... then back up at the pair, calling over, "I think the sign says it's six for thirty six." A pause. Then, mildly, to no one in particular, "That sounds like quite the deal." He seems to feel he's responding, someow, in a socially appropriate way to some pre-designated cue.