Be vewy vewy quiet

There is an adorable little man who is the bagger at my grocery store. Every Sunday morning when I go, he's there. And I look forward to seeing him every week. His name is Barton. He is in his 60s, maybe 70s. And he has some sort of speech impediment that kind of makes him sound like Elmer Fudd. He always explains that he put the "bewwies" on top, along with other "cwushables" so they won't be, well, cwushed. And then he always asks if he can help me to my car, and of course I say no because he's old and it's cold and that's just mean. But then I realized he could get a tip that way, so I think next week I'll just give him cash. And make him stay inside so he doesn't fweeze to death.