This was far from the first time some tourist let the grit-toothed pleasantries of their hotel staff swell their heads like they were God's gift to vaginas, but Daisy was even further from resigning herself to it. This one was particularly fucking creepy and, apparently, hadn't even taken the time to unpack before hitting the beach bar and found the local politeness downright intoxicating.
She didn't bother making a move to look him in the eye, barely squinting behind her own oversized glasses, and advised, "I'm not buying, haole, so move the fuck along." If this was the worst she had to put up with on the island, though, Daisy couldn't really say she minded. That would be rude. Make her poor company.