My Name Is...

A guy somewhere around my age comes in with a trick bike I doubt he can actually ride.
"You guys need to have colder a/c in here.",
he says to me while I'm wearing my Abercrombie track jacket.
"Do you have a bike pump?"
"Maybe in aisle 5."
"No, I mean for free."
"Absolutely not."
"How about some cheap water?"
"Aisle 9."
He goes to get his water. And when he comes back to the register he says,
"Are you pregnant?"
"Yes, but if I wasn't I would be very upset you said that."
He lets out this tittering laugh.
"Well, I only said that because I saw you rubbing your belly like, 'uunnnggghh'."
"Uh, yeah. Well, I'm in some pain now..."
"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"
"I don't, but I will the first week of September."
He squealed like a schoolgirl and said
"Oh my God! How exciting!"
and he reached out to hold my hand. Which I weirdly reciprocated.
"It is exciting. Thank you."
"Do you know what you'll name it?"
"No I do not. I did, but I do not anymore. There is some drama about that."
"There was this girl, who I hardly knew, and she had my baby, and she named it 'Musfasta'. Musfasta! I said, 'I'm not going to claim a child named Musfasta', right?
"Uhhh..."
"Congradulations! Have a great day!"
Shortly after he leaves on his bike, I hear 'Oh shit!' and some car honks.