In any event, Dean's next stop is the register, which the vile and disgusting little thief cracks open to start stuffing cash into his pockets until...the television set on the counter suddenly flickers to life of its own accord! Blasting out snow! Dean, momentarily freaked, slowly and deliberately shuts the thing off. You can imagine his annoyance, then, when the television set snottily flicks itself back on, and you can imagine his increasing panic when the radio at the other end of the counter decides to join in on the fun. Dean scrambles through the store's shelves until he finds some handy containers of salt, and he sets himself to laying down lines of the stuff in all of the appropriate places until something about the radio's squelching gives him pause. In fact, though, it's a high-pitched whine just beneath the squelch that soon renders any sensible distribution of salt impossible, for that piercing whine rapidly amplifies in volume to overwhelm Dean's senses, and he crashes to the floor of the place with his hands balled into desperate fists over his ears just as the whine shatters every single sheet of glass in the whole goddamned store to send the resulting slivers shooting through the air directly at Dean's freshly washed face. Dun-dun-DUN! The instant the last pane shatters, however, the whine cuts itself off, allowing Dean -- who's more or less no worse for the wear, save for that lingering ringing in his ears -- to push himself to his feet so he can tiptoe across the shards to peek suspiciously out the now-busted window frame.