I just go in, pick the most expensive guitar I can find off the wall when they're not looking, find a loud, solid-state, mass-produced piece of crap amp, plug in and wiggle the cable until I hear some crackle, turn the amp way up, pick a horrible preset, then do my mash-up rendition of Stairway To Heaven / Elenor Rigby / Crazy Train.
Then I pretend to get a phone call, leave everything on, lean the guitar against something and exit the store.
Should the absolutely rare event of a salesdweeb stopping by to ask if I wanted anything actually happen, I love to ask if they have any of the green-coated, square wound accordian strings in stock since they're store is the only place I was able to get some last time. As soon as he goes in back to look it up, I get that phantom phone call...
It doesn't make up for the dozens of times I walked in ready to spend a LOT of money and couldn't get one of the salesdweebs to leave their broke, pimply faced, horribly pierced and tatooed friends long enough to get what I wanted, but there is some satisfaction in it.