What it feels like to program in Rust sometimes

The young man nervously rang the door-bell. A gruff man opened the door; after a few seconds of sizing him up, he nodded towards the inside, inviting him in.

They sat in the living-room. After a few tense seconds, the silence broke.

“Son… what are your intentions with my [u8]?”
“Uh… I'm just borrowing her, sir.”
“Her curfew is 'a, just so you know.”
“I'll have her back by then. I promise.”
“You better. Now, son… tell me something. Are you two, you know… exclusive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you better put a &mut on it. That way the others know to stay away.”
“Will do, sir.”

While they had been talking, a woman walked into the room. He recognised her as his date's mother. Her stare, somehow, seemed even more penetrating than her husband's.

“Well, sonny, let me just make sure you're presentable, alright?”
“Presentable, ma'am?”
“Yes, presentable. Do you implement Debug and Display?”
The young man looked at his clothes. “I… don't see why not?”
A scoff came as a reply. “Humph! What a derivative answer. Alright then, off you go.”

The young man gulped. The first hurdle had been cleared; now, to ensure the datæ itself went well.