Snippets From The Trenches

If careers could be compared to relationships, my fate would always to be with the slatternly little whore known as retail whereas the dream job of writer would be like some grand vision of pulchritude that always somehow seems to elude me.

So allow me to share with you some of my sordid tales.

(Let me preface by saying that it's not the job I mind, but the baggage that comes with it--the public. Like Randal quips in Clerks, "This job would be great if it wasn't for the f@#&ing customers.")

Encounter #1

A woman tells me that she doesn't have a membership and uses her grandfather's. So I ask for his phone number. She can't remember it. I then ask for the last name. That, she remembers, but is uncertain as to how to spell it. I ask for the first name. She knows that, so now we're batting .333. The fun comes when this little exchange ensues...

Me: "What's his zip code?"

Her: "561"

(I stand there waiting, looking at her and she at me.)

Me: "The rest of it?"

Her: "He lives on Thompson Street."

(You can probably toss in a huge, silent sigh right here by me.)

Me: "Ok, but I need the zip code."

Her: "561"

Me: "Does he live in Atlantis?"

Because (and correct me if I'm wrong) I don't know of any states that have a three digit zip. I figured he must be from a lost civilization where the numbers were a lot lower. Oh...she was giving me the area code...hmmm...well, had I wanted that, I would have ASKED FOR IT!

Encounter #2

Stop me if you've heard this...

An elderly woman walks in with her daughter. The theft detector beeps. I see the security guard leading the elderly woman around the detector. The daughter walks through the second set and beeps again. I start speaking...

Me: "Oh. Are you wearing something from the Gap or Old Navy because it tends to--"

Her: "I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about my mom who has a pacemaker."

She looks at me as if I have some strong telekinetic power to twist the very foundation of the store around to accommodate her mom so that she doesn't have to pass through the second set which are firmly rooted in the floor. When I tell her that she can't possibly get around the other ones, she says, "Well that's a nice lawsuit."

I kind of wanted to mention that not only could every potential thief claim to have a pacemaker to avoid the detectors, but also that perhaps some medical professional should have informed her where she could and could not go...but I left it alone (accompanied by voices in my head telling me to kill).

Encounter #3

I hadn't even finished unlocking the door today when this nifty bit of social interaction occurred.

Old Lady: "I thought you opened at 10."

Me (slightly baffled): "We do."

Old Lady: "Well it's ten after."

Me: "It's 10:02."

Old Lady: "No it's not."

And she stormed by me as I peeked at my cell which clearly read 10:02.

I should have known it was going to be a grand old day when I came back in from taking a shower to find that the dog peed on the floor and also hit my comforter.

Encounter #4

Later that day (today if you're paying attention), I was outside on a break enjoying a fine class A cigarette when I saw a mom walk by, pushing a stroller and yapping away on the cell nestled in between her ear and shoulder. She eventually went into the store but not before I (and the rest of creation) caught a glimpse of her ass crack mooning everyone.

When I headed back in, I discovered she complained about people smoking outside.

Correct me if I'm wrong but isn't this America? Is the air not free anymore? Had I truly encountered her and she complained, I would have mentioned my distaste at having to view her bony ass as well as dropped the fact that some contend cell phone usage may cause brain cancer.

Of course, then I would have a lot more free time on my hands due to immediate unemployment, but it might be worth it.

Early today, as I was on my first break, I watched the guy tooling around in his little cart to clean up the area. He was using a grabber to snatch debris from the complex and seemed somewhat content in his solitary endeavors.

And the only thing that ran through my head was the fact that it's really sad that customers drive me to the point of envying the garbage man's position since he really doesn't have to deal with anyone (though I'm sure he does, but in my fantasy, he collects alone). Then, as always, the downside hit me. Would I really want to deal with dripping, pungent garbage in the humid summers?

I'm still pondering that one...

;)