I'm walking to work this morning and there's some Kevin Smith look-alike standing out front of my work. And when I say standing out front of my work, I really mean PLAYING HACKY SACK. I thought the only people that did that were the semi homeless Rastafarians you see at the Saturday Market circa 1998. (In some places it's called the Thursday Night Market. Like, say, if you're in California.) BUT NO. Here's some middle aged white man with his gut hanging below his tie dyed shirt and he's kicking around a fucking footbag at 11:45 in the goddamn morning.
Then, literally 40 seconds after I've unlocked the door and right before I've managed to turn the lights on, he pokes his stupid fat head in and asks "is it kosher if I come in?" A. NO. 2. Did you seriously just refer to something other than food by the word KOSHER? Because I think you just may have.
He comes in and says "goodmorning!" I don't even bother with a head nod. All I'm able to muster is an upward curve of the lip (more like quiver.) Then he gives me the whole "I just asked you a question! HAVE YOU NO DECENCY?!" look and heads strait for the Sale movies. Of course. No sooner had I taken my first (and much needed) gulp of coffee when he comes over with another question. "Yo, are you Stephanie?" The first thing I want to say is "Yeah, my necklace says Miranda because my name is Stephanie" but I realize, he must work for the company! On rare occasions a customer will ask my name, usually after I've been extremely helpful and witty, and in those instances I'll gladly allow them the pleasure of knowing my real name. But this was NOT one of those instances. My eyes dart back and forth between the extremely large stack of movies he's been piling up on the floor and the leftover donut sprinkles he's acquired on his upper lip. [Enter simulated slow motion vomiting] My mood changes as quickly as my younger sister's when she's refusen to take her Ritalin. He's so daft I highly doubt he notices my fake smile (aren't they all?) and oddly high pitched voice (which my boyfriend likes to refer to as my 'normal' voice.) I respond "Actually, I'm Miranda.. do you work for Videorama or is buying large amounts of movies just your hobby?" (I hold my breath.. if he works for this fucking company there's no doubt he's going to complain about me, which will only leave me with the excuse that I hadn't had my morning coffee so my attitude was to be expected.) "No, I used to work with Chris at the Alberta store but now I work at a used movie store up in Vancouver. I thought Chris said a Stephanie worked here, but I guess I got the name wrong." A sigh of RELIEF.
I've already altered my mood twice this morning, so I decide to stay in character. I'm gracious and friendly the rest of his 20 minute visit. This way I only end up feeling a little guilty about being a Grade A Bitch to him in the beginning of our initial interaction. Right before he leaves he gives me his card, he says it's for Chris but come on, we all know who it really was for. I kindly accept the card and give him one last smile, after all, he did just spend $120.
After this grueling experience I come back to Earth and realize what a FUCKING MESS the place is. Behind the counter especially. The dude with the glasses that works Saturday nights is giving me a fucking ulcer right in my BRAIN. I want to cut this guys nutsack off all Sons of Anarchy and then make him chew on them Chaos style. I don't know if you can tell from the pictures I'm about to upload but there are fucking pens and garbage all over the fucking floor. Not to mention he didn't even bother to put all the movies away AND that little prick graffitied all over my Zooey Deschanel picture. I'm gonna get him one day, and I'm going to get. him. good. I hope he enjoys playing World of Warcraft every night and never getting laid, because that's all he seems to be able to do right. Well, that and save stupid fucking pictures as the computer desktop.
xoxo
No comments:
Post a Comment