Thursday, August 24, 2006
The Drooler is Always Right
Most mornings before the Store opens, we have a short meeting. Usually it is to let us know about a new company restriction on our rights and freedoms or occasionally to let us know about a new book that was recently featured in the New York Times that everyone will be coming in to buy...and which we do not currently have in stock. Sorry!
These minutes are usually held ten minutes before we open at 8 am, and on rare occasion our meeting might run a minute over.
Such was the case today and our doors opened at 8:01 am.
The first customer in was an older gentleman, who started to rant the moment his withered visage was lit by our fluorescent bulbs.
"Goddamn it! Why don't you open on time for once!"
No one paid much attention to him; as most have probably guessed we get a lot of the crazy in the store.
I was at the cash register for the morning and sure enough, the grizzled old man hobbled his way up to my register, shaking his fist the whole time.
"D'ya got that new Pat Buchanan book?"
"I'm not sure, Sir. But I can take a look for you."
"Do you actually listen to what he says to you?"
At this moment I was confused; Pat Buchanan talks to me? How could I have missed this vital mocking opportunity?
"Um...well I don't actually listen to Pat Buchanan."
"NO! No Pat. That guy, who talks your ears off and makes you open the store goddamn late every single day!"
I realized he meant our store manager and the meetings we held each morning.
"Oh yes. We get a lot of important information at those meetings."
"That's bullshit! You all look like you're falling asleep and goddamn it you don't open your store on time. That's just bullshit!"
He really liked the words "goddamn it."
Right as I was going to defend company practice once again, I noticed something horrific: the lovely and profane old man in front of me was so incensed that he found it necessary to start drooling.
And he drooled right onto my counter. A small puddle of old man saliva that seemed to grow in diameter the angrier the customer got.
Unable to take my eyes off this growing pool, I muttered to the customer that I was sorry if we were a bit late in opening the doors and I would relay his message to the manager.
He wandered off to go yell at another employee, finally breaking that thin thread of spit that connected to my counter.
The moment he was out of view, I ran over to the supply room to get a towel and a hell of a lot of sanitizer.
These minutes are usually held ten minutes before we open at 8 am, and on rare occasion our meeting might run a minute over.
Such was the case today and our doors opened at 8:01 am.
The first customer in was an older gentleman, who started to rant the moment his withered visage was lit by our fluorescent bulbs.
"Goddamn it! Why don't you open on time for once!"
No one paid much attention to him; as most have probably guessed we get a lot of the crazy in the store.
I was at the cash register for the morning and sure enough, the grizzled old man hobbled his way up to my register, shaking his fist the whole time.
"D'ya got that new Pat Buchanan book?"
"I'm not sure, Sir. But I can take a look for you."
"Do you actually listen to what he says to you?"
At this moment I was confused; Pat Buchanan talks to me? How could I have missed this vital mocking opportunity?
"Um...well I don't actually listen to Pat Buchanan."
"NO! No Pat. That guy, who talks your ears off and makes you open the store goddamn late every single day!"
I realized he meant our store manager and the meetings we held each morning.
"Oh yes. We get a lot of important information at those meetings."
"That's bullshit! You all look like you're falling asleep and goddamn it you don't open your store on time. That's just bullshit!"
He really liked the words "goddamn it."
Right as I was going to defend company practice once again, I noticed something horrific: the lovely and profane old man in front of me was so incensed that he found it necessary to start drooling.
And he drooled right onto my counter. A small puddle of old man saliva that seemed to grow in diameter the angrier the customer got.
Unable to take my eyes off this growing pool, I muttered to the customer that I was sorry if we were a bit late in opening the doors and I would relay his message to the manager.
He wandered off to go yell at another employee, finally breaking that thin thread of spit that connected to my counter.
The moment he was out of view, I ran over to the supply room to get a towel and a hell of a lot of sanitizer.
