Monday, December 19, 2005
Tales from the store
Hustler's Slutty Spanish Girls
There is a man (a real strange man!) who comes into the store occasionally, when he is not strutting about or phoning down to the store to "reserve" what he wants. His name is "Wayne". Now, I don't usually go with first impressions of people as a basis for anything, but he gives me a "vibe", and by "vibe" I don't mean mid-shift bent-over-the-counter orgasm, but a weird feeling that sits in my stomach and is uncomfortable.
Imagine my surprise when my discomfort is compounded by Wayne coming into the store, and taking an awfully long time around the video rack. Finally he guiltily walks up to the counter and plops "Hustler's Slutty Spanish Girls" on top of my old Gender Issues journal. What a conundrum.
Now, I don't care about porn. I really don't give a shit if you want to watch it, beat off to it, frame it, or use it in hampster cages. I only laugh when other guys come into the store and look yearningly at the Penthouse issues and then see me behind the counter and freak out, and leave with only a chocolate bar. It doesn't bother me.
The thing that irks me about Wayne and porn is that he fucking rents it under "Sue's" name. "Sue" is this really sweet old lady who comes down every Sunday and buys a coffee and talks to me. She's this absolutely tiny frail old woman (late seventies), who is very kind, and just...sort of feeble too, and sort of an eccentric shut-in. And he puts her apartment number down, her phone number, the works. I mean, at least he's paying for his own porn, but if that shit was ever late and someone phoned her and was like, "we'd like you to return Hot Asians as soon as possible please" the poor girl would have a heart attack.
I guess it also bothers me, because after seeing him do something like that, when he could easily rent pornos somewhere else (and, for that matter, watch them somewhere else, rather than at her place after she goes to bed, as I suspect he does), I wonder how he fits into her life. I don't know, or presume to know, but he seems like a random inclusion to a very vulnerable person's life, and I guess that makes me suspicious. And he's so ....shifty. Bad vibes tantamount!
Old Gray Mare Just Ain't what?
There is a guy (a wheezy guy!) who comes into the store occasionally. His name is "Clarice", and he is one of the more famous residents because of his tendency to "roll-hobble" his way home after spending all day drinking. And he's always quite up front about it-- that he is drunk for about 85% of most days.
Between the two of us, we have a running joke that I know he's University Alumni and has been a guest speaker several times (because he's told me), but he refuses to tell me for what faculty or subject this has been in collaboration with. And, given that he is so mischieviously ambiguous about it because he knows that he gets a rise out of me by consterning me ("confuddled academic"), it is a constant source of banter. Doesn't matter his state of sobriety though-- that whenever I have a book, he always enquires as to what it is, so that's a clue, I suppose.
Anyways, sometimes he's really grumpy, and doesn't like to stall, so our banter is brief, but today, he was quite merry and talkative (although, elusive as usual, despite his brand new U of A alumni sweater) and I do think I will get an answer to my question next time he's around. But he was SO drunk today, poor dude. The potatoes in the bin almost bested him several times (mystery academic, fallen in the potatoes), and we ended up bitching about "where are these potatoes from anyways? Ireland?" Ho ho ho.
Somewhere, there was a point to this one, but it's lost now.
Hustler's Spanish Sluts part deux
There is this lady (a bitchy lady!) who comes into the store occasionally. She's a really ornery awful lady that comes in constantly whom I dislike intensely as my experiences with her grow like a malignant tumor in quantity on an innocent body. That almost says it all, but wait! There's more!
Her poor husband just constantly follows behind her. She just totally owns him, every square sallow inch. At least he acts that way. He's so beaten and crushed, it's really awful to see. And she's just "on" him, constantly, nagging.
I think that's what it is about her that I don't like. She's a huge bully, and I can see that in how she addresses him, and how she addresses me, and it drives me nuts. They always buy lemons and clamato juice, and one day, I'm going to squeeze those things into her eyes with vodka and tabasco juice. And if we carried rimmer salt...you betcha.
And today, I got the vibe that perhaps she realizes that I don't like her. Out of all my customers I am the most cool and detached and speechless with her only. I'll talk up a storm with someone in the checkout line before her, but I just run her stuff through and glare holes into her back when she's not looking.
Today, I was giving away free truffles, and there were two left on the plate when she came in with her slave man. I considered stuffing them both into my mouth in front of her, but decided that would be gross, and I would be sick. I asked her if she wanted one after I was done ringing through the stuff and they'd paid, and she said no. I looked at her husband and asked him, and he seemed shocked that I'd asked him, and was about to say something when she cut in and said, "No! I already said no. God."
Glare glare GLARE. Checkmate-- my scowl radiates further than yours.
As a sidenote: The two Rays have not come into the store since last week. I'm kind of choked. They're total sweethearts, even if they're two drunkards who just share the same name. They're like my protectorate peas in a pod. Big Ray and Little Ray. Big Ray is a flirt though, lol.
Somehow working at the store has taken on a life of its own. I'm not sure if it's healthy even how much I just look forward to going to work because I know strange things will happen. I'm constantly immersed in all the foreign things that happen in the mundane everyday events in regards to the underbelly of a city (such as the prostitute and her pimp who had a minor blow-out in the store today over a debit card malfunction), and I'm ...I don't even know how to say it without sounding retarded, but ...I'm enjoying the experience, and I'm enjoying just taking it all in, and doing something that is so immediately gratifying, and still being able to take away all these amazing stories from it.
¶ 3:13 AM
Hustler's Slutty Spanish Girls
There is a man (a real strange man!) who comes into the store occasionally, when he is not strutting about or phoning down to the store to "reserve" what he wants. His name is "Wayne". Now, I don't usually go with first impressions of people as a basis for anything, but he gives me a "vibe", and by "vibe" I don't mean mid-shift bent-over-the-counter orgasm, but a weird feeling that sits in my stomach and is uncomfortable.
Imagine my surprise when my discomfort is compounded by Wayne coming into the store, and taking an awfully long time around the video rack. Finally he guiltily walks up to the counter and plops "Hustler's Slutty Spanish Girls" on top of my old Gender Issues journal. What a conundrum.
Now, I don't care about porn. I really don't give a shit if you want to watch it, beat off to it, frame it, or use it in hampster cages. I only laugh when other guys come into the store and look yearningly at the Penthouse issues and then see me behind the counter and freak out, and leave with only a chocolate bar. It doesn't bother me.
The thing that irks me about Wayne and porn is that he fucking rents it under "Sue's" name. "Sue" is this really sweet old lady who comes down every Sunday and buys a coffee and talks to me. She's this absolutely tiny frail old woman (late seventies), who is very kind, and just...sort of feeble too, and sort of an eccentric shut-in. And he puts her apartment number down, her phone number, the works. I mean, at least he's paying for his own porn, but if that shit was ever late and someone phoned her and was like, "we'd like you to return Hot Asians as soon as possible please" the poor girl would have a heart attack.
I guess it also bothers me, because after seeing him do something like that, when he could easily rent pornos somewhere else (and, for that matter, watch them somewhere else, rather than at her place after she goes to bed, as I suspect he does), I wonder how he fits into her life. I don't know, or presume to know, but he seems like a random inclusion to a very vulnerable person's life, and I guess that makes me suspicious. And he's so ....shifty. Bad vibes tantamount!
Old Gray Mare Just Ain't what?
There is a guy (a wheezy guy!) who comes into the store occasionally. His name is "Clarice", and he is one of the more famous residents because of his tendency to "roll-hobble" his way home after spending all day drinking. And he's always quite up front about it-- that he is drunk for about 85% of most days.
Between the two of us, we have a running joke that I know he's University Alumni and has been a guest speaker several times (because he's told me), but he refuses to tell me for what faculty or subject this has been in collaboration with. And, given that he is so mischieviously ambiguous about it because he knows that he gets a rise out of me by consterning me ("confuddled academic"), it is a constant source of banter. Doesn't matter his state of sobriety though-- that whenever I have a book, he always enquires as to what it is, so that's a clue, I suppose.
Anyways, sometimes he's really grumpy, and doesn't like to stall, so our banter is brief, but today, he was quite merry and talkative (although, elusive as usual, despite his brand new U of A alumni sweater) and I do think I will get an answer to my question next time he's around. But he was SO drunk today, poor dude. The potatoes in the bin almost bested him several times (mystery academic, fallen in the potatoes), and we ended up bitching about "where are these potatoes from anyways? Ireland?" Ho ho ho.
Somewhere, there was a point to this one, but it's lost now.
Hustler's Spanish Sluts part deux
There is this lady (a bitchy lady!) who comes into the store occasionally. She's a really ornery awful lady that comes in constantly whom I dislike intensely as my experiences with her grow like a malignant tumor in quantity on an innocent body. That almost says it all, but wait! There's more!
Her poor husband just constantly follows behind her. She just totally owns him, every square sallow inch. At least he acts that way. He's so beaten and crushed, it's really awful to see. And she's just "on" him, constantly, nagging.
I think that's what it is about her that I don't like. She's a huge bully, and I can see that in how she addresses him, and how she addresses me, and it drives me nuts. They always buy lemons and clamato juice, and one day, I'm going to squeeze those things into her eyes with vodka and tabasco juice. And if we carried rimmer salt...you betcha.
And today, I got the vibe that perhaps she realizes that I don't like her. Out of all my customers I am the most cool and detached and speechless with her only. I'll talk up a storm with someone in the checkout line before her, but I just run her stuff through and glare holes into her back when she's not looking.
Today, I was giving away free truffles, and there were two left on the plate when she came in with her slave man. I considered stuffing them both into my mouth in front of her, but decided that would be gross, and I would be sick. I asked her if she wanted one after I was done ringing through the stuff and they'd paid, and she said no. I looked at her husband and asked him, and he seemed shocked that I'd asked him, and was about to say something when she cut in and said, "No! I already said no. God."
Glare glare GLARE. Checkmate-- my scowl radiates further than yours.
As a sidenote: The two Rays have not come into the store since last week. I'm kind of choked. They're total sweethearts, even if they're two drunkards who just share the same name. They're like my protectorate peas in a pod. Big Ray and Little Ray. Big Ray is a flirt though, lol.
Somehow working at the store has taken on a life of its own. I'm not sure if it's healthy even how much I just look forward to going to work because I know strange things will happen. I'm constantly immersed in all the foreign things that happen in the mundane everyday events in regards to the underbelly of a city (such as the prostitute and her pimp who had a minor blow-out in the store today over a debit card malfunction), and I'm ...I don't even know how to say it without sounding retarded, but ...I'm enjoying the experience, and I'm enjoying just taking it all in, and doing something that is so immediately gratifying, and still being able to take away all these amazing stories from it.
¶ 3:13 AM
