It's no new phenomenon that hosers will use words that make others cringe while thinking themselves clever or... I don't know... hip? You know there was that guy in the 19th century who called everybody "guv'na" and everyone else was all, "Yeah, alright man, just because we're having tea together doesn't give you license to talk like an asshole." Or when you're time traveling to prevent an imminent apocalypse and you keep getting "Og no like boomstick!" and you're like, "Come on Og, all your friends are calling it a shotgun... and how about some verbs every now and then? I didn't spend all that time teaching you English so you could talk like a stereotype." I hate that!
I was reminded of this problem just this morning when a guy called me "Chief." As in, "Make it a medium, chief." He got the coffee, yeah, but he also got a glare of well-masked incredulity. The urge to return fire is fairly intense. "Enjoy the coffee, Ace!" I've come up with a way to tell if the nickname you're about to apply to a complete stranger is inappropriate. Consider if you would use the same word in the following scenarios:
1. Your eight year-old gets his first hit in T-Ball
2. Your 94 year-old relative is having war flashbacks (you're not being an asshole or anything; you're just helping him cope)
3. A fellow trucker gives you a thumbs up when you drive past
4. When playing kickball with friends, somebody completely whiffs on a slow pitch ("Good hustle though, Tiger!")
5. You're trying to kill the mood when your partner wants sex and you don't
6. You're naming your new puppy
Here's a rough list of offending names:
-Chief*
-Buddy*
-Friend*
-Brotha
-Pal*
-Partner*
-Cowboy
-Ace
-Tiger
-Sport*
-Champ*
-Li'l man*
-Scooter (actually this was my parents' nickname for me as a child)
-Dude-a-rino
-Boy*
-Playa*
-Killa
-Rockstar*
-Superstar
-Pimp
-Chump
-Bra (there was a plumber in Hillsborough who used this word at least once in every sentence)
*I have been called this by customers or maintenance workers, in earnest
Nicknames are not the end of it, sadly.
-"Can I get that latte with a smirch of vanilla?" I can only guess that was meant to be a cross between "pinch" and "smidgen."
-"Does that come with a squirt of chocolate?" Sure, let me just run to the back here...
-"I want it with an extra pump of caramel." Don't we all.
-"Frozen mocha with froyo." I now call this the Froyo Fromo (patent pending).
-"Latte. Super flat, super fly." Okay, the woman who says this actually pulls it off. If anyone else tried it they'd be a tool faster than I could smile awkwardly at them.
As usual, I'll request you put your own examples in the comments. Then, as per usual, no comments will appear. Good on ya, mate!
Monday, June 16, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Other people's bums
One morning over a year ago, I rounded the corner from the parking lot at our location in the small town of Hillsborough. That store opens at 7am, so I imagine it was around 6:30. A police car was stopped in the middle of the street in front of the store. It was a pretty wide street, granted, but he was smack in the middle of it - a car would have had difficulty negotiating his presence in either direction. As I approached, he glided slowly forward. It was still dark enough that I couldn't see into the vehicle, but I could feel his eyes on my back as I unlocked the front door.
Hours passed, and I had forgotten about the brief incident. I was unnerved, but the pace of the store that morning had taken precedent. The afternoon approached. At this time the store was quite slow, and a lone customer approached the counter - a southern man in his 50s who worked at the Fish and Game store just next door. He asked if I had heard about the events that morning. At that point I did not even recall the officer. Little did I know the preceding events had occurred well before my arrival at the store...
The manager or owner or whatever of this F&G store got there around 5am every morning for... whatever reason, and so did the baker of the French patisserie. The F&G dude was going about his usual morning business (of gutting fish? fucked if I know), and his wife was at the front of the store. A scrawny black man (whom my storyteller identified as a drug addict) approached the woman and began harassing her. From what I understand, he was soliciting money (or possibly sex? Again, I dunno). F&G guy took offense. He yelled at the man to vacate, but things only escalated. F&G kept a shotgun in the back room (of course), which he moved to retrieve, wife in tow. Upon returning, he found the handgun and camera missing from the cab of his truck along with the aggressor. He phoned the police...
I don't know how much time passed in the interim; neither do I know if our store was open for any of this story. The addict (which will be later corroborated) was picked up trying to sell the gun at a pawn shop in another town. How he managed to cover that much ground so quickly... I couldn't say. My guess would have to be running like a guy being chased by a redneck with a shotgun. Crazy fucker was identified and taken to holding. Therein, the ranking officer at the time decided he didn't want some crack addict (thereby the corroboration) tearing up his cell. Dr. Wacky was released unto the public.
Were I in such a fix, my first inclination might be to pick another town to terrorize. But then my history of being arrested is decidedly limited. What could have been on his mind? Revenge? Justice? Further theft? He jumped right back into the fire, making a bee-line for the Fish and Game store. Outside, he met the Frenchman out for a smoke break. The heated conversation between these two must have been... amusing in the least. Hearing the commotion, our portly F&G hero drew his weapon (a bat) and leaped into battle. With his already demonstrated proficiency in flight, crazy fucker made haste. To whence? It may surprise you to find that his instincts lead him directly back to the place which had only just released him. His presence preceded by frightened squawks, the Hillsborough officers ushered our addict past just as the charging brute rounded the corner. He was tackled and subdued by a small force of Hillsborough's finest and taken to holding.
Scrawny-ass disappeared, never to be seen again.
The very same day, as I was accustomed, I finished the work week with a trip to the neighboring restaurant. I took a seat at the bar alone. The waitresses, who are usually attentive, were talking amongst themselves behind the bar & stealing glances at a woman opposite my location. She was bent over a nearly emptied glass, her hair covering her face. At the nearest opportunity I asked the waitress what was going on. "She's very drunk," she whispered. I gathered they were afraid she would start trouble or refuse to leave. I further understand (since, anyway) that she was often wont for money to pay for said beverages & could only pay in advance. The woman's figure, though hunched, was not out of shape. I imagine her younger years found her quite attractive. A small commotion drew my attention - she was attempting to dismount the stool. The horrified wait staff was unable to assist in time. As she rose from her knees, her hair fell back from her face. I caught only a glance (I looked away much like one does when not wanting a crush to catch you gazing). Her face had a scrape on it that I can only describe as low-impact road rash. Bizarre. Since I had plenty of storytelling at my fingertips, I moved the image to the back of my mind.
The following week (Monday or Tuesday) I joined my manager for drinks at the Mexican restaurant nearby. As we entered, I spotted the same hunched figure roosting at the bar. I ordered a small pitcher of margaritas for my manager and me. The waiter returned with the drinks but informed us his boss had told him to make sure to check our IDs. I had mine, but she had left hers at the store. We already had the pitcher, so she elected to rush back to the store to retrieve it. We went ahead & ordered before she left. I sat in wait without touching my drink (like the fucking gentleman I am).
Lost in thought, I did not sense the woman approach. Even so, the cloud of liquor was intense. She loomed over my table. I looked up at her and could barely make out a face behind the countless bruises. One eye was swollen shut in an award-winning shiner; the other bulged with fantastic greed at the two salty glasses. I recognized her as the woman from the restaurant - the earlier scrape now framed still more wounds glistening with fresh scabs. She looked as though she had only just stumbled in from a street brawl.
"I'm very sorry to bother you... terribly sorry."
...
"But I saw the bartender making those drinks and I was wondering, can I have one of your drinks?"
"Uh, I'm sorry...," was all I could muster
"See I just got out of jail, and my husband beats me."
...
"And I don't have any money... I was just wondering if I can have one of your drinks there."
"I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that," I said, feeling kind of like an asshole.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, almost in echo of my sentiment.
"No I just... I don't think I can do that for you."
Without saying anything else, she retreated to the back. I heard a screen door snap shut, and I assumed she had left the building through a back exit. Just then, as I was still turned around marveling at the space before the dark back rooms, my coworker returned. I must have had my eyes wide open in amazement. She apologized for having to run to get her ID, thinking that was why I was in such a state. I related the story to her and shifted the drinks closer to the wall.
She laughed, "That's crazy! You're kidding, right?"
"No," I refuted, "She only just went out that back door there!"
"Really? Uh..." I kept my resolve. "You're kidding!"
"I'm afraid not," though I had begun to laugh.
"See, you can't even keep a straight face!"
I didn't press it much further, but I was still shocked. We began discussion about work for several minutes. From the shadowy alcove in the back, the beaten woman returned. The women's bathroom, I realized, was separate from the men's.
Again over the table she hung in a stupor before us.
"I'm sorry to have bothered your friend before. I didn't mean no offense."
...
"I just saw that you had two drinks there and..."
She lunged forward like a zombie, her hand outstretched in the direction of my friend's drink. As if in correction, she instead braced her arm hard against the bare part of the table.
"And I just got out of jail and I... I just really wanted some of your tequila."
I glanced at my friend who had that look on her face... the one that's in the movie where the character realizes they were telling the truth all along (or something). Yes, we might as well have been in the presence of an alien.
"I didn't mean no offense."
And she left.
Later I related this story to the wait staff at the aforementioned restaurant. They claimed that it was extremely unlikely that she had a husband & was instead homeless. The bruises were more likely from a drunken fall or from a run-in with less than gentle police officers... a fight she had likely forgotten.
Hours passed, and I had forgotten about the brief incident. I was unnerved, but the pace of the store that morning had taken precedent. The afternoon approached. At this time the store was quite slow, and a lone customer approached the counter - a southern man in his 50s who worked at the Fish and Game store just next door. He asked if I had heard about the events that morning. At that point I did not even recall the officer. Little did I know the preceding events had occurred well before my arrival at the store...
The manager or owner or whatever of this F&G store got there around 5am every morning for... whatever reason, and so did the baker of the French patisserie. The F&G dude was going about his usual morning business (of gutting fish? fucked if I know), and his wife was at the front of the store. A scrawny black man (whom my storyteller identified as a drug addict) approached the woman and began harassing her. From what I understand, he was soliciting money (or possibly sex? Again, I dunno). F&G guy took offense. He yelled at the man to vacate, but things only escalated. F&G kept a shotgun in the back room (of course), which he moved to retrieve, wife in tow. Upon returning, he found the handgun and camera missing from the cab of his truck along with the aggressor. He phoned the police...
I don't know how much time passed in the interim; neither do I know if our store was open for any of this story. The addict (which will be later corroborated) was picked up trying to sell the gun at a pawn shop in another town. How he managed to cover that much ground so quickly... I couldn't say. My guess would have to be running like a guy being chased by a redneck with a shotgun. Crazy fucker was identified and taken to holding. Therein, the ranking officer at the time decided he didn't want some crack addict (thereby the corroboration) tearing up his cell. Dr. Wacky was released unto the public.
Were I in such a fix, my first inclination might be to pick another town to terrorize. But then my history of being arrested is decidedly limited. What could have been on his mind? Revenge? Justice? Further theft? He jumped right back into the fire, making a bee-line for the Fish and Game store. Outside, he met the Frenchman out for a smoke break. The heated conversation between these two must have been... amusing in the least. Hearing the commotion, our portly F&G hero drew his weapon (a bat) and leaped into battle. With his already demonstrated proficiency in flight, crazy fucker made haste. To whence? It may surprise you to find that his instincts lead him directly back to the place which had only just released him. His presence preceded by frightened squawks, the Hillsborough officers ushered our addict past just as the charging brute rounded the corner. He was tackled and subdued by a small force of Hillsborough's finest and taken to holding.
Scrawny-ass disappeared, never to be seen again.
The very same day, as I was accustomed, I finished the work week with a trip to the neighboring restaurant. I took a seat at the bar alone. The waitresses, who are usually attentive, were talking amongst themselves behind the bar & stealing glances at a woman opposite my location. She was bent over a nearly emptied glass, her hair covering her face. At the nearest opportunity I asked the waitress what was going on. "She's very drunk," she whispered. I gathered they were afraid she would start trouble or refuse to leave. I further understand (since, anyway) that she was often wont for money to pay for said beverages & could only pay in advance. The woman's figure, though hunched, was not out of shape. I imagine her younger years found her quite attractive. A small commotion drew my attention - she was attempting to dismount the stool. The horrified wait staff was unable to assist in time. As she rose from her knees, her hair fell back from her face. I caught only a glance (I looked away much like one does when not wanting a crush to catch you gazing). Her face had a scrape on it that I can only describe as low-impact road rash. Bizarre. Since I had plenty of storytelling at my fingertips, I moved the image to the back of my mind.
The following week (Monday or Tuesday) I joined my manager for drinks at the Mexican restaurant nearby. As we entered, I spotted the same hunched figure roosting at the bar. I ordered a small pitcher of margaritas for my manager and me. The waiter returned with the drinks but informed us his boss had told him to make sure to check our IDs. I had mine, but she had left hers at the store. We already had the pitcher, so she elected to rush back to the store to retrieve it. We went ahead & ordered before she left. I sat in wait without touching my drink (like the fucking gentleman I am).
Lost in thought, I did not sense the woman approach. Even so, the cloud of liquor was intense. She loomed over my table. I looked up at her and could barely make out a face behind the countless bruises. One eye was swollen shut in an award-winning shiner; the other bulged with fantastic greed at the two salty glasses. I recognized her as the woman from the restaurant - the earlier scrape now framed still more wounds glistening with fresh scabs. She looked as though she had only just stumbled in from a street brawl.
"I'm very sorry to bother you... terribly sorry."
...
"But I saw the bartender making those drinks and I was wondering, can I have one of your drinks?"
"Uh, I'm sorry...," was all I could muster
"See I just got out of jail, and my husband beats me."
...
"And I don't have any money... I was just wondering if I can have one of your drinks there."
"I'm uh... I'm sorry, I don't think I can do that," I said, feeling kind of like an asshole.
"I'm so sorry," she replied, almost in echo of my sentiment.
"No I just... I don't think I can do that for you."
Without saying anything else, she retreated to the back. I heard a screen door snap shut, and I assumed she had left the building through a back exit. Just then, as I was still turned around marveling at the space before the dark back rooms, my coworker returned. I must have had my eyes wide open in amazement. She apologized for having to run to get her ID, thinking that was why I was in such a state. I related the story to her and shifted the drinks closer to the wall.
She laughed, "That's crazy! You're kidding, right?"
"No," I refuted, "She only just went out that back door there!"
"Really? Uh..." I kept my resolve. "You're kidding!"
"I'm afraid not," though I had begun to laugh.
"See, you can't even keep a straight face!"
I didn't press it much further, but I was still shocked. We began discussion about work for several minutes. From the shadowy alcove in the back, the beaten woman returned. The women's bathroom, I realized, was separate from the men's.
Again over the table she hung in a stupor before us.
"I'm sorry to have bothered your friend before. I didn't mean no offense."
...
"I just saw that you had two drinks there and..."
She lunged forward like a zombie, her hand outstretched in the direction of my friend's drink. As if in correction, she instead braced her arm hard against the bare part of the table.
"And I just got out of jail and I... I just really wanted some of your tequila."
I glanced at my friend who had that look on her face... the one that's in the movie where the character realizes they were telling the truth all along (or something). Yes, we might as well have been in the presence of an alien.
"I didn't mean no offense."
And she left.
Later I related this story to the wait staff at the aforementioned restaurant. They claimed that it was extremely unlikely that she had a husband & was instead homeless. The bruises were more likely from a drunken fall or from a run-in with less than gentle police officers... a fight she had likely forgotten.
Friday, June 13, 2008
What I'm not
First a couple of nuggets from the shop:
-After answering the phone the usual way, a man asked if we sold pool supplies. After a pause, he asked, "Who have I reached?" I repeated the business name. "Do you sell pool supplies?" "No we do not." "Okay."
-This next one was so confusing I can't repeat it exactly. I still don't know what he was asking me for.
Older Guy: I'm meeting a friend here.
Me: Alright that's fine. Did you want to start an order now or wait until he gets here?
OG: Well, I was wondering if you had a computer.
Me: Do I have a computer? [I begin gesturing toward the one I'm standing in front of]
OG: Since he's not here yet, I was hoping to go ahead put my information into your database.
Me: Uh... You mean your order or uh... I don't think I understand what you mean.
OG: I mean do you have a computer.
Me: Just this one here, but it's -
OG: One that I can use temporarily.
Me: No, we don't have anything like that.
OG: Okay... [He hustles off, several binders clutched to his chest]
I did see another guy come in who I recognized a short while later. He said he was looking for someone, but I was busy & didn't have time to discuss it. I didn't see either of them again.
-I only just remembered something that happened back at another store. People ask for strange ways of getting their drinks sometimes; they'll get double cups and a sleeve, "It's for here but I'll take it in a to go cup" [which is great, since I fucking care where you're going with it], "Small in a medium cup" [much like saying "I want to pay less to put more milk in my drink"]... Anyway this woman came in first thing in the morning before I'd even flipped the OPEN sign. She was quibbling about the cost of the smallest coffee (at the time $1.10) & kept coming back up to the counter. She asked me for a sleeve with her tiny cup, which wouldn't fit anyway. She got one regardless and made what amounted to a little hat for the thing - pretty funny looking if you can imagine that. Then she wanted a bag... maybe she was looking for a plastic bag with handles, I wondered? I showed her all we had were little pastry bags, and she plopped her little coffee into one, hat and all. She kind of stormed off without saying anything else. I never saw her again, which is for the best, but I wonder if she thought I was terrible at customer service.
-Soy guy I'd almost forgotten about. This happened at the same store as the above woman, but he's since been terrorizing a different location. It's irritating, though not unusual, that people ask for some leftover steamed milk. Since we steam each drink to order, there's not really much just sitting around... plus it's not free (sorry). It's even less frequent that we have soy remaining. This guy began by asking about the prices for each size of coffee and wound up getting the smallest one. They're all under $2, by the way. Then he wants some soy for it, which I keep behind the counter. He then claims that soy milk will curdle if it's placed in hot coffee, so could I steam it for him first. I explain to him that the little bits that appear are not curdles, and soy can't curdle anyway (in the way that cow's milk does - it can still go bad obviously). Eventually we compromise that I give him a tiny cup of soy to put in the microwave. I lost track of him with other customers - a mistake. A customer comes up after a short while to tell me there's a horrible mess in the microwave. He had heated it for... I don't know, a minute maybe? When he came back I explained that I couldn't let him do that anymore, and no I wouldn't steam soy milk for him for free. I feel like I'm usually pretty reasonable about that sort of thing, and I try not to upcharge people, but he was becoming a real nuisance. That same day he got on his cell phone right by the counter talking to his father. As the conversation escalated (sadly I hadn't heard much of it), he began shouting "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DAD!" I was a little frightened, and he was certainly bigger than I, but I asked him to take his call outside. He obliged with surprising calmness. Later, after I had warned my coworkers about him, I heard he'd begun appearing at the other store with the same weird requests. Now though he was trying to sell us baked goods, because the other place we were getting things from "doesn't know shit about baking." We politely declined.
-There's a guy at the store right now that I lovingly refer to as "the applicant." He came in not too long after we opened to get an application. A day later the phone calls begin. To this point he had not purchased anything yet. He sat down with the phone [I'd definitely told him to keep it to a couple of minutes] and pulled out a folding wallet. This thing was absolutely bursting at the seams with business cards (including one of my coworker's). After a good half hour on the phone I had to use the credit card machine, so I asked him to yield the phone. This began happening every day, & I had to lie that the phone wasn't working. Once, he left a stack of what I had assumed were applications on a table. Thinking he'd be back for them, I left it for a good hour before retrieving it. It was, in fact, an application booklet for the private investigation service up the street.
Regardless of my coldness toward him, he kept coming in practically demanding an interview. We told him we didn't have an opening for someone with his level of experience (none). Still, the calls kept coming to each of our stores. He turned in another application with different information on it. Eventually we had to tell him flat out to stop calling.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I recognized him immediately. He asked for an application, and I said he couldn't have another one. He asked for my business card, which I gave to him (it just has the store number on it). It was a bit busy, and he didn't ask to use the phone.
Today, literally as I'm writing this, he's still here. He asked to use the phone. After ten minutes or so I saw him start to dial another number & said I needed the phone back. He obliged. Then he starts asking me about the prices of all the baked goods. Since we're not Burger King or some shit, the stuff is not cheap. He had his eye on these fancy pastries that run about $2.40. He decided on a croissant ($1.70) and a coffee, totaling $3.10. After looking through this bulging wallet and every pocket on his person, he produces $2.60. I tell him that's what he has (mostly in change). "How much do I need?" I tell him. "I'll be back." Assuming he wouldn't be back, I pulled the items back & prepared to shelve them. Within minutes though he reappeared with an additional pair of quarters (from who knows where). I put the items back on the counter for him.
Applicant: Fill that up please.
Me: No room for cream? [of course later he spilled it all over the counter]
App: I don't like that one [the croissant], I like those round ones [pointing in the case].
Me: The ham and cheese ones? Those are more expensive I'm afraid.
App: How much more expensive?
Me: [Checking in the register] Uh... nearly 5o cents.
App: That's too much. Are all these that much [pointing around the case].
Me: All the filled ones are. The plain ones are just these.
App: I don't like that. These should all be 99 cents.
Me: Okay... well, they're not... I'm afraid.
App: Is that the only one that's for one something?
Me: [I identify all the things in the case that are under $2]
[Someone appears in line behind the applicant]
App: Do you have Philadelphia Cream Cheese? [I almost expected him to say "TM"]
Me: We do.
App: I'll take that then with butter too.
Normally we charge for that kind of shit, but I was pretty tired of dealing with him (not to mention the other customer in line). Nothing else happened except for spending an inordinate amount of time at the to-go station & leaving all his trash at the table. I found, amongst those things, a small slip of paper with my coworker's name (who is no longer in charge of hiring) and the other store's number. Just now he's walking down to the fencing place... where I doubt anyone will be looking to hire him.
I was planning to begin a list of names for the Java Jackets here, but it looks like I already have quite a bit going on in this post. So much for just "a couple nuggets" I guess.
-After answering the phone the usual way, a man asked if we sold pool supplies. After a pause, he asked, "Who have I reached?" I repeated the business name. "Do you sell pool supplies?" "No we do not." "Okay."
-This next one was so confusing I can't repeat it exactly. I still don't know what he was asking me for.
Older Guy: I'm meeting a friend here.
Me: Alright that's fine. Did you want to start an order now or wait until he gets here?
OG: Well, I was wondering if you had a computer.
Me: Do I have a computer? [I begin gesturing toward the one I'm standing in front of]
OG: Since he's not here yet, I was hoping to go ahead put my information into your database.
Me: Uh... You mean your order or uh... I don't think I understand what you mean.
OG: I mean do you have a computer.
Me: Just this one here, but it's -
OG: One that I can use temporarily.
Me: No, we don't have anything like that.
OG: Okay... [He hustles off, several binders clutched to his chest]
I did see another guy come in who I recognized a short while later. He said he was looking for someone, but I was busy & didn't have time to discuss it. I didn't see either of them again.
-I only just remembered something that happened back at another store. People ask for strange ways of getting their drinks sometimes; they'll get double cups and a sleeve, "It's for here but I'll take it in a to go cup" [which is great, since I fucking care where you're going with it], "Small in a medium cup" [much like saying "I want to pay less to put more milk in my drink"]... Anyway this woman came in first thing in the morning before I'd even flipped the OPEN sign. She was quibbling about the cost of the smallest coffee (at the time $1.10) & kept coming back up to the counter. She asked me for a sleeve with her tiny cup, which wouldn't fit anyway. She got one regardless and made what amounted to a little hat for the thing - pretty funny looking if you can imagine that. Then she wanted a bag... maybe she was looking for a plastic bag with handles, I wondered? I showed her all we had were little pastry bags, and she plopped her little coffee into one, hat and all. She kind of stormed off without saying anything else. I never saw her again, which is for the best, but I wonder if she thought I was terrible at customer service.
-Soy guy I'd almost forgotten about. This happened at the same store as the above woman, but he's since been terrorizing a different location. It's irritating, though not unusual, that people ask for some leftover steamed milk. Since we steam each drink to order, there's not really much just sitting around... plus it's not free (sorry). It's even less frequent that we have soy remaining. This guy began by asking about the prices for each size of coffee and wound up getting the smallest one. They're all under $2, by the way. Then he wants some soy for it, which I keep behind the counter. He then claims that soy milk will curdle if it's placed in hot coffee, so could I steam it for him first. I explain to him that the little bits that appear are not curdles, and soy can't curdle anyway (in the way that cow's milk does - it can still go bad obviously). Eventually we compromise that I give him a tiny cup of soy to put in the microwave. I lost track of him with other customers - a mistake. A customer comes up after a short while to tell me there's a horrible mess in the microwave. He had heated it for... I don't know, a minute maybe? When he came back I explained that I couldn't let him do that anymore, and no I wouldn't steam soy milk for him for free. I feel like I'm usually pretty reasonable about that sort of thing, and I try not to upcharge people, but he was becoming a real nuisance. That same day he got on his cell phone right by the counter talking to his father. As the conversation escalated (sadly I hadn't heard much of it), he began shouting "FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU, DAD!" I was a little frightened, and he was certainly bigger than I, but I asked him to take his call outside. He obliged with surprising calmness. Later, after I had warned my coworkers about him, I heard he'd begun appearing at the other store with the same weird requests. Now though he was trying to sell us baked goods, because the other place we were getting things from "doesn't know shit about baking." We politely declined.
-There's a guy at the store right now that I lovingly refer to as "the applicant." He came in not too long after we opened to get an application. A day later the phone calls begin. To this point he had not purchased anything yet. He sat down with the phone [I'd definitely told him to keep it to a couple of minutes] and pulled out a folding wallet. This thing was absolutely bursting at the seams with business cards (including one of my coworker's). After a good half hour on the phone I had to use the credit card machine, so I asked him to yield the phone. This began happening every day, & I had to lie that the phone wasn't working. Once, he left a stack of what I had assumed were applications on a table. Thinking he'd be back for them, I left it for a good hour before retrieving it. It was, in fact, an application booklet for the private investigation service up the street.
Regardless of my coldness toward him, he kept coming in practically demanding an interview. We told him we didn't have an opening for someone with his level of experience (none). Still, the calls kept coming to each of our stores. He turned in another application with different information on it. Eventually we had to tell him flat out to stop calling.
Fast forward to a few weeks ago. I recognized him immediately. He asked for an application, and I said he couldn't have another one. He asked for my business card, which I gave to him (it just has the store number on it). It was a bit busy, and he didn't ask to use the phone.
Today, literally as I'm writing this, he's still here. He asked to use the phone. After ten minutes or so I saw him start to dial another number & said I needed the phone back. He obliged. Then he starts asking me about the prices of all the baked goods. Since we're not Burger King or some shit, the stuff is not cheap. He had his eye on these fancy pastries that run about $2.40. He decided on a croissant ($1.70) and a coffee, totaling $3.10. After looking through this bulging wallet and every pocket on his person, he produces $2.60. I tell him that's what he has (mostly in change). "How much do I need?" I tell him. "I'll be back." Assuming he wouldn't be back, I pulled the items back & prepared to shelve them. Within minutes though he reappeared with an additional pair of quarters (from who knows where). I put the items back on the counter for him.
Applicant: Fill that up please.
Me: No room for cream? [of course later he spilled it all over the counter]
App: I don't like that one [the croissant], I like those round ones [pointing in the case].
Me: The ham and cheese ones? Those are more expensive I'm afraid.
App: How much more expensive?
Me: [Checking in the register] Uh... nearly 5o cents.
App: That's too much. Are all these that much [pointing around the case].
Me: All the filled ones are. The plain ones are just these.
App: I don't like that. These should all be 99 cents.
Me: Okay... well, they're not... I'm afraid.
App: Is that the only one that's for one something?
Me: [I identify all the things in the case that are under $2]
[Someone appears in line behind the applicant]
App: Do you have Philadelphia Cream Cheese? [I almost expected him to say "TM"]
Me: We do.
App: I'll take that then with butter too.
Normally we charge for that kind of shit, but I was pretty tired of dealing with him (not to mention the other customer in line). Nothing else happened except for spending an inordinate amount of time at the to-go station & leaving all his trash at the table. I found, amongst those things, a small slip of paper with my coworker's name (who is no longer in charge of hiring) and the other store's number. Just now he's walking down to the fencing place... where I doubt anyone will be looking to hire him.
I was planning to begin a list of names for the Java Jackets here, but it looks like I already have quite a bit going on in this post. So much for just "a couple nuggets" I guess.
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