So I have a crush on you... still!

After my last post about crushing on customers, I have bolstered my confidence level. With a little time and encouragement, I am ready to become the bear. Or take on the bear, or successfully evade the bear, I don't remember how it goes exactly. Just keep one thing in mind; have no fear ladies, I am not actually a bear.
BECOMING THE BEAR
I recently watched the movie Grizzly Man, and let me tell you... being a bear is tough! I'm not sure if I'm prepared for the ramifications of defecating in my crush's territory. I'm willing to give it the old college try! If I am accused of anything, it will be of taking the metaphor too far. Or assault. Anyway the point is I have to step it up if I want anything to develop. No more pussyfooting around! No more using words that contain "pussy" either! The ladies only like that if you're talking dirty to 'em, or so I've been told. The closest I've gotten was "I haven't showered in six days," but she didn't go for that. I even told her that bears don't shower. You know she managed to work that into the restraining order! That lawyer was a real bear of a wordsmith.
So if I've learned anything from this (aside from all that cool stuff about bears), it's that ladies like a man of action.
SUBMITTING TO THE BEAR
Any survivalist can tell you that an encounter with a bear is potentially fatal. Most women respond to a bear confrontation in the following ways:
1) Running in fear, obstructing the bear's path with mobile objects and small children (let me tell you this one is pretty irritating).
2) Mace (okay this one is more irritating I guess). Tip: don't fire mace into the wind.
3) Dropping to the floor and pretending to be dead. Most bears will fall for this and leave you alone. As far as I know, there have been no cases of ursine necrophilia.
4) Embracing the bear. This will so confuse the bear he may be unable to act. Or he will kill you instantly with a hug of his namesake. At the very least that would make a kickass obituary.
5) Distracting the bear with bells or bits of string. Bears can be quite playful. They may also mistake you for a woodland trolley, which is of no interest to the bear (except maybe during rush hour).
MOVING ON FROM THE BEAR ANALOGY
There comes a time in every relationship where a man has to stop pretending to be a bear. I forget who it was who said, "Stop that. It went from endearing to creepy like, really fast." Maybe it was that blond girl... I don't remember her name; I haven't seen her in awhile. Here are some signs that the guy who is crushing on you (me) is trying to express interest without anthropomorphisms:
1) I appear to be avoiding looking at your chest. Now I'm not the kind of guy who stares at breasts wantonly, but let's call to mind the "Don't push the button" scenario. When I start finding a girl attractive, a part of my mind tells me not to screw it up by staring at her chest. Now you've done it! Stupid mind. If all else fails, I may pretend to be reading the text on your shirt (which is fucking cruel). Additionally, I frequently worry that transferring change or beverages across the counter will be mistaken for a sly boob-look. Not so!
2) I check your hand for a wedding ring. There's no way I'm gonna ask you about your boyfriend, so if you have one you might as well try to work it into the conversation somehow.
3) The following takes place one or more times:
Me - You live or work around here?
Gal - Oh yeah.
Me - On your way to work?
Gal - Yeah.
Me - Cool, where do you work [again]?
Gal - Oh just up the street.
Me - Cool, cool... uh... have a good one!
Gal - Yeah.
4) In the course of trying to converse with you, I forget to give you your coffee.
5) I put a heart on your latte. Truthfully I do this pretty much every time, but it's cool if you want to take it as a gesture of flattery.
NOT CALLING THE BEAR AWKWARD, BECAUSE HE'S SENSITIVE
There it is, ladies. Call me!

I must have picked up the wrong phone

A few things have been troubling me.
First, there's Qweta. Simple misspelling of QWERTY or something far more sinister? You decide.
Saturday night. Begin scene. I'm checking my phone for missed calls again (none!) when I discover a new message. 919 area code, but a number I don't recognize. I've given my number to countless ladies at the clubs, to be sure, but this is on my private number. Somebody is serious about getting a hold of some Vitamin R.
Rec 8:12 - U better tell ya lil friend 2 keep my name out her mouth.
My little friend... Instantly Scarface comes to mind, but having not shot anyone recently I put that out of my head. Still, looking back, that would be a pretty badass way to tell somebody they were going to die. "My little friend here just can't keep your name out of his mouth." Then the kiss of death puns begin and we have one clusterfuck of a mixed metaphor. Movie goodness! Right, so I respond politely:
Sent 8:15 - I bet the person you meant to send this to would feel pretty threatened right now. I however am having a nice laff
Rec 8:37 - If this is samone then i dnt feel stupid. However da chic im referenin 2 is tish. So i figured u a get da mesage across!
[ed NOTE: names and spelling have not been changed. Texting has no innocents.]
Rec 8:49 - Bein dat u pregnant im not tryna stress u cuz dats a beautiful thng.
Sent 8:53 - Turns out I wasn't pregnant. Just gas.
Rec 9:01 - Dats cute! But its so weird how i saw sum pics of u n yo man on myspace? I wud tel u who but u might beat her ass again
Sent 9:20 - I'm on my way there now. sumbody's bout ta get cut!
Rec 9:20 - Who gurl
Sent 9:30 - Tish or that bitch b fuckin wit my boo
[At this point I had assistance with my messages from a room full of people]
Rec 9:36 - What? Who is ur boo?
Rec 9:39 - How did we change da conversation. Do u even knw who dis is?
Sent 9:43 - Whatevs i lost all my numbers dropin da phone in th toilet
Rec 9:47 - Like i said b4 it aint no beef wit u. Its dat bitch tish dat keep runin ha trap. Dis is qweta
Rec 10:34 - Nicole aint got shit 2 do wit dis so when u c her wit me 2nite dnt let up or whoop ha ass again CUZ I SAID SO.
Sent 10:36 - we straight
Rec 10:45 - What? Yo what da fuck dat mean. Im not 4 dat bs jus let ur bitch ass friend tish knw we gon b at da pool hog n efland.

Aaaand I left it at that.

Good Grief!

I've been struggling to come up with a concept for a new post. I have a few more work stories to tell, but it was running a bit dry. Recently, though, I began to ponder a concept which has always plagued me - why do people think Cathy is funny?
Then I went to the site & the new post material was solidified:
In case you're not wearing your monocle right now, let's just cut to the last frame. "Once I was 'large'. Now I am 'Venti'."
As her girth expands in each frame, so do the grammatical errors. Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks, people. Also, is her mirror (frame 4) on top of her desk (frame 2)? Oh I see, her torso is forming out of the floor as in Hellraiser. As the cellulite ripples over the newly formed bone, we hear the distinct sounds of both... "Flip flip click click." Shit, that is funny! Maybe I was wrong about Cathy!



Okay let's pause to reflect a bit. What is humor? I sound like a right ponce with that question don't I? My answer to that, simply, is the opposite of what is expected, as in irony. Let's examine, for instance, the Alanis Morissette song "Ironic." In the song, several situations are presented as ironic. To wit:
-A black fly in your chardonnay
-Rain on your wedding day
-A free ride when you've already paid
Before you ask, yes I'm doing that from memory. Shut up. Anyway, each situation there is an unfortunate circumstance to be sure (though the last one is lacking any sense whatsoever), but not ironic. Sorry Alanis. I'm not the first person to point this out, I know, but I'm proving a point here. The irony in a song called "Ironic" is that it contains no ironies. That's funny! Let's apply that then to Cathy. The humor in a strip meant to be comic is that it contains no humor. It's all making sense now!
Now we are presented with a puzzle - which line is bigger? Is it
a) the countertop
b) Cathy's mouth
c) They're both the same size, silly!
If you've ever read an optical illusion book, you'll know the answer is c. It's the opposite of what you'd expect! See, the way the lines are drawn, you're meant to assume the counter space is larger. That's a thing we artists (and by "we" I mean the royal "we," or not me) call perspective. If you pull out a ruler you'll see they are actually the same length. No, don't measure your computer screen, silly idiot! Take my word for it. In the next panel, surely Cathy will devour the counter! I think you'll join me in saying, "SHIT dude, that's funny! Cathy, you so ca-ray-zeeee!"


For you monoclely challenged, the final frame reads
Cathy: "We used to 'pig out'. Now we 'bird out'."
Cathy's mom or possibly older friend: "I crave hulled millet!"
SHIT dude, that's fu- HOLD IT! Yes, I know "hulled millet" sounds pretty silly, but let's look at this like the professional humorologists we are. Here's the situation:
1) Cathy takes a common idiomatic phrase and makes it her own.
2) Cathy's older friend (whom they bring along to appear younger and more fertile) interprets the new idiom literally.
Using our basic definition of humor, let's do some interpretating of our own!
Expectation: To have made it to such a ripe old age, Cathy's friend/mom must have an ounce of sense.
Irony: The woman is a blathering idiot!
Everybody now, "SHIT dude, that's funny!"
Artificial zoom!
Cathy: Listen to me tell you about woman things!
[Cathy's friends snap each other's bra straps]
Cathy's friends: Lip Augmentation! Eyelash tattoo! Botox!
This is an excerpt from a much longer comic, but I assure you no context is lost in the summation. It's time to apply life skillz...
Expectation: Cathy has ten portly, possibly gay friends.
Ironic reversal: These women would rather have voluntary surgery than listen to Cathy speak.
Before we jump in with hearty guffaws, this shit is layered!
Expectation: Cathy's call to maintain confident womanhood will be looked upon with admiration by the countless female readers who revere her.
Ironic reversal: Cathy is a pathetic mockery of feminism through its vapid adulation of bourgeois excess. I'm usin' big ol' words!

Okay that's all I got for today. I looked at a picture of the author and felt intense pity. Also, she apparently won the Reuben Award in 1992. The criteria for that seems to be... to have not won it before. Unless you're Gary Larson.

IMAGES USED UNDER FAIR USE, REVIEW. CATHY IS COPYRIGHTED 2008 CATHY GUISEWITE. HELLRAISER IS COPYRIGHTED 1987 NEW WORLD PICTURES.

Winders! Part 3: Gaping Maw

A phenomenon to which I am no stranger - a situation gives instance wherein one must look upwards. As I have mentioned, this is no cause to allow the jaw to hang lackadaisically. No, dear friend, keep the lips pursed as though yearning upwards for a kiss... perhaps from a lover leaning over the La-Z-Boy to bid a good night. Should this lover be greeted with an agape oral cavity, said osculating person's libido shall be summarily withered. Upon entering Sam's Club, a crushing majority are floored by the terrifying beauty of floor to ceiling excess. End-caps are terraced as in rice paddies to maximize the number of impulse buys mountained atop one another. As each scooter rounds the corner, it brings with it a fresh fly-catcher. Without bothering to pluck the struggling bugs from their teeth, they putter down the aisles with eyes heavenward. Children scatter, and the elderly are cut down like so many daisies beneath a tractor. One must make way, as the sublime ignores all precedent and demands appreciation.

When customers were not completely ignoring me or just asking where things were, they were finding surprising ways to incorrectly answer my question. Perhaps you've been in a place where you've had to utter the same phrase countless times, such as "Paper or plastic?" and "Too boku, no boom boom for soul brother!" Have you then received the same clever retort as many times? Here are the most common responses, in descending order of frequency:
"Do you have any home improvements coming up?"
1. "Huh?"
This may be replaced simply with a blank stare.
2. "Where the tools?"
Try looking over by the mirrors & you might see 'em.
3. "I sure hope not!"
Then I guess you have something to look forward to when you get back from Sam's Club.
4. "How much?"
I have no idea.
5. "Not fer winders!"

That last one requires a bit of explanation. See, there's a window display on the booth, but there are also numerous indicators that Lundberg offers more than just diminutive windows. In addition to the suffix to the name, "Windows and Siding," my booth had signs hanging from the front with all the different offerings. Each sign was printed in a large, red font popular at airport landing strips. What I'm saying here is that failure to recognize that windows were not the sole product could only mean one of two things: 1) Most people don't pay a lick of attention, 2) Sam's Club shoppers are completely illiterate, purchasing only items which they can see through the package or recognize from the logo. I'll let you guess which I'm leaning towards.

Okay, I understand that I'm looking pretty harsh here. Let's take a moment, though, to examine the following construction:
"Not fer winders!"
The closest I can get to deciphering that is... "I'm not in the market, currently, for windows." I suppose it's the preposition that's throwing me off. Much like the phrase "Where my dawgs at?" there is no clear reason to include a preposition... at all. Isn't the purpose of simplifying language to colloquialisms to, you know, shorten stuff? Well I might not have preferred having rednecks yell "NO WINDOWS!" every time I asked a question, but at least it would have made some sense. Now for the real puzzler.
"Not fer gutters!"
As I have said, the window display was the most prominent item on my booth. Clog-free gutters fell third in the list of products, neatly nestled between "ROOFING" and "TRIMMING." How, then, were gutters so frequently picked as whipping boy for my enterprise? Additionally, this negates both the inattention and illiteracy theories I posed earlier, since they must have read the sign in order to come to that conclusion. Allow me to illustrate via Paint:

So... you'll notice there's no vest in that drawing. No vest I tell you. All summer I'd get calls from my "manager" (the one I saw only twice in person) telling me when I'd be working, etc., and giving the weekly vest update. "The vests are coming in Monday." "There was a problem with the vest order, so we should have them by Friday." "Won't things be much better once those vests come in?" But they never did. One of the last conversations I had with the guy was about the vests coming shortly after I'd be returning to Chapel Hill, where I would not be selling windows. Then this:
Frumpy guy: You can just leave the vest in the booth when you leave the last time.
Me: I never got a vest.
FG: You already returned it?
Me: I never got one.
FG: Right, the new ones haven't come in yet.
Me: I never got one of the old ones either.
FG: You're sure?
Me: I'm sure.
See, if I'd had a vest, which was blue (unlike the red Partner vests), I began to figure people wouldn't mistake me for an employee anymore. Then they'd stop asking me where things were! I realize now that was a delusion, but without dreams, what else did I have? And that wasn't the end of the vest saga. My father started getting calls from FG about the vest and even wanted to arrange to pick it up from their house.
Dad: Where's that vest so I can return it to these guys?
Me: I don't have the vest.
Dad: You already returned it?
Me: No I never got one.
Dad: He's telling me he wants to pick it up. You're sure you never got one?
Me: I heard a lot about the vests, but I never had the pleasure of meeting one. You could give him that Food Lion vest. He probably wouldn't notice.
Dad: They want you to pay to replace it if you've lost it.
Me: I will happily give them the cash value of no vest. Which is nothing. No dollars for no vest. You think they'll take a check?
Alright I made that last part up, but they did call him several more times. He also forwarded me a letter about it. I wish I'd had the foresight to keep the letter, but I think I can reproduce it fairly accurately.
[Lundberg letterhead]
Dear XXXXXX,
Please return the vest you were given as a demo representative.
Sincerely,
Frumpy Guy

That's all I have for now. I can feel my life will draining as the mere image assaults my brain. Sexually.

Winders! Part 2: Partners

Roughly every half hour, an announcement would come over the PA. Sometimes it would be a pre-recorded segment, but mostly it was one of the managers reading from a script. Regardless, the volume was up so loud that any message would be mangled into a warbly pidgin wherein you could make out words like "meat" or "sale" but were otherwise at a loss. Every announcement began "Attention Members and Guests" for sales or "Attention Members and Partners" for... I don't know, safety maybe? For neophytes:
Members: People who pay to shop at Sam's Club. And I do mean shop, because you can't get into the store without a membership (even if you're not buying anything).
Guests: People who mooch off of paying members. Cannot buy anything, but I presume can put things on their friend's ticket.
Partners: Underpaid troglodytes who trudge the floor looking for ways to irritate demo representatives.


Once I was asked if I would like to write an announcement to go over the PA. An excitable gentleman got me to write out a short script, which I did happily (you'll recall I was quite bored). I had seen him many times before, and he even humored me in getting an explanation of my job. He returned periodically to check on my progress, then rushed my finished copy to the higher-ups. Not only did I never hear the announcement, the gentleman disappeared along with it. I can only assume he went on to publish my copy as his own and is now living comfortably off the royalties.

Now the first Partner I met was not even human. I mistakenly assumed that Robot Rick would greet me every time entered the store that summer... but he was only there that first day. I guess he was on tour? It was this creepy-ass thing on tank treads that would scoot around scaring the shit out of little kids asking if they knew about the sale on 4 gallon tubs of ice cream. The dude that controlled RR wasn't even remotely hidden... you could see him next to the front staging at a control panel and mic. In fact, you could hear him better than the robot. I have to admit the little bastard gave me a hint of glee that first day, that one of my coworkers might wig out and start tearing the arms off of 8 year olds, but that dream was denied me.

With that exception, I typically only saw the Partners for two reasons: rounding up for a meeting in the back, no doubt rustling cattle for the big meat department sale, or shuffling about ignoring customers. I can say categorically that a Member would only be greeted by staff when they already knew what they were looking for. In other cases they would come to me and ask for assistance. The gall! 90% of my conversations with Members went as follows:
Me: Hello, how are you? Do you have any home improvements coming up? [note the lack of pause after the first question]
Hoser: Where the tools?
Me: Sorry, I wouldn't know, I don't work for Sam's Club.
Hoser: [putters off]
Okay my response was an obvious lie... I did, after all, catalog everything to stave off boredom. I knew better than the Partners where shit was in that store, but you see misanthropy has a cruel price. In some instances I would just look at the object in question, as it was inevitably in my immediate proximity. As when there was a 6'x6' display of Tide behind my booth,
Me: [my deal]
Hoser: Where the laundry soap?
Me: [steps aside to reveal enormous display]
Hoser: All you got's Tide?
Me: [shrugs]
No one ever called me out for misinformation, though a Partner would occasionally ask if I could help customers find things. I told them I couldn't leave my booth. That was a lie.

I engaged in a losing war with the Partners which haunts me to this day. They had this underground network of tunnels and trap doors so they could pop up and annoy me on a whim. Seriously these guys would come out of nowhere, and many times I couldn't put a face on my tormentor. I happened to be stationed near the electronics. Nearest was a television set to repeat a commercial for Lysol toilet cleaner. They were running this series with "facts," and I have to say their primary sources were dubious. At one point I had the whole segment memorized since I had to hear it so many goddamn times. It began, "Fact: a bathroom that gets constant traffic needs constant freshening." Even still the word "freshening" makes me cringe... My tactic was to sneak over to the television and mute it, and theirs was to crank it back up to max. Of course I never did this while I could be seen (presumably), but I think one of the managers knew it was me who was turning it down. Similarly, the aisle had these portable televisions and DVD players. Every person who walked by, and I mean Partners and Members, would jack each one all the way up in turn. Why, I ask you? Why? These things all had shitty built-in speakers and shitty reception, so end the end you had your own personal Merzbow concert. That was easy enough to fix, but for awhile they had this backpack thing high up on one of the endcaps. See the idea was you buy this $600 portable television-in-a-bag, hang it over one of the front seats, and PRESTO your spawn are busied drooling over Spongebob instead of yelling at each other not to look out "my window." The bag had a video player of some sort in it, and they had this ancient Olson twins music video playing in a loop. This was, I assume, from the height of their Full House popularity, and they couldn't have been older than ten. The shitty speakers at full volume did nothing to improve the off-key renditions of "Wheels on the Bus" and "Old MacDonald." After enduring this affront for several days, I lost my better judgment & scaled the display to mute the bitches. Fortunately, none of the Partners spotted me or had the minerals to get up there to turn it back up.

Up next... Part three: Terrifyingly Beautiful

Winders! Part One: The Hours

Back a while ago I made some terrible images to accompany my tale of woe with Lundberg Windows and Siding. This was during my "humorously bad Photoshop phase," from which I have not fully recovered. I will, as my high school German teacher would say, salt and pepper them throughout this retelling.

First, let's set the stage. A 19 year old boy returns from his first summer at university jobless. He puts in applications at all the usual spots - Starbucks, uh... actually I think that was the only one. But he picks up applications for all sorts of crazy places. Oh yeah and Target. His friend got a job there but he applied too late or something. Right, so he naturally starts scouring the paper and finds that Cutco hires all the goddamn time, but this guy's no sucker. Okay he's not that kind of sucker. He finds one that sounds promising... "Demo representative" for $10/hr plus commission. He thinks "demo" will be the sort of thing where he tells people about a product & shows them how it works. He is wrong. Oh so wrong. He shows up for an interview dressed in his best Sunday slacks and polo within a Sam's Club, where he is not a member. He is not so much given the job as he is immediately asked to man the booth for the next four hours. He politely declines. He meets the man again (for the penultimate time) at a K-Mart... and the odyssey begins. He receives no vest, I repeat, no goddamn vest. Then he stops using the third person present tense because, frankly, it's getting irritating.

The K-Mart gig was actually not so bad. See my job was to stand at this booth for four hours. It was this little rolly thing, like a big box, with a sign and a sample window on it. At first I tried to glean what sort of information I was to be giving the customers, but I eventually determined that the answer was a tidy amount of none. In fact, it almost seemed like I was being aggressively denied information about the product... but I'll get to that later. Anyway I was beginning to wonder what exactly "demo" stood for, since the only demonstrating I could do was open and close the window display. "Tilts open for easy cleaning!" The beauty of the K-Mart gig was that there were people there, you know, buying things and walking by. I was also right by the front door with a girl selling cell phone plans (never buy from these people - it's a big ol' ripoff), so you better believe you were gonna get harassed when you walked in. Just by the sheer number of people I got a decent number of leads. And by the way, what the fuck is a lead? I just ask everybody "Do you have any home improvements coming up?" and, if so, take their name for a "Free in-home consultation!" That's a lead in the home improvement biz. Call me a traditionalist, but it seems to me a lead involves some kind of inside information, not just bluntly asking people. So I guess that's why it was called something other than "salesman," because I didn't actually do any selling. And oh, while we're there, let's talk about pricing. That's right I still don't know how much anything cost. Not even a ballpark figure. Sure, I can't go quoting prices to people without seeing their house or whatever, but cost was 9 times out of 10 the first thing people asked about. And when denied any kind of range, most just walked away. I mean I had that line about the free consultation, but you have to figure most people don't just go replacing their gutters on a whim. I'll talk more about the customers later though.

K-Mart only lasted about a week when Lundberg's contract with them expired, so I was relocated to a Sam's Club in Matthews that was being remodeled. From the outside it looked closed for remodeling, but there was a sign up that they were still open around the side. There were... not so many customers. I was positioned near the back in one of the main aisles. Let me please tell you that I can still recall how it smelled. Like a warehouse floor... with sawdust. I saw, by my best guess, about one person every half hour. Within my four hour shift, let me also tell you that the frequency (with those 8 people) that were in the market for home improvements was tragically low. Originally I claimed that I would be interested in working 8 hour shifts... I needed the money after all. But let me tell you further that a single 8 hour shift at this job would render one in a similar state to that kid who saw his whole family murdered with a croquet set (only $14.99!) - irreparably mute with a thin lock of white hair. So boring. Here is a list of some things I did to keep myself occupied:
1) Recovered the combination to the lock on the box by trial and error. It was 776. I started at 000.
2) Not reading. It was so boring that anything further relaxing would have put me in a coma.
3) Not writing. With the exception of a letter I wrote once, the experience was so mind-numbing I couldn't come up with anything. Imagine, if you will, trying to get a group of 10 year olds excited about balancing a checkbook, and you will catch a rare glimpse into my brain at that time.
4) Cataloged the things I could see. A list, I mean, of the various products and their prices within my proximity.
5) Engaged in a cold war with the Sam's Club staff (you'll have to wait until installment 2 for that!).
6) Created dialog for customers in the distance. I think somebody only heard me once, and they didn't say anything about it.
7) Sung to myself quietly.
8) Scanned the pamphlets in the box, only a handful of which were for products Lundberg carried. I was never told which handful those were.
9) Walked to the bathroom or for water, about once an hour.
10) Worked out increments for how long I had remaining on my shift. For instance, "I am 3/10 of the way finished."

Every one of these tasks was like a little reward I would give myself to stay sane. I might, say, scold myself for going to the bathroom too soon or pat myself on the back for not looking at the clock in five minutes. Actually the last time I saw my supervisor was when I had been in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to mind. Still, I lived in fear that he might show up when I wasn't there or something, so I always arrived and left exactly on time. I even accounted for the time it would take me to roll the box into and out of the aisle from the front.

Alright I'll wrap this segment up. Next I'll talk a little about the Sam's Club staff.

So I have a crush on you...

A GUIDE FOR WHAT TO DO IF I HAVE A CRUSH ON YOU

ACCEPTANCE
1. Congratulations!
2. Although I may appear uninterested, it's a ruse.
3. You may become confused or frightened at first. Don't worry, that's normal! I can be pretty intimidating. Fear not though, I'm harmless. I've never even been in a fight! Well, except that one time that another kid threw a book bag at my head and I tackled him. But you know I didn't have a crush on him & I was 12.
4. Seriously if you're still thinking about #3 you shouldn't. Look at these arms! They're like noodles. Sexy noodles?
5. Chances are the only time we've conversed is when I asked you what size you wanted for your drink. In rare cases we may have exchanged names. This is also normal.
6. You may be wondering, "What's in it for me?" Wonder no more (but don't worry, wondering is normal!). See all this coffee? I'm authorized to give you a discount of up to 10%, yo. Okay I have to make up the difference but that's like paying for a date, right? So like if I give you that discount a few dozen times that's almost as much as dinner I think. At Elmo's maybe? First date! Without leaving the shop!
7. Now you may be worried about how things work out mathematically in #6. Like if you're expecting a firm hug or possibly a peck on the cheek by date 3, we should probably discuss that first. Especially if we are working with fractions of dates. I know most girls think it's a bit weird when you take a calculator out on a date (I think), so maybe we should work out a rounding system.
8. Apparently in high school I was known as a druggie. Like that guy in the drive thru at Taco Bell asked me what school I went to and if I "smoked tree." As I paused to figure out what "tree" referred to, he asked me again and I sped off without collecting my change. So anyway I'm really just a sleepy guy. I like naps. Is that so wrong? It's okay if you're into that sort of thing (drugs I mean). Who hasn't smoked the proverbial "tree," right? Am I right? You're right, I don't know.
9. Maybe I went a little too far with #8? Let's just stick with a "say no to drugs" policy. I don't want to wind up in one of those conversations with all those confusing slang words. I have a general rule that if I can't identify something I don't put it in my mouth. Unless it smells like curry. I am a curry fiend! Please don't put drugs in my curry.

UNDERSTANDING
1. You may not be aware of the crush. This is normal.
2. I will not tell you directly about the crush, and I may refrain from looking you in the eyes. This is because I am afraid of you. Not because you're a scary person! I'm just sensitive.
3. My job doesn't really allow me to tell people I have crushes on them. We wouldn't want the other customers to get jealous! Soon everybody will be wanting a crush. And then come the 10% discounts... and my calculator only has one memory slot! So let's just keep it to ourselves. Or I guess I'll just keep it to ourselves since you're not aware of it yet.
4. If we run into each other spontaneously, I will pretend I have never met you. This is a common defense mechanism for humans I promise because I read it on the internet (it was a forum or maybe wikipedia!). I may then curl into a ball and weep softly. This is a common defense mechanism for puppies. Everybody loves puppies!
5. My friends may try to tell you about the crush to ease the the strain of my infinite sorrow. Ignore their lies! I have no friends. You are witnessing a doppelganger!

Hopefully that clears up a few things. Now if you'll excuse me I have a couple of results in my area from Nerve.com. I have it on good authority that they have what I'm looking for in Durham.

Nevermind, they didn't seem very nice. Casual dating indeed! That's why I carry my Grandmother's engagement ring with me all the time. Wouldn't want to let one slip through! Of course I have to give it back to her once she figures out it's gone, so act fast.