My Name Is Not Bubba (or Susan)

Customer 1: “Hey there, bubba. Let me have a big ol’ bottle of poppers.”

Me: “I’m afraid we don’t sell poppers, but we do have a fine selection of solvents and polish removers.”

Customer 1: [unamused] “You know what I mean, bubba.”

Me: “Yes, I do. Which solvent or polish remover can I get you today?”

[He makes a selection and pays.]

Customer 1: “Okay, bubba, now you just open up that bottle and take a big ol’ whiff.”

Me: “Sorry, no can do.”

Customer 1: “Aw, c’mon, bubba.”

Me: “Nope.”

Customer 1: [even less amused] “Fine. G’night, bubba.”

[He exits. Then, later…]

Customer 2: “Hi, lover.”

Me: “Hello.”

[He makes a lap of the store and heads back to the door.]

Customer 2: “Thanks, lover.”

And I’m just sitting behind the counter, pulsating with resentments and silently screaming, “MY NAME IS MARJORIE.”

Which… really doesn’t convey the righteous indignation I was hoping for. I may need to find a more aggressive nickname — somebody do some research and let me know if Leonidas is available. Or Caligula. Or pretty much anything Greco-Roman and stabby.

ETA: I have since discovered that the Greek translation of Marjorie is Margaritári, which sounds both drunken and stabby. Referring to myself in third person from here on out, Margaritári will be taking the rest of the afternoon off to execute Phoenican emissaries and snuggle Gerard Butler. Hold Margaritári’s calls.

We actually don’t carry them, period. I probably should’ve clarified that.

Customer: “Do you carry butt plugs for straight people?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Hmm.”

[He turns to leave, and in doing so spies a display of bondage supplies.]

Customer: “Ugh. Rope.”

[He rolls his eyes and stalks out.]

I’m kinda left with more questions than answers on this one.

But technically it’s not prostitution, on account of the motivation being anxiety instead of profit. Case dismissed.

A series of texts I sent to an attorney friend who hired me for a mobile notary assignment:

Notarization complete! The total for the notary service is $32, but the client’s condo was slightly warmer than I prefer, so you owe me an additional $10,000 in workman’s comp and emotional damages. Thanks!

Oh, also, the client had a friend visiting, and I get nervous around strangers, so I gave everyone handy-jays. I know, I know, “old behavior,” but still a viable business expense.

You know what? Instead of me trying to do math, why don’t you just send me a blank check? Or a credit card! (But NOT Diner’s Club. I have standards.)

He hasn’t responded, but I’m sure we possibly still have a healthy working relationship.

ETA: He just wrote back all skeptical, like, “Are you sure you gave everyone a handy?” Well, of course I did, but want to know who won’t be getting the steak-and-shake special? People who doubt my professionalism and attention to detail, that’s who.

This is seriously why most mobile notaries don’t even bother having pimps.

Homoward Bound

Customer: “Is this a gay bar?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Oh.”

[He glances about at all the gay surrounding him.]

Customer: “Where are the straight bars?”

Me: “… Everywhere else?”

As soon as he walked out, I remembered that there are a lot of bars up and down Washington Avenue, so I ran after him and yelled, “WASHINGTON,” but I don’t think he heard me, which probably worked out for the best. Considering the powers of deduction he exhibited, he wouldn’t have known whether I meant the street, the state, or the city, so God only knows where he would’ve ended up.

I do hope he finds a nice straight bar, though. Even if dollars to donuts says he wanders into a Mexican restaurant and starts ordering Chinese food.

I do NOT live for the applause, Ms. Germanotta. Not any longer.

Customer: “Having fun yet?”

Me: “I am. It’s been a good night.”

Customer: “Yeah, I’ve been out there entertaining the crowd, but now it’s time for the long walk home.”

Me: “Well, you have a great evening.”

Customer: “I only live three blocks away.”

Me: “Oh, okay, cool. A short walk, then.”

Customer: “You know, with your hands being the size they are, you could probably get both of them in me and clap.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “And again, I’m only three blocks away. If that’s your thing.”

Me: “It’s… really not.”

Customer: “Oh.”

[awkward slience]

Customer: “It was the clapping comment, huh?”

Me: “Yeah. It was.”

Customer: “Understandable. Understandable.”

But hey, at least he’s open to constructive criticism. As opposed to just being… y’know… open.

I’m going to think about anything else now.