Customer: [bursting into the store] “We need to fit Richard for a harness.”
Me: “… Okay. Do you have a particular harness in mind?”
Customer: “Yes. Richard needs a bulldog harness.”
Me: “Great! Let me show you what we currently have.”
Customer: “Hmm. No, no, these won’t do. Richard needs a harness with silver buckles instead of these black ones.”
Me: “I’m afraid I don’t have any of those in stock right now, but I’m expecting a shipment within the next week or so.”
Customer: “Oh, good. Once you get the new harnesses in, just put one aside for Richard. Thanks!”
It took me a good 30 minutes to realize that Richard is one of the Ripcord bartenders, and that the customer wasn’t referring to himself in third person. Which? More than a little disappointing. It would’ve been awesome if he’d freaked out over the lack of harnesses and gone, “RICHARD SMASH,” then thrown a shelving unit through the wall.
Then again, had Richard smashed, Marjorie would’ve had to clean up the damn mess, like Marjorie always does. Marjorie would’ve been profoundly unamused by that. Marjorie would’ve smashed back.
Marjorie thinks Richard needs to check Richardself before Richard wrecks Richardself.
