Straight girl with boyfriend in tow: “Hello! We’re from the Woodlands. I have two dads, and they said I could go anywhere except Ripcord, so we came here.”
In lieu of my standard, apoplectic rant about hetero privilege, I’m just going to high-five this chick and sell her some leather. (Sorry, dads! PS: Your daughter is awesome.)
Me, ordering dinner online: “Mediterranean food is clean and healthy. I’ll get that.”
Also me, same order: “OH THANK CHRIST THEY HAVE CHEESE FRIES.”
The Ripcord staff and I are currently giving each other clever, old-timey nicknames. So far we’ve got Shifty, Shorty, Tiny, Smitty, and Poughkeepsie Lil.
I also came up with Claptrap McGillicutty, which is going over well, but I’m a lot more partial to Sammy Fast Eyes, because it sounds like a character from Angel Heart. We’ll see what sticks.
A straight girl just wandered in, picked up a pair of briefs and asked, “Is this a banana hammock?” And then another straight girl dragged her out of the shop while she screamed, “BUT I WANT TO LEARN…”
I hope she comes back. I have so many lessons to bestow upon her.
Bar patron: [walks in, looks around] “OH, okay! You sell LEATHER. This is a LEATHER shop.”
I… thought that was self-explanatory. On account of, y’know, all the leather.
If I had it to do again, I would grab a jockstrap and a bottle of lube and yell, “WRONG. We’re a POLYESTER AND SILICONE SHOP.” But I can’t decide if I want there to be a next time or not.
Customer: “I like your pendant! What is it?”
Me: “It’s a recovery symbol.”
Customer: “Oh, okay. [laughing] I thought it was from Harry Potter.”
Me: “Yeah, so did I. But I was really drunk when I bought it.”
It’s such a burden to be this hilarious, you guys. It’s like an albatross or whatever.
Me: “We close in ten minutes, and I’ve only had credit card sales, so I won’t have to count my drawer down again. Awesome.”
Customer: “Hello! I’d like to purchase this $5 item using a large bill.”
Me: “Well played.”
What started out as an experiment with filters has mutated into a Gothic Western Adventure series.
This night, you guys.
If any unbalanced, heavily intoxicated perverts from Louisiana ask, the big, muscly bartender and I are very happy together, okay?
A customer just flounced through the door, slurred, “When they dug up King Tut, he was wearing a solid gold cock ring,” and sashayed back out.
It might be time for everyone involved here to re-evaluate some life choices.