[A customer wanders into the store, picks up a bundle of bondage rope, drifts over to me and places the rope on the counter.]
Me: “Are you… wanting to purchase this?”
Customer: “No. I just want to be here.”
[He turns and wanders back into the bar.]
Short story shorter, if any minotaurs are reading this, I think I may have found the dude you’re looking for.
I always kind of expect Greek heroes to be taller, though.
[Carlisle and I are playing a word game on my phone when a customer strides in and surveys the store. They are wearing pink camouflage sweatpants, a ribbed, skintight, see-through shirt, and a shoulder-length wig the color of cotton candy, if cotton candy were radioactive.]
Me: “Hi! Let me know if I can help you find anything.”
Customer: “Ew. This is the place with all that freaky shit.”
And I was like, “THE ONLY FREAKY THING IN HERE IS THAT WIG, YOU DAMN FRAGGLE.” But, y’know, quietly. To myself. Days later.
I have really got to work on both the timeliness of my snappy comebacks and the wherewithal to defend my modest freakdom against the freak judgement of freaks who think my freakiness is freakier than their freakiness.
I might also need a thesaurus. Maybe I’ll start with that.
[A gay guy and a straight girl are hovering in the doorway of the shop.]
Gay Guy: “Do you sell shoes?”
Gay Guy: “Oh. Okay.”
Straight Girl: “What about flip-flops? Do you sell flip-flops?”
Straight Girl: “You sell socks, though.”
Straight Girl: “But you don’t sell shoes?”
Straight Girl: [accusingly] “But you sell socks.”
Gay Guy: [to her] “God, you’re stupid.” [then, to me] “She’s stupid. I’m sorry. We’re leaving.”
You know, other than his use of the word “stupid,” there really wasn’t anything to apologize for. Although if someone comes in all, “Oh, you sell video head cleaners but not VCRs?” I will burn this whole place to the ground.
Customer 1: “Let’s go get a drink. I’ll buy.”
Customer 2: “Oh, so you’re my sugar daddy now?”
Customer 1: “Um, no.”
Customer 2: “Yeah, I guess you’re too young to be a sugar daddy. What do you want me to call you instead of sugar daddy?”
Customer 1: “I… hadn’t really thought about it.”
Customer 2: [to me] “He’s younger than you are, but he has money. What does that make him?”
In the defense of everyone involved, it’s quite possible that Customer 1 is actually much older than I am and just has a better skincare regimen. Besides, success is subjective. It’s like Alaska says in that Adore Delano song: I’m “cash poor but spirit wealthy.”
But if you happen to be a sugar daddy in the market for a new pet, let me just point out that I’m also incredibly immature for my age and don’t shed. Plus my credit debt is well below the national average. I’m really quite a steal. References and writing samples available upon request.
[Two customers enter the store with mischievous glints in their eyes.]
Customer 1: “WE’RE GONNA HAVE SEX IN HERE.”
Me: “Are you, now?”
Customer 1: “Nothing says we can’t have sex in here!”
Me: “Just me.”
Customer 1: “But the sign outside doesn’t mention the Forge…”
[Ed. Note: There’s a laminated sign by the front door of Ripcord that says, “No sex in the bar area, bathrooms, or on the patio. If caught, you will be asked to leave, period.”]
Customer 1: “… SO WE’RE ALLOWED TO HAVE SEX IN HERE.”
Me: [leaning over the counter and beaming like a bear trap] “You are welcome to try.”
Customer 1: “…”
Customer 2: [meekly] “I promise we’re not going to have sex in here.”
Time to make more signs for the register, I guess. I hope management is sympathetic when we run out of Post-its.
Straight Girl: [pointing at a display of socks] “Socks.”
Straight Girl: “Socks.”
Me: “… Yes. Those are socks.”
Straight Girl: “How much are they?”
Straight Girl: [grinning seductively] “And how much are they if I show you my boobs?”
Straight Girl: “…”
And then I rolled my eyes and went to help other customers.
I told this story several times throughout the night, and while amused, everyone from the doorman to the bartender to the manager critiqued my response in exactly the same way.
Me: “… and then she was like, ‘And how much are they if I show you my boobs?’ And I was all, ‘$6.99.'”
Them: “You know what would’ve been funnier? If you told her $15.00.”
Me: “Damn it all to hell.”
The new rule at Ripcord is that if a heterosexual wanders into the Forge and gets mouthy, I am to send an emergency text to everybody on duty, so that they can come running and throw efficient shade for me. I sincerely appreciate the support, but it also kind of feels like I’m getting picked last for gay dodgeball.
Customer: “How much are these jockstraps?”
Me: “The Nasty Pig jocks? Those are $59.”
Customer: “Hmm. I think my package is just about ready for one of those.”
[He starts vigorously thrusting his pelvis.]
Customer: “Because [thrust] I’ve [thrust] been [thrust] lifting [thrust] weights!’
Me: [impassive smile]
And then he busied himself out of the store. Had I the chance to do it again, I definitely would’ve started doing the Time Warp and shouting, “GROUP SEX GROUP SEX GROUP SEX” in time to his thrusts, but that would’ve probably gotten real awkward real quickly if he wasn’t familiar with the song and/or movie.
Then again, he’s the one walking into retail establishments and simulating sex in front of the staff. And like it says in the Bible, let he who is not enthusiastically fucking air cast the first stone. Or he who just bought the damn jock already. Something like that. I’ll have to look it up again.