Guys, I promise you I can't make this up. I know I've already blogged today, but I need to write about this while it's still fresh in my mind.
Today's 3:15-7:30 shift was, undoubtedly, the most interesting and the most disturbing one I've worked since I started at the store in September. Now, I see a lot of interesting characters and have seen a lot of interesting things, not only while at work, but just in my area in general. I lean very heavily toward the idea that my area just breeds whackos, maybe it's the air, maybe it's the fact that I live in the Bible Belt of New York, or maybe it's just that there's nothing to do around here and so we start to develop various eccentricities and completely messed up habits.
I tend to think it's more of the third one than any others, but that's beside the point, because either way you slice it: I am surrounded by insanity everywhere I go. I'm sure just about every 20 year old could say the same thing, but this is no exaggeration or hyperbole of any sort. I mean, okay, show of hands: who else knows a group of people who hog tied one of their buddies (who consented), duct taped his hood over his face and dragged him through a mall and into a Subway on a sled?
Anyone?
Really? No one?
But anyway, back to this evening. So there I am at my register, happily ringing people up and shoving their money into my drawer (hopefully before they can protest the price of something, so the Service Center can deal with it, because there was a line forming, it was cold in there and I was wearing a short sleeved shirt. My need to keep moving and keep the blood flowing was more powerful than my sympathy for the head cashiers at that point.) I was right at the tail end of my shift with only about forty-five minutes left before I was going to be called off of my register when this guy walked into my lane:
He was probably in his 70's and had two other people with him (I'm assuming his son and his son's girlfriend), who were both in their 30's or so. They had a rather large order, so I prepared myself and got to work. Right away, the crazy old bastard started chattering and, half-listening, I gave him the obligatory smile or chuckle when it was prompted and recited the price to him. He handed me the money and then sonny boy and his woman started putting their groceries up on the belt to be cashed out. Then, I heard this:
“You still got those needles in your tits?”
…
“What, my nipple rings?” Asked the son, raising a defensive hand to chest.
“Yeah, sure, whatever you call them.”
“Yeah, I still have them.”
And then, you guys - on my mother's life, this totally happened., he turned to me. “Would you ever do that?”
I choked back my standard “lolwut?” and cleared my throat, voice cracking when I managed the “'scuse me?”
“Would you ever get needles in your tits?”
“... uh, no.” Turning to the son, “Is... is plastic all right?”
I cashed them out, they left and tried to go about the rest of my shift as if nothing had happened. Twenty minutes later, however, something else happened. I was at the register closest to the girl who was at the U-SCAN and the other two girls were cashing people, my lane was empty. So when the cashier at the U-SCAN called me over, I shrugged and walked up to meet her. Her face bright red, shoulders shaking with the laughter she was fighting like hell to keep at bay, she leaned over to me and cupped her hand around my ear.
“There is, what appears to be, a pair of panties on the floor behind register 7...” she paused to let out a small snort. “Can you go pick them up please?”
This time, I just let it rip.
“...lolwut?!”
“Oh for god's sake- look!” she hissed. I turned to face register 7 and gaped in awe. Sure enough, a pair of underwear was on the floor. I'd like to just jump right in and say yet again, I work in a grocery store. Not a clothing store. Not a Victoria's Secret. A grocery store. One that, incidentally, does not sell underwear.
“Jesus Murphy, what- how am I – why are you doing this to me?!”
“Because you're the only one that's not cashing right now and you get to leave sooner!”
“... I am so showering when I get home.”
“Just use a plastic bag or something!”
And so, cringing with every step, hands shaking and shoulders quivering with laughter, I ripped two plastic bags off of a rack as I walked by, approached the underwear with great trepidation and - -
Dear sweet god in heaven.
I hate my life.
Dirty. Leopard Print. Thongs.
Not giving myself a single second to think about what I was doing, I crouched down, wrapped the underwear up in the bag, the echo of U-SCAN girl's laughter ringing through my ears and quickly balled it up in my hands should any of the customers spare me a glance. Right away, U-SCAN girl was on the intercom, calling both managers to the front of the store, voice shaking as she held back the boom of laughter that escaped from her chest merely seconds after she hung up the phone.
They both arrived several seconds later, curious at how hard she and I were laughing, and we explained to them what had happened. One of them let out a bellow of a laugh and the other looked between us as though searching for a hint of deceit, like maybe this was some late April Fool's Day joke we'd decided to team up and play on them.
“What do I do!? Do I just, like, throw them away or... what?”
“Please.” U-SCAN girl said quickly.
And then, the suspicious manager's face when straight. “You should just take it up to the front desk and sign it in under items left behind.”
Okay, I knew he was kidding. But still, “Do you really think someone would call in to ask about a pair of panties they dropped in the Front End of a grocery store?”
“If they were mine, I would.” And he was laughing again.
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