So, this just happened to me.
We often have to operate my store with two people on the floor. When we get hit by a huge rush with just two people, things can get pretty difficult. Today, I was on the verge of running out of coffee when someone yelled across the store at me for a rag. I told them I'd be out in just a moment to deal with the mess, which earned an eye roll as per usual, but I regret nothing. I'm sure the next few people who ordered a cup of coffee appreciated the extra moment I took to brew it for them.
I go out to the condiment bar, and a woman and a man are joking around while trying to mop up a huge mess with an entire dispenser's worth of napkins. The woman had managed to spill ALL of our half n half, which had been about 3/4 of the way full at the time. It's a pretty big container.
Politely as I could while rushing, I asked them to let me take care of the mess. When they continued to use napkins, I said something along the lines of "I appreciate the help, but please just let me handle it. I don't want to use this many napkins. Thank you for the help. I appreciate it."
The woman was clearly immediately offended and stood by my side for a moment (making it impossible for me to finish cleaning the mess.) She then responded, "For your information, I was using the napkins because it was going to spill all over the floor."
Woman. I do not give a fuck. I am cleaning up your mess, assuring you that I appreciated your help (despite the fact that I REALLY wish she would have just told me about it and left.) How in the FUCK do you feel justified copping an attitude?
Thursday, September 27, 2012
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Bohemian: Designs on Welfare
At the optical office I work at, we accept Medical Assistance. Some of the people who come in are legitimately grateful for this aid and for whatever it helps them out with, but most of them.... are not; they get pissed off and/or shocked when we tell them that the state only pays for glasses for people under the age of 21 and that they can only choose from certain frames. Lots of people have told us that at most other offices there are only about five frames for kids to choose from and they are all pretty horrible. In our office we try very had to give them good choices, and we have, seriously, over 100 frames for them to look at. They aren't crappy ugly frames either, lots of them are really nice.
One of the people who shocked me the most was a mother in her upper 40's who came in with her daughter. They had MA. Doc and I tried valiantly to get the daughter to look at and choose from the frames that would be covered by her plan while Mom just sat there and stared into a mirror, utterly self-absorbed, ignoring us trying to tell her that she would have to pay for anything else herself and that her daughter only needed them for night driving so very few people would see her in them anyway. The daughter came over to mom with a pair of Nine West frames. Mom told her how nice they looked and that she should get those ones. I sat down to write up her bill. It was going to be over $100 to get the designer frame. Mom looked at me in shock. Doc and I both explained (for the fifteenth time) to them that the state absolutely would not pay for that frame and emphasized how little her daughter would need to wear them. Mom put them on the daughter again and goes, "Well.... they look great.... I guess we'll get them anyway." When she was giving me her payment, she noticed the large turquoise ring on my thumb and asked me where I'd gotten it. Um, what? I'm sorry, but if you're on welfare you don't need to be asking me where $80 rings come from, especially after you just frivolously spent over $100 of glasses when you didn't need to.
A few months passed and she brought in her younger daughter for an exam. This daughter didn't have MA, but a different insurance through her father where if you stay to the basics you can get away really cheaply. When all was said and done this daughter's copay was $10. Mom looked at me like I had just shot her in the foot, utterly amazed that she should have to pay 10 freaking dollars for this kid's glasses. She looked like she was going to cry handing it to me and it was all I could do not to smack the shit out of her.
So, in short, people who are getting their medical, etc, expenses covered by other people's taxes- you don't get to complain about what you get unless it truly is unjust (which I highly doubt it is). Be happy that the middle class hasn't come down on your i-phone using, designer clothes wearing, cable-watching asses. Our taxes shouldn't be paying for you to have things that we can't afford for ourselves. I do know some people on welfare who are quite deserving and hardworking and don't complain about what they do get from the state because they are truly grateful for the help, so if you are these people, this isn't about you and I do appreciate you and how much you do to take care of your families; this is for the people who think that they deserve everything for doing nothing.
One of the people who shocked me the most was a mother in her upper 40's who came in with her daughter. They had MA. Doc and I tried valiantly to get the daughter to look at and choose from the frames that would be covered by her plan while Mom just sat there and stared into a mirror, utterly self-absorbed, ignoring us trying to tell her that she would have to pay for anything else herself and that her daughter only needed them for night driving so very few people would see her in them anyway. The daughter came over to mom with a pair of Nine West frames. Mom told her how nice they looked and that she should get those ones. I sat down to write up her bill. It was going to be over $100 to get the designer frame. Mom looked at me in shock. Doc and I both explained (for the fifteenth time) to them that the state absolutely would not pay for that frame and emphasized how little her daughter would need to wear them. Mom put them on the daughter again and goes, "Well.... they look great.... I guess we'll get them anyway." When she was giving me her payment, she noticed the large turquoise ring on my thumb and asked me where I'd gotten it. Um, what? I'm sorry, but if you're on welfare you don't need to be asking me where $80 rings come from, especially after you just frivolously spent over $100 of glasses when you didn't need to.
A few months passed and she brought in her younger daughter for an exam. This daughter didn't have MA, but a different insurance through her father where if you stay to the basics you can get away really cheaply. When all was said and done this daughter's copay was $10. Mom looked at me like I had just shot her in the foot, utterly amazed that she should have to pay 10 freaking dollars for this kid's glasses. She looked like she was going to cry handing it to me and it was all I could do not to smack the shit out of her.
So, in short, people who are getting their medical, etc, expenses covered by other people's taxes- you don't get to complain about what you get unless it truly is unjust (which I highly doubt it is). Be happy that the middle class hasn't come down on your i-phone using, designer clothes wearing, cable-watching asses. Our taxes shouldn't be paying for you to have things that we can't afford for ourselves. I do know some people on welfare who are quite deserving and hardworking and don't complain about what they do get from the state because they are truly grateful for the help, so if you are these people, this isn't about you and I do appreciate you and how much you do to take care of your families; this is for the people who think that they deserve everything for doing nothing.
Friday, August 31, 2012
Bohemian: The Man with a Million Names (OK, not really, but he does have several)
There is an individual who frequently comes into the video store in the morning as soon as the gate is up. He rushes back to the "Adult" section and digs and digs to find something that he doesn't have yet. Once I overheard him taking a call from his mother in our store; he told her over and over again that he was at the grocery store and would be back soon. This man is probably in his upper 50's if not older. I didn't know what his name actually was because he always uses cash (lots of time paying all with dollar coins). I just started referring to him as "Porn Man" one day and everyone else who worked there instantly knew to whom I was referring. ObiWan, one of the other managers, also has a habit of naming people, too. He revealed to me one day that he had previously called this man "Ollie Muttonchops" due to his haircut. Pickle, my fiance, is also responsible for naming many a local celebrity. Once when he was driving me to work, we passed Porn Man/Ollie Muttonchops walking to the mall (presumably for his daily porn fix), and Pickle told me that his name was "Lancelot", once again referring to his Beatles-esque haircut (Pickle thinks it looks like a Medieval squire's do).
After I had ceased working there so much, I went to visit ObiWan. He'd renamed Porn Man/Ollie/Lancelot once more. Apparently, the man had quit using deodorant and/or bathing. After walking from wherever it is that he lives with his parents (I suspect a house of porn cemented with spent semen) to the mall, he smells rather.... awful. Just plain awful. Henceforth, his current name is Roadkill.
After I had ceased working there so much, I went to visit ObiWan. He'd renamed Porn Man/Ollie/Lancelot once more. Apparently, the man had quit using deodorant and/or bathing. After walking from wherever it is that he lives with his parents (I suspect a house of porn cemented with spent semen) to the mall, he smells rather.... awful. Just plain awful. Henceforth, his current name is Roadkill.
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Koi: Holy instant melting, Batman!
Before I landed my current job (posts on that to follow), I worked at a small, dingy, depressing local grocery store in my hometown.
The customers ranged from pretty great to pretty moronic, but there's one woman that will forever stick with me.
It was July, and of course, everyone was coming in buying ice cream, popsicles, and other summer fare. It was pretty hot outside but inside the store was a comfortable 70 or so degrees, so it wasn't so bad.
I was merrily cashiering through customer after customer, and one woman came through who - as it turned out - had a daughter studying the same major as me at college. We chatted a bit as I scanned her goods through and counted up the change. And then, the angriest voice I've ever heard erupted from behind.
"Would you HURRY UP? My ICE CREAM will MELT."
Swiftly, in one moment, the cheerful woman in front of me had vaporized and this angry shrew of a woman had taken her place. Her face was furrowed into extreme ire. I'm pretty sure fire was shooting out of her eyes, but I didn't look at her. I quickly scanned all her groceries - ice cream included - but couldn't help myself: "Ma'am, the store is kept at 70 degrees. Your ice cream will not melt in two minutes."
Her husband, standing beside her, had kept his eyes glued to the floor the entire time. Poor guy, he probably hears this at home all the time. She addressed him again as she hustled out the door.
"You SEE? I keep TELLING you, we need to COMPLAIN to management about these KIDS! No RESPECT!"
I'll remind all of you, there was never a point where I wasn't working. The cheery woman in front of her would have been gone in a few seconds anyway, since, well, I was in the middle of handing her her change.
The customers ranged from pretty great to pretty moronic, but there's one woman that will forever stick with me.
It was July, and of course, everyone was coming in buying ice cream, popsicles, and other summer fare. It was pretty hot outside but inside the store was a comfortable 70 or so degrees, so it wasn't so bad.
I was merrily cashiering through customer after customer, and one woman came through who - as it turned out - had a daughter studying the same major as me at college. We chatted a bit as I scanned her goods through and counted up the change. And then, the angriest voice I've ever heard erupted from behind.
"Would you HURRY UP? My ICE CREAM will MELT."
Swiftly, in one moment, the cheerful woman in front of me had vaporized and this angry shrew of a woman had taken her place. Her face was furrowed into extreme ire. I'm pretty sure fire was shooting out of her eyes, but I didn't look at her. I quickly scanned all her groceries - ice cream included - but couldn't help myself: "Ma'am, the store is kept at 70 degrees. Your ice cream will not melt in two minutes."
Her husband, standing beside her, had kept his eyes glued to the floor the entire time. Poor guy, he probably hears this at home all the time. She addressed him again as she hustled out the door.
"You SEE? I keep TELLING you, we need to COMPLAIN to management about these KIDS! No RESPECT!"
I'll remind all of you, there was never a point where I wasn't working. The cheery woman in front of her would have been gone in a few seconds anyway, since, well, I was in the middle of handing her her change.
Manda: Our Pet Homeless Man
I don't really have a specific story about this guy, but my store has a pet homeless man named Rich. He comes in faithfully every day - sometimes twice a day - and we fix him up with a free coffee. He harmlessly sits down at a table with a bundle of napkins and proceeds to quietly write for a couple of hours before he leaves us to go off and have his homeless adventures.
We refer to his bundle of napkins as his payment for his coffee. Rich leaves them behind every day and there's a couple of baristas who have taken to collecting them. He picks one subject and writes bullet-pointed notes about his thoughts on them. They're exactly what I would imagine a homeless man would think. Recently, he came up with this conspiracy theory about horror movies. He was convinced that this one classic horror was real and that all of the actors and actresses were involved in the plot.
Man, I love Rich.
We refer to his bundle of napkins as his payment for his coffee. Rich leaves them behind every day and there's a couple of baristas who have taken to collecting them. He picks one subject and writes bullet-pointed notes about his thoughts on them. They're exactly what I would imagine a homeless man would think. Recently, he came up with this conspiracy theory about horror movies. He was convinced that this one classic horror was real and that all of the actors and actresses were involved in the plot.
Man, I love Rich.
Manda: Calm Yourself, Woman
Today was a busy day, but I was in a pretty cheerful mood. Although sometimes I really don't feel like dealing with waves of customers, I don't mind it most days - it makes work go by more quickly. All of my customers were nice enough, and there was this middle aged woman that came in that I felt like I was having a very good interaction with. She asked for a drink for herself, then a tall (small) coffee for her mother, with cream and sugar.
At my store, we don't usually dress people's coffee for them. We have a condiment bar with sugar and sweeteners, cream, nonfat and whole milk, and all of those fun little sprinkle toppings. Given that I had a line behind her, I was really hoping she wouldn't mind putting in her own cream and sugar - we don't even HAVE normal sugar behind the line.
"Is it alright if I leave you a little room on top and you can add the cream and sugar? We don't have sugar back here."
That's my normal speech when people ask me to put stuff in their coffee, then I point them to the condiment bar and they go merrily on their way. Before I could point out where the cream and sugar were, some sort of switch flipped in this woman and she went into bitch mode.
"I don't understand why you would charge me for something and sell me something you don't have."
I was so shocked that she abruptly hated me that I'm sure I looked like a deer in the headlights. Maybe she misunderstood. I clarified that we weren't out of coffee and I would just leave her some room, but before I could even finish my sentence, she snapped that she wasn't going to pay for a coffee if we didn't have it the way she wanted it. (Mind, she'd already paid at this point and I assume she was looking for a refund.)
Baffled and thinking that she was not wanting to be charged the same price as someone who'd get their coffee with cream and sugar already in it, I calmly offered to put the cream and sugar in. I had to call to someone to go and grab me sugar because, again, we don't keep it behind the line.
As I was finishing the woman's coffee, she started apologizing profusely and telling me she'd misunderstood. She didn't realize our cream and sugar were at the condiment bar, just a couple of feet away from where she'd paid. Like a good barista, I smiled and assured her it was okay, but... are you kidding me? You didn't realize that because you didn't let me finish two sentences.
She explained herself by telling me her mother was in the hospital and I did my best to sympathize, but it just stuck with me all day. I unfortunately lost my own mother a couple of years ago and thinking back to when she was in the hospital and when she passed away, I have to say that I never, ever took out my anger and frustrations on a stranger. Sure, my friends and even my coworkers might have gotten some misplaced anger thrust on them, but NEVER a stranger.
Because my mother taught me better than that.
I feel bad for being angry with this woman. She was clearly distraught and in a bad situation, but how is that an excuse to flip out over cream and sugar?
At my store, we don't usually dress people's coffee for them. We have a condiment bar with sugar and sweeteners, cream, nonfat and whole milk, and all of those fun little sprinkle toppings. Given that I had a line behind her, I was really hoping she wouldn't mind putting in her own cream and sugar - we don't even HAVE normal sugar behind the line.
"Is it alright if I leave you a little room on top and you can add the cream and sugar? We don't have sugar back here."
That's my normal speech when people ask me to put stuff in their coffee, then I point them to the condiment bar and they go merrily on their way. Before I could point out where the cream and sugar were, some sort of switch flipped in this woman and she went into bitch mode.
"I don't understand why you would charge me for something and sell me something you don't have."
I was so shocked that she abruptly hated me that I'm sure I looked like a deer in the headlights. Maybe she misunderstood. I clarified that we weren't out of coffee and I would just leave her some room, but before I could even finish my sentence, she snapped that she wasn't going to pay for a coffee if we didn't have it the way she wanted it. (Mind, she'd already paid at this point and I assume she was looking for a refund.)
Baffled and thinking that she was not wanting to be charged the same price as someone who'd get their coffee with cream and sugar already in it, I calmly offered to put the cream and sugar in. I had to call to someone to go and grab me sugar because, again, we don't keep it behind the line.
As I was finishing the woman's coffee, she started apologizing profusely and telling me she'd misunderstood. She didn't realize our cream and sugar were at the condiment bar, just a couple of feet away from where she'd paid. Like a good barista, I smiled and assured her it was okay, but... are you kidding me? You didn't realize that because you didn't let me finish two sentences.
She explained herself by telling me her mother was in the hospital and I did my best to sympathize, but it just stuck with me all day. I unfortunately lost my own mother a couple of years ago and thinking back to when she was in the hospital and when she passed away, I have to say that I never, ever took out my anger and frustrations on a stranger. Sure, my friends and even my coworkers might have gotten some misplaced anger thrust on them, but NEVER a stranger.
Because my mother taught me better than that.
I feel bad for being angry with this woman. She was clearly distraught and in a bad situation, but how is that an excuse to flip out over cream and sugar?
Bohemian: We Call Him "The Creep"
In my previous life as a part-time assistant manager for a large entertainment retail chain, we had many frequent customers, as you can imagine, collecting their brand of movie/music. Some made us laugh, but most made us cry. Lots were dubbed with "celebrity" nicknames, plenty of them had multiple, and some of them even worked for us. For the debut post on this blog, I would like to share with you the story of "Creepy Tony".
I met Creepy Tony on one of the earliest days in my career at the store. He's an average looking guy, unassuming, a little on the heavy side who is probably in his mid-fifties-- around my dad's age. I believe that he was drawn in by the mouth watering scent of fresh meat. I quickly discovered that to some people the words "Hello, could I help you find anything today? No? OK, well, everything that's Used is Buy 3 get the 4th for free!" really meant "Hey, sexy, wanna have a quickie? Yeah? OK, well, you buy 3 and the 4th is free!" Another associate revealed to me that she had had quite a difficult time with him before. He had been bringing her flowers and chocolates to the store, and she'd required the assistance of her boyfriend to get him to stop. It took a bit of blatant ignoring and calm enforcing of "No, I don't want to meet your 'nephew' " to convince him that I was utterly uninterested and repulsed by his being. I refused to call him by his first name like he kept telling me to and kept our interactions to a bare minimum. Mostly I made the next-highest manager deal with him because he's one of my best friends... and a man. For the purposes of this blog, I shall refer to him as ObiWan. ObiWan, however, could not save me from his spine-tingling gaze when Creepy Tony would somehow locate me out in public buying toilet paper and whatnot. On those occassions, I simply muttered a "hi", made no eye contact, and got away from him as quickly as possible.
When we hired on new girls, I quickly warned them about him and pointed him out so that they could avoid him at all costs. This kept his presence in our store to a minimum for nearly three years. Then, I stepped down from management due to receiving more hours at my current job and one of my good friends was hired on in my place. I was not there enough to warn or protect her. We shall call her R.
During the month of October, staff are permitted to wear publicly presentable costumes on the weekends to draw attention to our store and gear up for Halloween. R and I are big costume fanatics; we had previously worked together at a Halloween costume store, so we knew that we had several coordinating outfits. One weekend, we decided on an Alice in Wonderland theme for the shift that we were sharing; it was a short day, so we were the only two staff on the schedule. I dressed as Alice and R was the Red Queen. If you've gone out of your house around Halloween in the past 25 years, you'll know that most young women's costumes are rather short. R and I both tend to wear stocking and petticoats with most of our costumes because they help to hide butts (true fact-- try it sometime, Skankerella's!), and accessories really are what make a costume great. As luck would have it, Creepy Tony chose that day for a visit. He stayed on the far-end of the store at the Listening Station where he had a great view of the entire store snickering and giggling to himself because, you know, we're ignorant girls and totally wouldn't notice-- not in a million fricking years. I can't tell you how long he stayed there or relate to you how happy we were when he finally left.
As the holiday season drew closer, I had to be at the other job more and more, so I had hardly any hours at the video store. Unfortunately, Creepy Tony had found a new victim in R and with it being the busy season for all mall merchants, the other employees were not able to help her out much in diverting his attention. He came in more and more often, usually standing at that Listening Station where he could watch her wherever she went, trying to get buddy-buddy with the guys on the staff so that he could move in closer. One day when the store was unusually quiet for the time of year, R wound up alone on the sales floor with Creepy Tony while ObiWan was in the office working on some much-neglected paper work. R got super-creep vibes that day and so put the sales counter between herself and Creepy Tony. He insisted on having a conversation with her while she had to nod and at least half-listen while she worked on whatever she could behind the counter. At some point during the tedious and nerve-wracking encounter, R reached up to rub one of her shoulders like most people do after sleeping poorly or having a crappy day under tons of stress. Creepy Tony took this gesture as an invitation to move himself around to the FORBIDDEN ZONE of the sales counter to begin rubbing her back without asking if it was OK. R froze in shock and horror while he rubbed away, asking, "Does that feel better? Does that feel good?" After a few minutes of this repulsive behavior, ObiWan stepped out of the office and was stopped in his tracks by the site of what was occurring on the opposite side of the store. He hurried up and got close enough to save her with a quick, "Hey, R, I need to show you something in the office right now!" We all seriously debated telling him that he wasn't allowed in the store any more, but it was the holiday season and everyone was rushing around worrying about a million other things. Creepy Tony even bought R the sweetest Christmas present. He presented it to her at the sales counter (and stayed on the correct side). It was a box of crackers. Yes, you heard me, a box of crackers. Who the hell thinks that crackers are a present for anyone other than a sick person who can't keep anything else down? Actually, I have just been enlightened, perhaps he somehow deep down realized that his presence made us all sick.
R quickly got a different job where she no longer had to work with the public and ended the socio-physical torment. Our problems with Creepy Tony died down when we told him that she had left, and, to my knowledge, he hasn't been bothering anyone else there. However, I do know that they just filled that position again with a nice, attractive girl who promptly greets people when they enter the store.
I met Creepy Tony on one of the earliest days in my career at the store. He's an average looking guy, unassuming, a little on the heavy side who is probably in his mid-fifties-- around my dad's age. I believe that he was drawn in by the mouth watering scent of fresh meat. I quickly discovered that to some people the words "Hello, could I help you find anything today? No? OK, well, everything that's Used is Buy 3 get the 4th for free!" really meant "Hey, sexy, wanna have a quickie? Yeah? OK, well, you buy 3 and the 4th is free!" Another associate revealed to me that she had had quite a difficult time with him before. He had been bringing her flowers and chocolates to the store, and she'd required the assistance of her boyfriend to get him to stop. It took a bit of blatant ignoring and calm enforcing of "No, I don't want to meet your 'nephew' " to convince him that I was utterly uninterested and repulsed by his being. I refused to call him by his first name like he kept telling me to and kept our interactions to a bare minimum. Mostly I made the next-highest manager deal with him because he's one of my best friends... and a man. For the purposes of this blog, I shall refer to him as ObiWan. ObiWan, however, could not save me from his spine-tingling gaze when Creepy Tony would somehow locate me out in public buying toilet paper and whatnot. On those occassions, I simply muttered a "hi", made no eye contact, and got away from him as quickly as possible.
When we hired on new girls, I quickly warned them about him and pointed him out so that they could avoid him at all costs. This kept his presence in our store to a minimum for nearly three years. Then, I stepped down from management due to receiving more hours at my current job and one of my good friends was hired on in my place. I was not there enough to warn or protect her. We shall call her R.
During the month of October, staff are permitted to wear publicly presentable costumes on the weekends to draw attention to our store and gear up for Halloween. R and I are big costume fanatics; we had previously worked together at a Halloween costume store, so we knew that we had several coordinating outfits. One weekend, we decided on an Alice in Wonderland theme for the shift that we were sharing; it was a short day, so we were the only two staff on the schedule. I dressed as Alice and R was the Red Queen. If you've gone out of your house around Halloween in the past 25 years, you'll know that most young women's costumes are rather short. R and I both tend to wear stocking and petticoats with most of our costumes because they help to hide butts (true fact-- try it sometime, Skankerella's!), and accessories really are what make a costume great. As luck would have it, Creepy Tony chose that day for a visit. He stayed on the far-end of the store at the Listening Station where he had a great view of the entire store snickering and giggling to himself because, you know, we're ignorant girls and totally wouldn't notice-- not in a million fricking years. I can't tell you how long he stayed there or relate to you how happy we were when he finally left.
As the holiday season drew closer, I had to be at the other job more and more, so I had hardly any hours at the video store. Unfortunately, Creepy Tony had found a new victim in R and with it being the busy season for all mall merchants, the other employees were not able to help her out much in diverting his attention. He came in more and more often, usually standing at that Listening Station where he could watch her wherever she went, trying to get buddy-buddy with the guys on the staff so that he could move in closer. One day when the store was unusually quiet for the time of year, R wound up alone on the sales floor with Creepy Tony while ObiWan was in the office working on some much-neglected paper work. R got super-creep vibes that day and so put the sales counter between herself and Creepy Tony. He insisted on having a conversation with her while she had to nod and at least half-listen while she worked on whatever she could behind the counter. At some point during the tedious and nerve-wracking encounter, R reached up to rub one of her shoulders like most people do after sleeping poorly or having a crappy day under tons of stress. Creepy Tony took this gesture as an invitation to move himself around to the FORBIDDEN ZONE of the sales counter to begin rubbing her back without asking if it was OK. R froze in shock and horror while he rubbed away, asking, "Does that feel better? Does that feel good?" After a few minutes of this repulsive behavior, ObiWan stepped out of the office and was stopped in his tracks by the site of what was occurring on the opposite side of the store. He hurried up and got close enough to save her with a quick, "Hey, R, I need to show you something in the office right now!" We all seriously debated telling him that he wasn't allowed in the store any more, but it was the holiday season and everyone was rushing around worrying about a million other things. Creepy Tony even bought R the sweetest Christmas present. He presented it to her at the sales counter (and stayed on the correct side). It was a box of crackers. Yes, you heard me, a box of crackers. Who the hell thinks that crackers are a present for anyone other than a sick person who can't keep anything else down? Actually, I have just been enlightened, perhaps he somehow deep down realized that his presence made us all sick.
R quickly got a different job where she no longer had to work with the public and ended the socio-physical torment. Our problems with Creepy Tony died down when we told him that she had left, and, to my knowledge, he hasn't been bothering anyone else there. However, I do know that they just filled that position again with a nice, attractive girl who promptly greets people when they enter the store.
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