Be Prepared

Imagine my surprise when I flopped into bed on Friday night/Saturday morning with nothing to write about on my busiest shift. Surely, thought I, this would be a rare occasion. However, after the week I had last week it was a welcome diversion from the norm and I actually slept pretty well.

Sunday night's shift, however, seemed determined to make up for the lack of Weird on Friday.

I suppose the real title of this blog should be "How Not To Hit On The Liquor Store Chick Volume 2," but that's not very witty and I know you expect better of me than that. Nevertheless, last night's clientele seemed determined to test my "I don't give my phone number to customers" rule.

Most of the gentlemen (term applied loosely in nearly every case) went the standard route, asking me what my plans were after work. Taking a leaf out of the screenplay for romantic comedy "Sliding Doors" (starring Gwyneth Paltrow and John Hannah and thoroughly intoxicating me as a pre-teen desperate for a European boyfriend) I calmly retorted something along the lines of, "Well, let me think. After standing on my feet for 8 hours on this concrete floor, stocking the cooler with cases of beer, dusting the shelves, restocking the shelves, and finally mopping and locking up at one in the morning, I'm planning to drive home, wash off the sleaze and the smell of the hopelessness that this place reeks of, and go to sleep by myself. Though there is every possibility that one or both of my cats will snuggle with me for heat." In most cases, that encouraged them to leave me be for the remainder of the transaction.

Some soldiers, however, are not noted for their powerful comprehension of sarcasm. "Well, why don't I give you a call sometime? You can get some friends together and I can get some friends together and we can really party." No. I don't think so. For one thing, I'm not about to meet a stranger and his strange friends, all of whom have weapons and hand-to-hand combat training, in their hotel room with the intention of drinking myself out of the ability to make educated and rational decisions. For another, I'm not about to subject any of my friends to the same thing. I ain't a-stoopid. My coworker came to my rescue, knowing the expression on my face as she has used it many times herself in an effort to get me to rescue her from the endless ocean of obnoxious men. Strolling behind my register, she offhandedly remarked, "Your phone was ringing in the back room, I didn't answer it, but it was your boyfriend calling."

Booyah. Thank you, darling.

Our next contestant on "Who Wants The Liquor Store Chick's Phone Number?" is a semi-regular whom I've seen before. Carding him anyway (the gas station down the street failed a government sting and lost their ability to sell tobacco products, so we are being ultra diligent) before ringing him up for his cigarettes, I said something to the effect of "I know I've seen you in here before, but because I can't remember your name I'm cheating so I can remember it next time without asking for it." Laughing and flirting with me, he pulled a ten dollar bill out of his pocket as I finished ringing him up, and his total came to twelve something. "Oops," he said, "I'm going to have to get cash out of my other pocket." As he pulled his hand out of said pocket, a roll of condoms fell out onto my counter.

Really? Not only do you feel you need to keep them in your pocket, you feel you need to carry 4 or 5 at a time? That doesnt make you look sexy, it makes you look like you don't know what you're doing.

"Oh no," he said in a clearly un-surprised voice. "How embarassing. But I guess it's better to be prepared, right? You never know when you're going to need them, right? By the way, what are you doing later?"

I'm definitely not doing you.