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Wherein one of Gravekeeper's customers visits my store
Wherein one of Gravekeeper's drunken customers leaves their dark, cold hovel to patronize my store for Christmas
Gather 'round, kids. This long story took place on Christmas Eve, 2000, at around 11:30pm. I was 16 at the time, working at a 24-hour CVS/pharmacy, at the very end of a 14-hour shift (which I actually volunteered for due to it being double time, and thus made a week's worth of pay in just one day). We begin our story with me in an aisle straightening out some items on the shelf after a long day of dealing with last-minute Christmas shoppers complaining about the lack of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and good greeting cards. It has finally quieted down enough for me to do some cleaning.
SC: "Hey, Tony!" [points at me]
My name isn't Tony. Your drunken, yet excited stumble down the aisle is about to end with disappointment. Oh, and I could somehow smell your drunken stench from the halfway point between when you pointed at me at the one end of the aisle and where I am at the other end. Is that Narragansett? Everyone outside of the University of Rhode Island thinks it's piss water.
SC: "Lishensh, I know your name ishent really Tony but I know a guy with glashes whosh name is Tony so you'll have to do."
Uh huh. Okay, so is Tony your brother? Is he your lover? Because those are the only reasons I can think of that you're wrapping your arm around me as you're telling me your tale. I know I have glasses, just like Tony! but otherwise I make a horrible replacement for Tony. Apparently Tony enjoys being manhandled by a bear who smells like nachos and 'ganset, but I don't. Please stop.
SC: "Mah buddy is over in the coshmetics sechion and we have a shoppin' bashket full of makeup we want to give my wife and we need your help wrapping it for us."
Woah, woah, back up a second. A shopping basket full of makeup? Did you empty the whole wall of cosmetics? And you want me to wrap it for you? In what way? Do you think I have a gift bag big enough to wrap a shopping basket? I know you're not even talking about one of those smaller hand baskets. I saw your gesture. You were indicating with your hands you had a full-sized shopping cart with wheels that you want to wrap.
Even if we had wrapping paper, do you want us to wrap the basket as is? I mean, what I think is going to happen is your wife is going to wake up, see a giant wrapped object in the shape of a shopping cart, and see the most disappointed face I think the world has ever seen... then she will unwrap it, and will become even more disappointed after that. I know you're desparate to find a last-minute gift for your wife who apparently must feel as disregarded and snubbed as the middle urinal in a restroom, but this is a poor plan of action even at 11:45 in the evening after drinking enough alcohol to swell your liver up to steal the throne from your skin as the largest organ in your body.
And, really, please stop manhandling me. My squirms should indicate to you I feel very uncomfortable about all of this.
SC: "Alright, here we are! Can you find a box for all this stuff?"
Umm... where's the shopping cart? Man, now I'm as disappointed as your wife is going to be. I was expecting a damn shoppin-- Oh, I see what your friend is holding there. His head, nodding like a brain damaged otter, distracted me from seeing what he was holding: A small novelty gift box with makeup inside that's in the shape of a shopping cart. Okay, things are making a little more sense. I still think your wife is going to be disappointed.
Hmm... maybe there is no wife? I mean, that's totally plausible. I can't imagine you having survived this long in marriage doing what you're doing now, having been drinking your life away on Christmas Eve leaving your wife alone back home. And judging by your friend's glazed-over eyes, you might be wrapping this item in an effort to conceal it for less honest purposes? I must ask.
Me: "Okay, so, er... why exactly do you want this wrapped?"
SC: "Pfft, whaddaya mean? It's Chrishmas! I want this for ma wife!"
Okay, you're sticking to you guns about this supposed wife you have. Very well. I mean, it's possible she'll totally forgive you for coming home drunk after midnight on Christmas by giving her makeup. After all, I never met her. Perhaps she has horribly low self-esteem and this is the only way she can feel pretty and thus it's the perfect gift to... well, makeup after a bad fight. Maybe that's why you think this will work? Because it's called makeup?
SC's Friend: "Hish waf hash to be renter from mah truck and I told him he shud do this foar her."
...what? Please let this guy do the talking. Apparently I've met dumb and dumber and just by... whatever it is you just said I know which one is dumber. Well, in any case, I guess it's time to give you the bad news...
Me: "Well, unfortunately we really don't have anything. We're sold out of wrapping paper, gift bags, and pretty much everything else."
SC: "Were you robbed or something?"
No, dipshit, it's fucking Christmas Eve. We sold out of a lot of stuff prior to you coming here.
SC: "Well, there's got to be something you can do! I need this!"
Oh, dammit, the sad puppy dog eyes. Okay, assuming my theory about your wife's self-esteem is correct, I'd hate to be part of ruining a marriage, regardless of whether I think such a failure is inevitable. I'm going to have to do LVL45 deflection and refer you to a supervisor, who... oh, well speak of the devil, she's walking right past us right now! Let me flag her down for you and she can help you out. I wash my hands of all this marriage wrecking, and I'll let her handle it. That's what supervisors are paid for, right?
Me: "Excuse me, could you help these two gentlemen out?"
Supervisor: "Sure thing. What do you guys need?"
SC: "A box."
Supervisor: "...uhhh, okay?"
Me: "Oh look at the time, it's time for me to punch out. Merry Christmas, all."
SC: "You're a wuss for getting her to help us. You know that?"
Oooh, nice comeback. By the way, I know that sup happens to carry mace. I suggest you don't grope her the same way you did me. Merry Christmas.
Gather 'round, kids. This long story took place on Christmas Eve, 2000, at around 11:30pm. I was 16 at the time, working at a 24-hour CVS/pharmacy, at the very end of a 14-hour shift (which I actually volunteered for due to it being double time, and thus made a week's worth of pay in just one day). We begin our story with me in an aisle straightening out some items on the shelf after a long day of dealing with last-minute Christmas shoppers complaining about the lack of wrapping paper, tape, scissors, and good greeting cards. It has finally quieted down enough for me to do some cleaning.
SC: "Hey, Tony!" [points at me]
My name isn't Tony. Your drunken, yet excited stumble down the aisle is about to end with disappointment. Oh, and I could somehow smell your drunken stench from the halfway point between when you pointed at me at the one end of the aisle and where I am at the other end. Is that Narragansett? Everyone outside of the University of Rhode Island thinks it's piss water.
SC: "Lishensh, I know your name ishent really Tony but I know a guy with glashes whosh name is Tony so you'll have to do."
Uh huh. Okay, so is Tony your brother? Is he your lover? Because those are the only reasons I can think of that you're wrapping your arm around me as you're telling me your tale. I know I have glasses, just like Tony! but otherwise I make a horrible replacement for Tony. Apparently Tony enjoys being manhandled by a bear who smells like nachos and 'ganset, but I don't. Please stop.
SC: "Mah buddy is over in the coshmetics sechion and we have a shoppin' bashket full of makeup we want to give my wife and we need your help wrapping it for us."
Woah, woah, back up a second. A shopping basket full of makeup? Did you empty the whole wall of cosmetics? And you want me to wrap it for you? In what way? Do you think I have a gift bag big enough to wrap a shopping basket? I know you're not even talking about one of those smaller hand baskets. I saw your gesture. You were indicating with your hands you had a full-sized shopping cart with wheels that you want to wrap.
Even if we had wrapping paper, do you want us to wrap the basket as is? I mean, what I think is going to happen is your wife is going to wake up, see a giant wrapped object in the shape of a shopping cart, and see the most disappointed face I think the world has ever seen... then she will unwrap it, and will become even more disappointed after that. I know you're desparate to find a last-minute gift for your wife who apparently must feel as disregarded and snubbed as the middle urinal in a restroom, but this is a poor plan of action even at 11:45 in the evening after drinking enough alcohol to swell your liver up to steal the throne from your skin as the largest organ in your body.
And, really, please stop manhandling me. My squirms should indicate to you I feel very uncomfortable about all of this.
SC: "Alright, here we are! Can you find a box for all this stuff?"
Umm... where's the shopping cart? Man, now I'm as disappointed as your wife is going to be. I was expecting a damn shoppin-- Oh, I see what your friend is holding there. His head, nodding like a brain damaged otter, distracted me from seeing what he was holding: A small novelty gift box with makeup inside that's in the shape of a shopping cart. Okay, things are making a little more sense. I still think your wife is going to be disappointed.
Hmm... maybe there is no wife? I mean, that's totally plausible. I can't imagine you having survived this long in marriage doing what you're doing now, having been drinking your life away on Christmas Eve leaving your wife alone back home. And judging by your friend's glazed-over eyes, you might be wrapping this item in an effort to conceal it for less honest purposes? I must ask.
Me: "Okay, so, er... why exactly do you want this wrapped?"
SC: "Pfft, whaddaya mean? It's Chrishmas! I want this for ma wife!"
Okay, you're sticking to you guns about this supposed wife you have. Very well. I mean, it's possible she'll totally forgive you for coming home drunk after midnight on Christmas by giving her makeup. After all, I never met her. Perhaps she has horribly low self-esteem and this is the only way she can feel pretty and thus it's the perfect gift to... well, makeup after a bad fight. Maybe that's why you think this will work? Because it's called makeup?
SC's Friend: "Hish waf hash to be renter from mah truck and I told him he shud do this foar her."
...what? Please let this guy do the talking. Apparently I've met dumb and dumber and just by... whatever it is you just said I know which one is dumber. Well, in any case, I guess it's time to give you the bad news...
Me: "Well, unfortunately we really don't have anything. We're sold out of wrapping paper, gift bags, and pretty much everything else."
SC: "Were you robbed or something?"
No, dipshit, it's fucking Christmas Eve. We sold out of a lot of stuff prior to you coming here.
SC: "Well, there's got to be something you can do! I need this!"
Oh, dammit, the sad puppy dog eyes. Okay, assuming my theory about your wife's self-esteem is correct, I'd hate to be part of ruining a marriage, regardless of whether I think such a failure is inevitable. I'm going to have to do LVL45 deflection and refer you to a supervisor, who... oh, well speak of the devil, she's walking right past us right now! Let me flag her down for you and she can help you out. I wash my hands of all this marriage wrecking, and I'll let her handle it. That's what supervisors are paid for, right?
Me: "Excuse me, could you help these two gentlemen out?"
Supervisor: "Sure thing. What do you guys need?"
SC: "A box."
Supervisor: "...uhhh, okay?"
Me: "Oh look at the time, it's time for me to punch out. Merry Christmas, all."
SC: "You're a wuss for getting her to help us. You know that?"
Oooh, nice comeback. By the way, I know that sup happens to carry mace. I suggest you don't grope her the same way you did me. Merry Christmas.
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