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Last Sunday, one of the cashiers brought in cupcakes that she had made herself. She made them for the heck of it. I'm not even sure if she knew why she brought them in. She simply ... did. Admitted it to us herself. *shrugs* So she let all of us partake of them freely. They were kept behind her register at customer service.
Eventually I gathered the courage to go up and inquire, (I'm far too chivalrous; I would rather defend the cupcakes than eat one, all the while complementing her on her cooking and her good will of bringing them in.) and asked if I could have one, after much wordplay.
So I gingerly take a vanilla cupcake out of its tray, replace the plastic cover, and mentally enshroud myself with an invisibility shield so I can slink away with my prize unseen by the zombiecustomers.
Alas, luck was not with me on that day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a locust-storm of customers emerging through the door, one after another, including some through the exit. I barely get six feet when one customer asks me for air conditioning filters. I tell her, and slink away, only to be stopped by another customer asking me where paintbrushes are. I hadn't even gone two feet!
Then after taking another four or so steps, (Oh yes, I am counting. After so many interruptions, why would I not?) I get another customer who shows me most of the parts of an under-sink mechanism. I'm no plumber at all, so I direct him to the aisle the parts are kept, and told him there's a plumber there with the greatest amount of knowledge there too.
Yet another customer, about 8 steps onto my journey, when I get stopped by someone asking me for duct tape. No hello or excuse me. My reply consists entirely of a number as I walk on. Another customer. This is the fifth customer in a minute and a half to stop me as I hold onto my precioussss. He wanted to know if we sell Televisions. "PC Richard does." "But you don't? Why not?" "We sell hammers, not Televisions." *Walks on*
The cupcake is held daintily in my two cupped hands. I look like a person who doesn't know what to do with their hands, or like a butler as he concurs with some pointless decision.
My sixth customer wanted to know what color would be best to paint her bedroom in. I told her "White, but don't ask me; I don't even have a bedroom, so I wouldn't know...." and I raced on before she could wonder what I meant by that.
My seventh customer wanted to know why we never answer the phone in the store. I blazed onward with the reply "If it rings, and it's for me, I pick it up. Otherwise I'm not supposed to pick it up."
My eighth customer said, and I quote, "Hey, do you know where my wife is? She looks like an old lady." I had actually only seen one old woman in the store, so I told her she was in Housewares. He went in the direction of the bathrooms and I never saw him or his presupposed wife again.
My ninth customer emerged from the doorknob aisle, and shouted "HEY! YOU!" at me, and beckoned at me with that hooked finger wriggle thing that's so annoying. I growl to myself, and dash forward, all hyper-like, (Because I AM at this point. >.<) into the aisle and just look at him wide-eyed, belaying my cupcake-related frustration. He immediately begins "Which of these should I use on my front door?" I immediately point to a silver keyed knob, and declare "It has a strong lock on it. Anything else I can help with?" It seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded goodbye. Off I went.
My tenth customer brought me back to the paint desk, and abruptly handed me a bottle. It was muriatic acid. I couldn't take it with my hands, so it rested above my hands on my wrists against my chest. She asked me to read it for her because her eyes were bad. I politely told her that my hands are full and I had to throw this out in the special deposit 'round back where I was headed, and that the paint guys have a magnifier they can use to help her. She takes the bottle back and heads in another direction.
My eleventh customer wanted to know which kind of caulking was best for a bathtub. I touched my balled-up fists with the cupcake nestled messily in them to the caulking that would be ideal for them. A tiny bit of frosting was left over from the contact, which the customer noticed, and brushed off. "Oh, so that's what it feels like? It'll be easy to spread then. I'll take it. Thank you so much!" I couldn't help but chuckle as I walked away. It's easy to spread anyway, but not that easy. ._o'
So then I was able to walk upstairs to the break room and nom on my newest nommable. On the cupcake scale, I give it an eight. Out of eight.
One of my coworkers nommed six of the twelve that were brought in. Wow.
After I got back down, the person who had baked the cupcakes was laughing pretty hard. She asked, "What, did you get stopped by like ten people on the way up there?"
"No, ... Eleven. > <."
She giggled quite a bit.
Eventually I gathered the courage to go up and inquire, (I'm far too chivalrous; I would rather defend the cupcakes than eat one, all the while complementing her on her cooking and her good will of bringing them in.) and asked if I could have one, after much wordplay.
So I gingerly take a vanilla cupcake out of its tray, replace the plastic cover, and mentally enshroud myself with an invisibility shield so I can slink away with my prize unseen by the zombiecustomers.
Alas, luck was not with me on that day. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a locust-storm of customers emerging through the door, one after another, including some through the exit. I barely get six feet when one customer asks me for air conditioning filters. I tell her, and slink away, only to be stopped by another customer asking me where paintbrushes are. I hadn't even gone two feet!
Then after taking another four or so steps, (Oh yes, I am counting. After so many interruptions, why would I not?) I get another customer who shows me most of the parts of an under-sink mechanism. I'm no plumber at all, so I direct him to the aisle the parts are kept, and told him there's a plumber there with the greatest amount of knowledge there too.
Yet another customer, about 8 steps onto my journey, when I get stopped by someone asking me for duct tape. No hello or excuse me. My reply consists entirely of a number as I walk on. Another customer. This is the fifth customer in a minute and a half to stop me as I hold onto my precioussss. He wanted to know if we sell Televisions. "PC Richard does." "But you don't? Why not?" "We sell hammers, not Televisions." *Walks on*
The cupcake is held daintily in my two cupped hands. I look like a person who doesn't know what to do with their hands, or like a butler as he concurs with some pointless decision.
My sixth customer wanted to know what color would be best to paint her bedroom in. I told her "White, but don't ask me; I don't even have a bedroom, so I wouldn't know...." and I raced on before she could wonder what I meant by that.
My seventh customer wanted to know why we never answer the phone in the store. I blazed onward with the reply "If it rings, and it's for me, I pick it up. Otherwise I'm not supposed to pick it up."
My eighth customer said, and I quote, "Hey, do you know where my wife is? She looks like an old lady." I had actually only seen one old woman in the store, so I told her she was in Housewares. He went in the direction of the bathrooms and I never saw him or his presupposed wife again.
My ninth customer emerged from the doorknob aisle, and shouted "HEY! YOU!" at me, and beckoned at me with that hooked finger wriggle thing that's so annoying. I growl to myself, and dash forward, all hyper-like, (Because I AM at this point. >.<) into the aisle and just look at him wide-eyed, belaying my cupcake-related frustration. He immediately begins "Which of these should I use on my front door?" I immediately point to a silver keyed knob, and declare "It has a strong lock on it. Anything else I can help with?" It seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded goodbye. Off I went.
My tenth customer brought me back to the paint desk, and abruptly handed me a bottle. It was muriatic acid. I couldn't take it with my hands, so it rested above my hands on my wrists against my chest. She asked me to read it for her because her eyes were bad. I politely told her that my hands are full and I had to throw this out in the special deposit 'round back where I was headed, and that the paint guys have a magnifier they can use to help her. She takes the bottle back and heads in another direction.
My eleventh customer wanted to know which kind of caulking was best for a bathtub. I touched my balled-up fists with the cupcake nestled messily in them to the caulking that would be ideal for them. A tiny bit of frosting was left over from the contact, which the customer noticed, and brushed off. "Oh, so that's what it feels like? It'll be easy to spread then. I'll take it. Thank you so much!" I couldn't help but chuckle as I walked away. It's easy to spread anyway, but not that easy. ._o'
So then I was able to walk upstairs to the break room and nom on my newest nommable. On the cupcake scale, I give it an eight. Out of eight.
One of my coworkers nommed six of the twelve that were brought in. Wow.
After I got back down, the person who had baked the cupcakes was laughing pretty hard. She asked, "What, did you get stopped by like ten people on the way up there?"
"No, ... Eleven. > <."
She giggled quite a bit.
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