FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU IN THE ASS
SHIT
MY TITS
I PISSED

I cried a little at work yesterday. That's probably the first time, except maybe when that guy stole those smokes

Me, reading a Daily News at 8:00 at night. I had just finished doing up three returns and making a new storage box for the old magazines. Just so you know, I usually do one or two returns a day. I'm trying to get everything done before I leave with the band tomorrow. My coworker was upstairs in the bathroom. Two women come in. One goes to the corner to look at cards. The other makes mention that she's going to look around, and heads for the magazines in the back.

She stops.

"This thing is going to fall."

I look up, and she means the Where Are They Now mags in the display in front of the cash.

"Yeah, they'll do that." I reply, because everything that is ever put there slowly bends at the corner and falls down. Then, I turn to put the paper on the counter behind me and pay attention to the customers I now have. She tries to fix the magazines and continues to the back of the store. I jump down off the ledge and "really" fix them. By that I mean, she had them standing, but I could see they would fall again. Since I've worked there for more than 10 months, I have a little practice at standing stuff up in there.

"Do you have BARK?"

For some reason, my first thought was about Barq's root beer. But, figuring she meant a magazine (and still thinking it might be spelled with a 'q'; there was something about the way she articulated it) I say "Uh, no. What type of magazine is it?"

Now we get to the part of the story where I wish I could convey facial expressions and tone of voice in type. She scrunches her face up like she's shocked, and maybe even angry, that I don't know what the mag is. To explain myself to you, I thought it was possibly a kids magazine, like Owl or Chickadee, or maybe a political or literary type magazine, like Porch (you know, to bark as in to speak out). I even thought it could be a fashion/lifestyle or artsy type magazine. I mean, sure dogs bark, but a magazine with that title could be anything; something about bars...

So yeah, she scrunches up her face and goes "BARKK?!....It's a magazine about d-DOGSSS!"

When she treated me like a moron, I was suddenly back in Ms. Fournier's grade 7 English class (a class I got kicked out of almost daily for disrespecting the teacher).

"Well, Jeez. Sorry I didn't know. I mean, it could..." I just let myself trail off, realizing I was making it worse, and she didn't care to hear me try to explain myself. I grab the paper again, to distract myself as I could now feel the adrenaline surging. I wanted to just walk away from the problem and hide in the back room. But, I was by myself. The guy was in the bathroom still.

She shops a bit and finally comes up to the counter with a magazine. As she plops it on the counter, she goes so far as to say "Are you having a bad day or something?" I almost laughed at her. In fact, I hadn't had a day as good as yesterday for ages. Good, until she walked in. I could've said "No, are you?", I could've stammered "No, uh, I'm sorry."

But instead, my inability to think on my feet and my tendency to be directly honest, I said "No. You're just not being very nice."

"OH! I wasn't aware that I wasn't being nice." She was literally doing that dance back and forth with her shoulders and her hands up in the air. Dragging out the words in that snotty, bratty or sarcastic voice. Keep in mind, she had to have been in her forties.

"Look at you. Listen to that tone of voice. You're acting like an 8 year old." I say, bluntly and fairly calmly. I pick up my coffee, but spill it on my new shirt due to shaking so much.

"YOU'RE A TIT. When I came in and pointed out that those magazines were going to fall, you just walked away like a tit." Or something like that. I really wasn't listening to that. I was ready to snap. But really, what the fuck? I said "yeah, they'll do that" and but my newspaper aside. Okay. I'm a tit.

I ring in the magazine. "That's $5.74, please."

She takes out her wallet, pulls out a five. She slowly acts like she's going to hand it to me. I don't fall for it and therefore don't reach for it. She throws it (as much as you can throw paper) onto the counter. I just look down at it and hold onto the magazine. Five dollars wasn't enough, and I wasn't about to let her leave. I just patiently wait. She checks, has no change, and drops another fiver. I open the till and count out $4.26 to return to her. She puts out her hand, I drop the money in in much the same fashion as her first five dollar bill.

I put the magazine in the bag and step back. As she turns, she says "It's too bad I've spent money here in the past, 'cause I'm not coming back."

Weird. I've never seen her before in over 10 months. She must spend a lot of money there.

"Well, you could come back and talk to my boss."

"I will. 'Cause you a tit."

Then, she decides to come back in after leaving, realizing she's thought of the perfect insult--remind me my job is shit. "Oh, and you get paid five dollars an hour for being a tit."

"NO I DON'T." I didn't really scream that, but she was on her way out, and I don't fucking get paid 5 dollars an hour. I get paid more than I ever have in my life.

Now that she's gone, the tears start to fall. But there's still some people in the back, and you-know-who still in the bathroom. Finally, he comes back down. "I'm gonna have a smoke" I say, trying to hold in the tears. "Are you okay?"

Being asked that broke me."I, well, I just have a problem letting bad customers roll off my back."

It took me forever to fall asleep last night. I actually hate that woman now. Because I couldn't sleep. Treat me like shit at work. But it sucks that I'm so sensitive I let it ruin things, like a good night's sleep.

When I go over it again in my thoughts, I think maybe, just maybe, she was trying (and succeeding) to distract me so her friend could steal cards.