And the Hits Keep Coming

As I have continued to work and put up with an abundance of customers, some of my coy one-liners have been honed and perfected, while others have had to be shelved for more appropriate times. Case and point: when a man bought into me telling him we had a $17 minimum on cards hook, line and sinker, I felt bad when his embarrassment was blatantly apparent due to a woman pissing her pants in merriment at his gullibility behind him. I tried to apologize and explain that I had an unfair advantage of a practiced delivery, but wasn't taken seriously while I too was laughing. I couldn't tell him it was because of the size of the woman's gap in her teeth behind him. Here are some new ones to watch out for though so you don't find yourself in the crossfire.

Customer: "What are those Morning Glory muffins made out of?"
Me: "Rays of sunshine."
Customer: (playing into the sarcasm) "Oh really?"
Me: "Yeah, they're fresh caught each morning and certified organic if you're into that sorta stuff."

I misjudged the thickness of one customer's skin with the cake jar lines and have since tried to tone down the punch line.
Customer: "What are those Cake Jar things?"
Me: "It's cake in a jar."
Customer: "Oh really? That's what I thought. (Sure you did) Well who makes them and how do they get the cake in the jars that way?"
Me: (Obviously not the baker and getting flustered that I just refrained from openly questioning their intelligence) "It's the same company that puts wooden ships in bottles, and I have no idea how they do it. Trade secret I suppose."

Boys Will be Boys

She was a tall jovial robust woman that laughed aloud with the raspiness of a former chain smoker. We got along immediately. She was accompanied by this curly headed squirt flailing his chubby little arms about at nothing while running in an occasional circle and dragging his slimy hands down the length of any clear window or exposed glass case. He was cute for an absolute heathen. I'm not good with numbers, but I'd say he was around 3-4, maybe even 6-7. I take that back. Five got left out and he was speaking in Ebonics to himself. We'll just say the kid was 3-5.



Anyways, the bugger had chocolate stains on his face and wore a shirt that read, "Dirt Magnet." His mother ordered him a glass of orange juice, and I politely asked if she'd like me to put that in a cup with a lid for him. She said, "Oh no, [casually flapping her hand down] he's a big boy. Just give him a regular cup." However, when I walked around the counter to hand the uncovered glass to the little terror, who was karate chopping with a stupid off beat kick up to me, he jerked the dickens out of it and splashed the OJ all over his magnetic shirt. Score.



To this bizarre bean, running un-supervised through my establishment, about to get beamed in the dome with a nerf ball by yours truly: you know who you are...