Jamesons and Sky Diving

When we created this blog, it was because Rae and I got hit on by a very unwelcome guy. The Alanis Morrisette song "Uninvited" comes to mind. Go back if you haven't read that one, it's hilarious.

Tonight, Mischele and I were faced with a very different kind of attempted suitor. Suitors, actually.

Two guys in their early twenties came in the store tonight, to ask us a question. Something about hair color, and how black doesn't actually exist outside a bottle, it's actually dark brown. I'm pretty sure I'm right on that one, but who knows. Not really the point.

One, we shall call Violently Irish. And I mean violently. Orange-red hair, strawberry-flushed complexion, a green Jameson's shirt, the whole deal. The other has been dubbed Wingman. Because really, that was the role he seemed to be playing, and he was good at it.

Then they started in with a game they wanted us to play. They ask us five questions, and we have to answer them incorrectly. It's a trick, as the last question is a very well played "Seriously? You haven't played this before?" which you automatically answer no to. Tricksy jerks.

It was funny, and fun, and we were all laughing, so they hung out a bit. Asked us about the store, what we liked to do, that kind of thing.

It was pretty obvious that they were chatting us up, but as they were entertaining, and breaking up a very slow part of our shift, it was welcome.

A pack of customers came in, and they cleared out of our way, which was nice and definitely gave them points in the respect department (as did the fact that they weren't looking at our boobs while they were talking to us), and we figured they were done for the evening.

We were amused, and flattered, that these guys had come in and spent forty-five minutes talking to us in the first place. They were cute, in their own unique ways, even.

Then they came back, just as we were getting ready to close. I think they got that vibe, and so didn't spend a long time talking that time, but said that they'd had fun talking to us, and wanted to do it again. Asked when we were working again, and lamented at our apparent inability to get a day off. We get days off, (Mischele more than me) but that wasn't what they asked. Whatever.

After they left again, this girl comes in, who apparently was their friend. She said that they were really shy, and wanted our numbers. Shy didn't seem in their bag, given the hour they spent chatting us up, but that's beside the point. Mischele informed said Yellow Sweatshirt Girl that we were both taken, but thanks. YSGirl left.

Almost immediately, we felt bad. Even fake numbers were better than a flat out "No", right? But, there wasn't much we could do about it, and so we let our egos swell, thinking of Violently Irish and Wingman drowning their sorrows in ice cream. (At least, that's what we would have done in their shoes.)

We ran into them on the way out, funnily enough, and by that point we'd decided that we'd say something if we did. The following conversation was a nice one. We thanked them profusely for the complement, and told them that if we were single, they definitely would have gotten our numbers, as their routine was refreshing and new. (How many guys actually want to hear what you have to say, after all?)

Then, morbid curiousity set in, and I had to ask the obvious question.

"How would this have gotten split up?"

Violently Irish and Wingman shifted and looked at each other, before Violently Irish got even redder than usual and said that he would have picked me.

Oh hello, Extremely Large Ego! I haven't seen you in ages!

Then Mischele pipes up and says to Wingman: "So you would have gotten stuck with me?" (See, told you he was the Wingman.) He didn't seem upset about his lot in life in the slightest though.

Mischele gets picked all the time. I hardly ever do. It was a great night.

Quickie

Quote of the Week: "That smells like a dirty hippie with a cold just punched me in the face."

Almost peed myself.

I love our customers.

If she takes off her pants, I'm outta here!

Cracked-out things always happen right when it's time to close.

A woman came in with her friend, about fifteen minutes before I joined Mel Gibson in battle-crying FREEDOM.

Crazy Lady was a regular, showing her friend around, and I was like, fine dude, whatever. I can get them in and out in no time, because I'm awesome like that.

I am not awesome.

Granted, a sane person would have been long gone by the time "It's Closing Time" started playing, but this woman was not sane.

There's a demonstration we do in the store, involving hand washing. On occasion, we'll get an old man who thinks he's funnier than he is, that suggests stripping down, and we laugh it off.

This woman didn't suggest.

I turned my back for one second, and Crazy Lady was taking off her shoes, climbing up on the counter, and trying to wash her feet.

Understandably, I flipped a little.

Not enough to offend, but definitely enough to express how not cool this whole business was. I hate feet.

So instead of apologizing, she demands a bowl so she can go sit down in a chair and finish the job.

Normally, I would have said no, and mumbled more than a "We don't really do that..." but she'd thrown me off my game so severely, that I just gave her what her crazy butt desired.

So she washed her feet, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Ew.

There was some product creation nonsense that I can't get into in here without getting sued, but yeah, suffice it to say, I was ready for her to go when it was time.

They rang up, and both praised me for how willing I was to stay open almost an hour later than normal (my acting skills are golden, let me tell you), and how helpful I was.

That's just peachy. Get the hell out.

Then they started talking about wanting to throw a party in the store (which we do) and having us come around like Mary Kay chicks to various places (which we don't).

Get OUT.

Walked them to the door, tried to close the door (and bolt, and solder, and weld it shut), but she blocked me, talking about the weather and where they were going for dinner, and how much fun my job seemed.

Oh, and how she thought we should carry a personal cleaning product. Like Vagisill or whatever it is.

Oh my ever-loving God EW.

I've never wanted to throw a customer out before, and I'm pretty sure that if I'm here when she comes back, I'm going to pretend to faint so I don't have to deal with her.

People are insane.

Did I shave my legs for this?

So this is a story, as told to me, by Helene, who works at another store like mine. She reads the blog, and found it intensely appropriate, as do I.

I was in the store, and this woman came in, all dolled up for a date, looking for breath spray. I told her that her best bet would be Walgreens, or something along those lines, since we don't carry that.

Why not? We should talk to someone at Corporate. That could be a good product...Anyway, back to Helene's story.

She puttered around for a little while, and then asked me a very strange question.

"Does it look like I haven't shaved my legs?"

I looked, and yes, it was pretty obvious. But how do you answer that question? So I said something along the lines of "Well, now that you point it out, sort of...But if you hadn't, I might not have noticed..."

Helene, by the way, is a big liar.

So the woman looks at her legs, and is like, "But is it really obvious?" Strange thing was, she was hopeful.

She wanted hairy legs.

Apparently, the guy that she was meeting likes that look. Which is insane. Where do you even find people like that?! Had to have been an online hook-up or something.

So I was like "Yeah, sure. They're hairy. You're golden."

She left the store, and started talking to some guy in a car. I memorized the details, just in case her dead body showed up somewhere the next day.

I saw them later, walking down the street, clearly on their date, so I guess it was valid or whatever. Weird people.

I have to echo Helene's opinion of all of this. What kind of crack-addict wants hairy legs on his woman? I mean, really. That's just weird. Granted, it is true that most guys don't mind hacking through the forest as long as they're getting where they're going, but still...

Hairy legs are an eventuality of marriage. Not a first date.