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***Disclaimer: This customer was not rude in any way, and her suck does not stem from attitude. In fact, I feel this customer is in no way a sucky customer, other than by the fact that it sucks if you, like me, are not prepared for her.
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I walked back into service merchandise after overs tuffing myself from the food court again. (Mmmmm...gyro goodness!) After punching back in, putting on my name tag, and generally just hanging out behind the counter, I smiled. A rare thing to do, I know, but I was having an ok, sucky customer free day.
And then I took a deep breathe.
I smelled...lotion. Not that sweet smelling fragrance that usually accompanies most lotions, but hospital grade "we've got to cover up the smell of blood" smell. I looked to my right and sniffed the wall. Then my armpit. Then in front of me and down (don't ask). Then I looked left, and was met with one of the most frightening and disgusting things I had ever seen.
Standing, now in front of me, on the other side of the glass counter, was a 6ft tall woman covered, and I mean COVERED in boils. Not just on her exposed arms and legs from her tshirt and shorts, but on her neck, face, nose, eye lids, and even her ears. Every bit of exposed skin showed boils protruding from her. I honest to god could not see one square inch that didn't have a boil. Which I could have probably dealt with if they didn't glisten from either sweat, lotion, or the mixture of the two.
I immediately felt my gyros hit the back of my throat. But I was a professional. I swallowed, hard, and managed to squeak out a "Help you?". She asked to see the phones behind the counter. I gladly turned around, picked up one of the better sellers, and stared at it, and only it, as I told her of it's features. She picked up the handset with one of the hands covered in boils, and I couldn't help but notice where her hand had left a smudge mark on the glass. A big, greasy, smelly smudge mark.
I couldn't hold back any more.
I doubled over as I lost my lunch to a nearby waste basket. When I finished, I half stood up, half stumbled, waste basket in hand, to the warehouse behind the counter. I tied the bag off, asked my manager (who was checking inventory) to help the customer out front. He looked at me quizzically and silently stepped out.
At which point I heard a gagging noise and then the manager came rushing back holding his stomach.
I sighed.
I stepped out again, apologized because I wasn't feeling well, and did my best not to stare at her. Time and time again I handed her phone after phone so she could feel the buttons with boil covered fingers, see the display through her boil covered eyelids, and make sure it was comfortable when she held it up to her boil covered ear. Leaving her scent and smudges on phone after phone.
In the end, I did manage to sell her the phone that suited her best.
And I managed to wait until she was gone to disinfect the counter.
And the phones.
And even the register, where the cash she paid with resided.
But to this day, no amount of brain bleach has allowed me to get the image of boil woman out of my head.
************************************************** ***************
I walked back into service merchandise after overs tuffing myself from the food court again. (Mmmmm...gyro goodness!) After punching back in, putting on my name tag, and generally just hanging out behind the counter, I smiled. A rare thing to do, I know, but I was having an ok, sucky customer free day.
And then I took a deep breathe.
I smelled...lotion. Not that sweet smelling fragrance that usually accompanies most lotions, but hospital grade "we've got to cover up the smell of blood" smell. I looked to my right and sniffed the wall. Then my armpit. Then in front of me and down (don't ask). Then I looked left, and was met with one of the most frightening and disgusting things I had ever seen.
Standing, now in front of me, on the other side of the glass counter, was a 6ft tall woman covered, and I mean COVERED in boils. Not just on her exposed arms and legs from her tshirt and shorts, but on her neck, face, nose, eye lids, and even her ears. Every bit of exposed skin showed boils protruding from her. I honest to god could not see one square inch that didn't have a boil. Which I could have probably dealt with if they didn't glisten from either sweat, lotion, or the mixture of the two.
I immediately felt my gyros hit the back of my throat. But I was a professional. I swallowed, hard, and managed to squeak out a "Help you?". She asked to see the phones behind the counter. I gladly turned around, picked up one of the better sellers, and stared at it, and only it, as I told her of it's features. She picked up the handset with one of the hands covered in boils, and I couldn't help but notice where her hand had left a smudge mark on the glass. A big, greasy, smelly smudge mark.
I couldn't hold back any more.
I doubled over as I lost my lunch to a nearby waste basket. When I finished, I half stood up, half stumbled, waste basket in hand, to the warehouse behind the counter. I tied the bag off, asked my manager (who was checking inventory) to help the customer out front. He looked at me quizzically and silently stepped out.
At which point I heard a gagging noise and then the manager came rushing back holding his stomach.
I sighed.
I stepped out again, apologized because I wasn't feeling well, and did my best not to stare at her. Time and time again I handed her phone after phone so she could feel the buttons with boil covered fingers, see the display through her boil covered eyelids, and make sure it was comfortable when she held it up to her boil covered ear. Leaving her scent and smudges on phone after phone.
In the end, I did manage to sell her the phone that suited her best.
And I managed to wait until she was gone to disinfect the counter.
And the phones.
And even the register, where the cash she paid with resided.
But to this day, no amount of brain bleach has allowed me to get the image of boil woman out of my head.
I had a couple actual boils on my ribcage once and they were excruciating. Surely these were not the same sort of thing. 
"You'd feel a Hell of a lot better if you'd just rip into the occasional customer." 
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