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As quite a few of you know, I recently made my way back into customer service, after seven years in the warehousing industry. I have grown into a competent cashier and salesperson over the course of a year, but there are some things that my patience just cannot handle.
Exhibit A: deaf/mute guy
This winning piece of work came into the store awhile ago. He smelled of beer, pot, and judging by how contracted his pupils were, was either on cocaine or another stimulant. He had cigarette burns all over his arms, chapped lips, and was grinding his teeth like mad. In other words, he was flying high. He must have had a serious depth perception issue due to his drug use, because he kept having difficulty putting his hands on the counter.
Me: Can I help you with anything?
SC: *motions for a paper and pen*
Me: *gives over paper*
SC: *pauses and grabs a drink, then asks for cigarettes*
Me: *you look under the age of thirty, I need an ID* *writes this on a paper*
SC: *flails his arms about and gives me a dirty look* *can I have some smokes?*
Me: *shaking my head. No ID, no cigarettes, that's our policy*
SC: *throws the pen on the counter, than snatches it up and writes down that he'll be right back, before sauntering off and kicking my door, which he promptly failed to open, because he kept missing the handle*
Me: What...the hell?
SL: What?
Me: That had to be one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had.
I didn't see him until two weeks later, when a friend of mine showed up. She was hauling pretty boy there to rehab...
Exhibit A: deaf/mute guy
This winning piece of work came into the store awhile ago. He smelled of beer, pot, and judging by how contracted his pupils were, was either on cocaine or another stimulant. He had cigarette burns all over his arms, chapped lips, and was grinding his teeth like mad. In other words, he was flying high. He must have had a serious depth perception issue due to his drug use, because he kept having difficulty putting his hands on the counter.
Me: Can I help you with anything?
SC: *motions for a paper and pen*
Me: *gives over paper*
SC: *pauses and grabs a drink, then asks for cigarettes*
Me: *you look under the age of thirty, I need an ID* *writes this on a paper*
SC: *flails his arms about and gives me a dirty look* *can I have some smokes?*
Me: *shaking my head. No ID, no cigarettes, that's our policy*
SC: *throws the pen on the counter, than snatches it up and writes down that he'll be right back, before sauntering off and kicking my door, which he promptly failed to open, because he kept missing the handle*
Me: What...the hell?
SL: What?
Me: That had to be one of the weirdest experiences I've ever had.
I didn't see him until two weeks later, when a friend of mine showed up. She was hauling pretty boy there to rehab...
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