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I've been noticing something lately. I've noticed that I get into a lot of situations that SCs I deal with get in, and deal with it completely differently. Call this a primer of how not to behave like an SC.
The other day, before we opened, and this yahoo came to the front door and tried it. It was, of course, locked. He tried it again. A third time. Still the universe's physical laws had not changed. Locked door still no open. And at this point, we were all vaguely amused, but we can chalk this up to human nature. You will naturally try to open something you think should open. How many of us have lost something, looked where it should be, it isn't there....and as we look for it, we keep coming back and looking in the same place it should be there, and it STILL isn't there? Yeah, human nature. I'll grant that much.
But then this mustachioed monkey went around to the side of the building, where there is a side door that is CLEARLY not an entrance, just a side exit, and tried to open THAT door. This is a door that Does Not Open from the outside. Not without the manager's key, of course. This was something we had not seen before, and we were dying with laughter.
Then this walking proof of Darwin's miscalculation comes back around to the front door and tries it again. In frustration, he finally gave up and left. We think he just wanted to use the bathroom. Which would have been funny, because it is still NOT a public shitter, thank you very much.
Now, when *I* am out and about, and approach a business I wish to enter, if, upon trying the door, it does not open, I might (out of instinct) try said door again. Perhaps it's stuck. Perhaps I am more exhausted than usual from lifting all those heavy beer bottles to my lips. Perhaps my sexual frustration has weakened my normally superhuman arm strength. But when locked door still no open, I move along, seeking out another business that might be able to cater to what I need, or perhaps to return later when the locked business is no longer locked, and I can get from them that which I am seeking.
Example 2. Older male member of the species walks into The Bar the other day. He asks where our bathroom is. I very politely say, "I'm sorry, sir. The bathroom is for customers only." The look that came across his face was one that I might expect if I had, say, lopped off the head of his first born and used the skull as a doorstop. Yeah, that face. Without another word, he left, clearly angered by the audacity of this bar not to let anyone and everyone that isn't spending money use their shitter.
I am smarter than most. If I need to use a bar's toilet, I will walk in, walk directly to the bathroom, use it, and then leave, perhaps purchasing a soda or bottled water or even a beer (I've been known to like those) on my way out. Might even stick around for some nachos. If, however, I am not at my usual clever level, and I have to ask about the bathroom, and they inform me that their bathroom is only for customers, I execute one of x choices. I make a purchase, paying my dues to the business, and then use the shitter. I inform them I'll be dining there after my excursion to their shitter, and I do. I politely thank them and inquire where I might locate a public shitter. Or I politely take my leave of them. Because, you know, it's their damn business and they can set whatever rules they want in its running.
Example 3. Older female member of the species ambles in, with three grey-haired companions waiting by the front door until they know the result of her impending queries. Miss Bingo Parlor asks me how much our beers are. I (correctly) tell her it varies, as different beers are different prices. She narrows her target down to "Coors Light," a delightful Colorado pisswater that no beer afficionado would touch if not desperate for liquid refreshment. When I inform her that the beer in question is $4, she seems agitated, like I just hit her pet baby seal with a Coors Light bottle. "Oh, that's too much!" And she and her fellow Social Security club meander angrily out of our fair watering hole and on down the street.
Now I rarely ask for the price of a beer unless it is some hand-crafted microbrew from the Alp foothills that has to be poured over a ripe banana peel before it is served to the public masses. That beer might just be a bit pricey, and I am but a simple man who is not independently wealthy. If, upon asking, I find out that the beer I have selected is priced just under the gross GNP of some small African nations, I might hesitate to purchase it, but I would not make a face and storm out of the establishment. And if I was seeking American swill, I CERTAINLY wouldn't be trolling all around Key West looking for cheaper version, because it doesn't get that much cheaper. You might save about 75 cents per bottle after you canvas eight bars, love. This is Key West. It's expensive. Deal with it, or drink water with lemon like all the other cheap assholes. (I am not saying, mind you, that people who drink water with lemon are cheap assholes. I am saying that cheap assholes drink water with lemon. There's a difference.)
Example 4. A man slightly smaller than your average bloated water buffalo ambles into The Bar. He is Not Smoking. He does not have any smoking supplies visible. He says nothing to the hostess about smoking, and makes no queries about such. He ambles up to the main bar, purchases a cold frosty beverage, and lights up a cigar. In the state of Florida, in enclosed establishments like ours, this is, what's the word....ILLEGAL. The bartender informs him of this, and that he will have to take the cigar outside. Paul the Walrus gets chagrined, and loudly proclaims, "Well, someone should have told me this when I came in here!" and storms out like a petulant, spoiled child.
The Jester (or as my one niece calls me, Da Jesta--Word, homes, MC Jesta is in the house, shouting out to all my G's from the 480!), while not a smoker of cigarettes, does enjoy the occasional good cigar with his rum or beer. And by "occasional" I mean once or twice a year, if that. That being said, when I have a cigar handy, and plan on smoking it, if I look around the establishment and see no visible ashtrays, I will politely ask the Tender of the Bar if smoking is permitted in their fine establishment. If so, I will politely ask for an ashtray, so as to not dirty their floor with my burn leaves. If not, I will refrain from lighting up, or perhaps step outside to do so.
I dare say most of us are like this. We use logic, rational thought, and manners in the exact same situations that SCs find themselves in. The difference is, we behave politely, rationally, and logically.
This, my friends, is what separates us and the truly good customers (the majority, in my opinion) from the otter sperm fucktards of the world that make our lives and our jobs so unpleasant at times.
Feel free to share.
The other day, before we opened, and this yahoo came to the front door and tried it. It was, of course, locked. He tried it again. A third time. Still the universe's physical laws had not changed. Locked door still no open. And at this point, we were all vaguely amused, but we can chalk this up to human nature. You will naturally try to open something you think should open. How many of us have lost something, looked where it should be, it isn't there....and as we look for it, we keep coming back and looking in the same place it should be there, and it STILL isn't there? Yeah, human nature. I'll grant that much.
But then this mustachioed monkey went around to the side of the building, where there is a side door that is CLEARLY not an entrance, just a side exit, and tried to open THAT door. This is a door that Does Not Open from the outside. Not without the manager's key, of course. This was something we had not seen before, and we were dying with laughter.
Then this walking proof of Darwin's miscalculation comes back around to the front door and tries it again. In frustration, he finally gave up and left. We think he just wanted to use the bathroom. Which would have been funny, because it is still NOT a public shitter, thank you very much.
Now, when *I* am out and about, and approach a business I wish to enter, if, upon trying the door, it does not open, I might (out of instinct) try said door again. Perhaps it's stuck. Perhaps I am more exhausted than usual from lifting all those heavy beer bottles to my lips. Perhaps my sexual frustration has weakened my normally superhuman arm strength. But when locked door still no open, I move along, seeking out another business that might be able to cater to what I need, or perhaps to return later when the locked business is no longer locked, and I can get from them that which I am seeking.
Example 2. Older male member of the species walks into The Bar the other day. He asks where our bathroom is. I very politely say, "I'm sorry, sir. The bathroom is for customers only." The look that came across his face was one that I might expect if I had, say, lopped off the head of his first born and used the skull as a doorstop. Yeah, that face. Without another word, he left, clearly angered by the audacity of this bar not to let anyone and everyone that isn't spending money use their shitter.
I am smarter than most. If I need to use a bar's toilet, I will walk in, walk directly to the bathroom, use it, and then leave, perhaps purchasing a soda or bottled water or even a beer (I've been known to like those) on my way out. Might even stick around for some nachos. If, however, I am not at my usual clever level, and I have to ask about the bathroom, and they inform me that their bathroom is only for customers, I execute one of x choices. I make a purchase, paying my dues to the business, and then use the shitter. I inform them I'll be dining there after my excursion to their shitter, and I do. I politely thank them and inquire where I might locate a public shitter. Or I politely take my leave of them. Because, you know, it's their damn business and they can set whatever rules they want in its running.
Example 3. Older female member of the species ambles in, with three grey-haired companions waiting by the front door until they know the result of her impending queries. Miss Bingo Parlor asks me how much our beers are. I (correctly) tell her it varies, as different beers are different prices. She narrows her target down to "Coors Light," a delightful Colorado pisswater that no beer afficionado would touch if not desperate for liquid refreshment. When I inform her that the beer in question is $4, she seems agitated, like I just hit her pet baby seal with a Coors Light bottle. "Oh, that's too much!" And she and her fellow Social Security club meander angrily out of our fair watering hole and on down the street.
Now I rarely ask for the price of a beer unless it is some hand-crafted microbrew from the Alp foothills that has to be poured over a ripe banana peel before it is served to the public masses. That beer might just be a bit pricey, and I am but a simple man who is not independently wealthy. If, upon asking, I find out that the beer I have selected is priced just under the gross GNP of some small African nations, I might hesitate to purchase it, but I would not make a face and storm out of the establishment. And if I was seeking American swill, I CERTAINLY wouldn't be trolling all around Key West looking for cheaper version, because it doesn't get that much cheaper. You might save about 75 cents per bottle after you canvas eight bars, love. This is Key West. It's expensive. Deal with it, or drink water with lemon like all the other cheap assholes. (I am not saying, mind you, that people who drink water with lemon are cheap assholes. I am saying that cheap assholes drink water with lemon. There's a difference.)
Example 4. A man slightly smaller than your average bloated water buffalo ambles into The Bar. He is Not Smoking. He does not have any smoking supplies visible. He says nothing to the hostess about smoking, and makes no queries about such. He ambles up to the main bar, purchases a cold frosty beverage, and lights up a cigar. In the state of Florida, in enclosed establishments like ours, this is, what's the word....ILLEGAL. The bartender informs him of this, and that he will have to take the cigar outside. Paul the Walrus gets chagrined, and loudly proclaims, "Well, someone should have told me this when I came in here!" and storms out like a petulant, spoiled child.
The Jester (or as my one niece calls me, Da Jesta--Word, homes, MC Jesta is in the house, shouting out to all my G's from the 480!), while not a smoker of cigarettes, does enjoy the occasional good cigar with his rum or beer. And by "occasional" I mean once or twice a year, if that. That being said, when I have a cigar handy, and plan on smoking it, if I look around the establishment and see no visible ashtrays, I will politely ask the Tender of the Bar if smoking is permitted in their fine establishment. If so, I will politely ask for an ashtray, so as to not dirty their floor with my burn leaves. If not, I will refrain from lighting up, or perhaps step outside to do so.
I dare say most of us are like this. We use logic, rational thought, and manners in the exact same situations that SCs find themselves in. The difference is, we behave politely, rationally, and logically.
This, my friends, is what separates us and the truly good customers (the majority, in my opinion) from the otter sperm fucktards of the world that make our lives and our jobs so unpleasant at times.
Feel free to share.
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