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As if to top yesterday's story, a group of grunting gents... a grunt of grouping gents... a gent of grunting groups? came in tonight. I was sitting on the window ledge like I do late at night when no one's around to yell and scream and bitch and moan about how my foot hurts, or, I was feeling faint a moment ago. One of these guys walks up to me, and asks, "You guys sell tobacco products this late?"
M: "Of course we do, we don't cut off tobacco sales..."
"Of course you do," and walks off, assuming, apparently, that I was just going to follow him, as he turns around, and, standing at the far end of my self check bank, gives me the shoulder shrug and arms wide that just oh so obviously screams, "You comin'?"
Oh... and I get up and head over to the cigarette counter, "What are you looking for?" What're you buyin', what're you sellin?
"Cigarillos."
Of course... "ID?"
"Oh, okay," He hands it over, I'm shocked that he actually IS old enough to buy tobacco products, and we play the game of, "Which one's the Cheapest?" I HATE this game, mostly because the price tags are never in the right spot, but also because it usually leads to the customer yelling. Also, this is a clue worthy of Mr. Holmes, as I immediately know he's planning to cut open the cigarillos and stuff them with weed.
Hurray... he decides on the cheapest that we have, so I walk them back over to my registers, and scan them, and ask his birthdate again, to make sure I had it right. I was only off by a few months, but I was almost right.
As soon as he pays, the rest of the Grunt moves in to buy chips and drinks... and their apparent leader takes up the Herculean task of scanning and bagging, stumbling not but a few seconds in, having left the first item he scanned sitting on the scanner, and not where it belongs (in a bag/on the scale...)
"What the F, man?" says he of the few words.
M: "The screen's trying to tell you what you did wrong..." Not my finest hour, I admit it... but I was so pissed tonight I actually punched the screen that has the computer info on it... so, angry, tired, cussed at...
"Oh," sheepish look. Ahh, apparently I am now the alpha female of the Grunt?
M: "Of course we do, we don't cut off tobacco sales..."
"Of course you do," and walks off, assuming, apparently, that I was just going to follow him, as he turns around, and, standing at the far end of my self check bank, gives me the shoulder shrug and arms wide that just oh so obviously screams, "You comin'?"
Oh... and I get up and head over to the cigarette counter, "What are you looking for?" What're you buyin', what're you sellin?
"Cigarillos."
Of course... "ID?"
"Oh, okay," He hands it over, I'm shocked that he actually IS old enough to buy tobacco products, and we play the game of, "Which one's the Cheapest?" I HATE this game, mostly because the price tags are never in the right spot, but also because it usually leads to the customer yelling. Also, this is a clue worthy of Mr. Holmes, as I immediately know he's planning to cut open the cigarillos and stuff them with weed.
Hurray... he decides on the cheapest that we have, so I walk them back over to my registers, and scan them, and ask his birthdate again, to make sure I had it right. I was only off by a few months, but I was almost right.
As soon as he pays, the rest of the Grunt moves in to buy chips and drinks... and their apparent leader takes up the Herculean task of scanning and bagging, stumbling not but a few seconds in, having left the first item he scanned sitting on the scanner, and not where it belongs (in a bag/on the scale...)
"What the F, man?" says he of the few words.
M: "The screen's trying to tell you what you did wrong..." Not my finest hour, I admit it... but I was so pissed tonight I actually punched the screen that has the computer info on it... so, angry, tired, cussed at...
"Oh," sheepish look. Ahh, apparently I am now the alpha female of the Grunt?
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