A few words before I go kick retail ass…


Good morning.

Yeah I know I was going to sell loads of clothes today and pay attention to customers….

but, like…


So. Here is a transcript of my first three “customers”

Customer 1 enters shop and marches up to the counter, where I am standing erect (he he) with a bona fide howcanihelpya smle on my spotty, sweaty face.

Customer 1: “I’ll come back later when I have more time.” Waggles eyebrows conspiratorily, “My parking meter is about to expire” *leaves shop*

Me: Ok. Em, see you later?

Customer 2: Enters shop mid sentence. ….”any more, because I got this here a few years ago?”

Me: Excuse me?

Customer 2: (slightly enraged) ” I SAID… do you have more of this kind of bag, but with long straps, kind of heavy, any more, because I got this here a few years ago?”

Me: Deep breaths. Gonna help and sell shit to this woman. “Ok, well I don’t have a bag like that one, but there are some similar bags here, these are from the new collection so they’re more robust”(fucking velvet, damn the autumn winter collection, I fucking hate velvet. Die velvet, die.)

Customer 2: What? NO! I don’t want a winter bag, look at this bag here! Don’t you have any more like this one?

Me: (eh I just said I didn’t) No, we don’t have any like that, but if you want something lighter here are some bags in cotton…

Customer: NO I carry water around and books, it needs to be heavy like this one! (pokes the velvet bag)

Me: Ok… well…

Customer: Even if it’s different, whatever bags you have!

Me: I grab a few different bags.

Customer: Not like that, it has to be like… this. (pats her own bag)

Me: Gritting teeth. “Right.” Begin rummaging for other bags. I know I have nothing she’s going to like. I’m determined to sell this cunt a bag. Eventually find something that is neither heavy enough for a bottle of water nor summery enough nor does it have long straps, but the customer pounces on it.

Customer: This is perfect. But can I get a discount, I always get a discount.

Me: I’m sorry I can’t give you a discount.

Customer: It’s annoying, I never get a discount. (WTF???)

Customer: This is very expensive, don’t you think? (looks at me expectantly)

Me: Well, that’s difficult to answer. Value is kind of subjective…. (trail off. Not the right platform for a lecture on the differences between cost, price and value / how capitalism works.)

I didn’t sell this woman a bag. She left me with a pile of rejected bags and slightly less of a helpful smile on my face.

Customer 3: Not actually a customer. I was huddled behind the till squeezing my spots. I know, I said I wouldn’t. I’m not strong enough to resist. I’m already trying to smoke less, eat less (not going well. finished the pistachios last night then got up at 1am and made myself some hot dog sausages and ate half a jar of olives.) AND drink in moderation.

Something’s gotta give. (well… everything. I’m not doing well in any of my quests for moderation..)

So yeah, I’m crouched behind the till, squeezing out a really satisfying tube of gunk..

and in walks customer 3. I wipe the gunk away and croak out a “Salve!” (that’s one of the things you can say when someone comes into your shop, I think it’s an ancient Roman greeting or something.)

Except he’s no customer.

He’s my fucking ESTRANGED husband.

Yeah… awkward.

We hugged. I gave him his post, loads of letters from the bank I’ve been collecting and not opening for months.

He has lost weight (lack of sex had taken its toll on both our figures during matrimony) and looks pretty good except he shaved his head which is good because he’s ridiculously hot when he has kind of messy hair. Not that I’d ever go there again. The only relationships worth revisiting are those which end due to clashing personalities or ideals, where the sex is still good… so that excludes my marriage.

Anyway, I had been dreading bumping into husband for ages now, knowing he owes me money but he thinks I owe him money, and probably we’re both wrong and being stingy assholes… and just thinking about having to drag up the dregs of our dead relationship again, and pick at it like vultures… ugh. I just want to stick my fingers in my ears and go LALALALALA It’s not real, I can’t hear you, etc.

But actually, horrific and untimely as it was, husband’s visit at least put an end to the unpleasant anticipation.

We’re going to meet up for that awful talk next week.

I have to try keep my cool because money will be mentioned, and he said he’s currently unemployed, so basically I will NOT be seeing any money from him. And meanwhile, I just got a letter in the post from the rubbish people, who apparently want to charge me for rubbish collection. I’ve lived in that apartment two years and never heard a peep from them. So I’m a bit miffed because, it’s an extra bill I didn’t know about and now I have to pay. Bastards.

Also you have to pay per metre squared of apartment, so it doesn’t matter if I start recycling or stop throwing bottles in the mixed bin without even scrunching them up. YEAH THAT’S HOW I ROLL.

Ok, so today I haven’t achieved the mega sales I had hoped for, but then I was trying to do one of those waterfall braids in my hair.

Oh man, really fucking hard.

I mean, who can plait their hair like that in the back of their head? It’s hard.

I did a first attempt and it felt like it looked neat and awesome and sexy and then i held up a hand mirror and stood in front of the big mirror…. and no. It resembled back-combed hair the next day after a fancy party where you leave the house looking AMAZING and then wind up sleeping in between the fridge and the washing machine in some house whose owners you don’t know.

Which wasn’t the look I was going for.

I tried again, and it fell apart.

I did sell a couple of pairs of shoes in between braiding, but everything’s on sale now so it really doesn’t add up to much.

It’s cool though, I’m going to go deal with some customers and shit.

Peace out, motherfuckers.


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