“This is not some communist day care center…”

April 27, 2007 at 12:53 am (Cussed Dumbers)

The other day I wrote a post about the end of the month, and all the fun that comes with it. I almost felt bad after, since the rest of the week went smoothly. People were nice, time went quickly, not a lot of hassles.

Until tonight.

Instead of unwinding with a Coke and a smile, I’m blasting my ears out with Marilyn Manson.

“White trash get down on your knees. Time for cake and sodomy…”

The day began with pandemonium. Co-workers not knowing where they were supposed to be, or not showing up at all. I take over the register to a line ten people deep, all wanting to play the goddamn lottery. And none of them patient. I take it in stride, and after a crazy start, I have just enough time to catch a breath before trouble walks in.

A transient from the area wanders in. It takes me a minute, but I remember him. A few weeks back, as a co-worker and I were in the middle of catching him trying to boost a bottle of wine, the gentleman who runs the store across the street rushes into our store, and kicks him out for us. “If I catch that motherfucker in my store again, I keel him!! I beat his ass!!” Wino-Man attempts to return no less than seven times that night, only to be booted on sight.

Tonight, he makes it about 20 feet in before it dawns on me who he is. “Hey! You! Get out now!”

He looks around, with that ‘You certainly aren’t addressing me in that tone, sir?’ look.

“You- get the fuck out.” I pick up the phone and dial 911.

“Well, if you are going to call the police, I may as well steal something.” He walks over and grabs a $15 bottle of chardonnay. Poof! Now he’s leaving.

After a half-hour of phone tag, with police, street patrols, TriMet security and even the detox wagon involved, he’s still on the lam. To borrow a line from NWA, fuck the police. Next time I see him, I’m calling the guy across the street.

That set the tone for the day. It was a parade of idiots, all night long.

I did have one reprieve. Our tech-person, a starving student type, brought a new monitor for our cash register. Replacing the old one took half an hour or so, and he does an excellent impersonation of Borat. I asked TriMet security to keep people out until we could get up to speed. It was the closest thing to non-aggrivation I felt all night.

The graveyard guy rolled in, and I could smell relief. “Quick, count in and get me the hell out of here. Please?”

Deadpan, he asks, “Our customers getting to you?”

“No, just the assholes. Another ten minutes and I’d have stabbed someone in the eye with a lottery pencil.”

I took care of business, and came out of the back. Graveyard Guy was yelling at some doofus, but he had it under control. I slithered past the crowd and out the door. Feets don’t fail me now!

I didn’t even mind (much) that construction has moved my bus stop yet another five blocks away from home. At least I was going home. And thanks to Mister Manson, and an hour or so without an idiotic question thrown my way, I’m almost in a good mood. Time for some mellower music.

Where’s my L7 CD……

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