Um, Don’t Forget Your Head…

April 18, 2008 at 12:44 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

A head without a body. Not something you see in your average quickie-mart. But then, Master P’s stores are anything but average.

I saw it, two nights in a row.

I’ve been doing time at the Waterfront store. The first night was a little rough, and then I went back to the fail/safe attitude: Don’t take things so personally and find amusement in what you see. (It helps that I can share these near-hallucinatory things with you.) If Master P’s stores have a motto, it would be “Just when you think you’re seen it all…”

Two women were joking, “I give the best head!”

“Huh-UH! *I* give the best head!” Giggle giggle. They put down a 4-pack of Tilt, the best-selling energy drink that also happens to be 8% alcohol. The lady paying is having trouble getting into her wallet. “Here! Hold this.”

She hands her friend the head off of a mannequin, holding it by the hair like Jason Voorhees would after some hot and naughty machete action. They pay, I bag up the Tilt. “Would you like a bag for your severed head?”

“Nope!” she proclaimed. “I use it to scare away the creeps on the MAX!” They giggled off into the night.

Mmmkay…

Last night, the Friday of my week, (thank the gods) went fairly smooth. Until about 10 PM, when a different lady came in with a severed head. This one was contained in a cardboard box, but she was carrying it by the hair. I had to ask, “What the hell is up with all the severed heads?”

“Oh, tee hee, I go to beauty school, and it’s finals week. I have to give Matilda here a makeover.”

“They should give you guys bowling bags with those.”

“Yes, I get lots of comments on the bus.”

Then there were the folks whose heads should be severed. One youngster, age 21 and a few months, came back for his third dose of alcohol. I watched his friend taunting people on the train, and was torn as to whether I should serve him. He didn’t appear intoxicated, but sometimes you have to judge people by the company they keep. After asking several times how much things cost, not listening to what I said, I ignored him until he came to the counter.

“How much is this?”

“Two dollars and forty cents.” Another fucking can of Tilt.

Are you serious?”

“Do I not look serious?” I was tiring of his conversation, and his friend had managed to stop the MAX by banging on the outside window. I could sell him the booze, wait three minutes for the cops, get him busted and get his last $2. Or…

“Do you have anything for $2?”

“Milwaukie’s Beast is $1.70 a can.”

He mutters something derogatory I can’t quite hear, then wanders back to the cooler. He returns with a 12 oz. can of Tecate. I ring it up. “Got your ID?”

“Dude! I’ve been here three fucking times tonight!”

I pull the beer off the counter, start to turn, and he says, “Sorry sir, my bad. Here you go.”

I take his $2, his ID and the beer. I ring it up. “That’ll be $2.”

“You said a buck seventy!”

“Fuck you, go buy it somewhere else.” I threw his ID and cash on the counter.

“Um, I’m sorry! Can’t I get the beer please.”

I shook the can, and contemplated throwing it at him. A siren was getting louder, and his friend yelled. They took off running. Buh-bye!

The train left, and things got quiet for a minute. Then, a young man came in. He had nerdy glasses and a bit of an overbite. “Hey, whatever happened to that lay-DEE?”

He looked and sounded just like Jerry Lewis.

I listened as he told me of how “that lay-DEE” had fought with a customer over a pack of cigarettes, and the customer “lay-DEE” had brandished a full bottle of riesling in the process. “I just wanted to know if the lay-DEE was okay?”

I just looked at him, not knowing what to say. He shrugged and left.

Man, I wish I had one of those severed heads. I coulda plunked it on the counter and said, “THIS is what happens when you give me a hard time!”

If little Mr Tilt comes back, I may just have one.

Where’s the store machete again?

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