“Your God Won’t Save You Now!”

February 11, 2016 at 12:13 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

Outside The Mothership

Outside The Mothership

Back before Elmo fell from grace, when a customer would complain about high cigarette prices by declaring, “Oh Jesus!”, Elmo would respond with “Your God Won’t Save You Now!” I found this hilarious, but controversial, and it’s his line, so I left it to him. Lately I’ve been tempted to resurrect it.

I have been training new people, mostly at the Waterfront Store. There’s Mrs Brady, an older, chipper woman who we thought would be running to the hills after an afternoon at the Mothership. But apparently she’s from San Francisco, where the homeless are twice as stinky and irritating, so she’s still with us. It’s been two weeks, and she’s still with us. Yay Mrs Brady!

Goat Boy lasted a day and a half. He trained with Festus, who showed tremendous patience. Festus told him that it was okay to stare off into space for a minute during quiet times, to collect your thoughts. NOT okay to do so in the middle of a Megabucks sale. Festus suggested more coffee and fewer bong hits before work. The second day he worked with Eva Braun for 45 minutes before asking to go to the bathroom. He didn’t take the bathroom keys and didn’t come back. I didn’t mind. He gave redheaded stoners a bad name.

There was Thrilla, a sweet young man that was a neighbor of Rain’s a couple years back. Cool kid, won a talent show as a Michael Jackson impersonator. When I asked about his self-defense plans, he snapped off a kick that came within an inch of my nose. I smiled, unflinching, and told him he’d do fine. He liked me, liked working with me. He was good about showing up for work most of the time, had great rapport with the public, but sadly had shitty math skills. When Clean & Safe offered him a position as a cadet, he jumped at the opportunity. We were sad to see him go, with the possible exception of Southie, who had to deconstruct the daily cash quagmire. Thrilla’s out on patrol, with a head up on all the shitbirds I will be sending him after.

Dr T warned me during my last visit on a day off, “You’re getting a trainee Monday night. Boss interviewed him in the middle of the night, over the phone, and is meeting him 11 AM Monday. He will be with you Monday night.”

Bless you Dr for telling me. And, GODDAMMIT! I have a third of a Stephen King book to finish, and was counting on the quiet evenings at the Waterfront store to finish it off. Shit. Fuck. Fooey. At least I had a warning. It sucks to have the perfect work buzz and then have to spend the whole night burning it off discussing every nuance of a job a chimp could do in theory.

Sheldon looked to be somewhere between nineteen and twenty-five., meticulously groomed. Gay? Hmm. His speech was clipped, precise, like a kindergarten teacher’s. He reminded me of that guy on The Big Bang Theory. You know, the prissy, fussy one.

I must admit, my head swelled some when the boss came by, introduced us after the fact, then said, “Charles is our best, he’s going to teach you everything! Carry on…” High praise, but geez. If he’s not an idiot, I will look bad. Since, despite occasional grumbles, I am a dedicated employee who wants the store to succeed, so I will suck it up and do my best.

I decided to stick to the basics and leave out the war stories. I’ve told them so many times to so many trainees *I* get bored with them. I chose to let the public bring him his own set of war stories.

Sheldon works at an independent book store, so he knows basic cash handling. Thank gawd! His biggest challenge was the inability not to paperclip money together. “Why are these twenties clipped together?” “You said bundles of a hundred?” “FIVE dollar bills go in bunches of a hundred. Twenty-five ones in a bundle. Leave the clips alone otherwise.” “Okay.” I still had to tell him to unclip his money at the end of shift.

After our first night, when I showed up for work, Master P called down from the office, “Come see me right now before you start!” This used to send waves of panic through my chest, but I took a deep breath, blinked the bong hits from my eyes, and rolled into the office.

“How’s our new guy?”

“Well, he came back, I consider that a great sign! He seems alert, conscientious, his biggest flaw is doing things ahead of schedule. And he has a weird thing about paperclips. If the public doesn’t scare him off, he’ll do fine.”

“Good! He’ll be working with you all week.”

Sigh. Sorry, Stephen King. Looks like you’re gonna add to my library fines.

During the introductory phase, I asked him if he watched South Park. A look of pure horror crossed his face. “I get my humor from the Daily Show.” When I gave him the “don’t show up for work high” lecture, he said, “I love my body just the way it is, thank you very much.” The only thing he laughed at were my vanilla bible-based wisecracks. Closet Mormon? Jehovah’s Witness? During Fat Tuesday, when I told a cussed-dumber I was giving up abstinence for Lent, he said “Let me know how that works for ya!” in a born-again kinda way. When I said something about viewing the titties on Fat Tuesday, he said, “Proper gentlemen don’t discuss such things.” Jesus. So I have been operating on a mostly-G-rated platform when alone with him.

When Mrs Brady dropped off bank bags, I asked how things were at the Nightclub Store? “Oh it’s the same old thing. That new shelter is bringing in some salty motherfuckers…”

WOW, Mrs Brady uses the f-word? Stop the presses! “Bless you for cussing, nice lady.” I can only maintain a wholesome dialogue for so long before exploding in a torrent of foul-mouthed release. At least I don’t have to clean it up for her.

I would send Sheldon to lunch an hour before me, so when the lunch person arrived he could hang with the other employees, get their perspective. (Plus an hour when I could stare stupidly into space, sans Megabucks sales.) One of the lunch people asked about an incident he’d read about in the incident book, so I retold it with all the color and flair.

Sheldon hung on every word, not looking nervous at all. Good. It will be your turn soon, my son. May your god be on full alert.


1 Comment

  1. Asscheek Mcgillacutty said,

    Remember….. the ground is sour.

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