The Old Gray Goose Takes Flight

December 5, 2016 at 3:33 pm (Cussed Dumbers, Drunk and disorderly)

mommaPeople often ask how I can tolerate working with the public? It’s not easy, but 99 out of 100 people are nice and just want their Twinkies or whatever. However, out of a thousand people, that leaves ten assholes. Sounds like a proper ratio.

I have been training new workers. I preach tolerance, but there are no shortages of rule-breakers, so everything is like school, and I am the hall monitor. After a week of newbies, they sent me to the Waterfront Store for the night. Sundays at Waterfront are deathly slow. Perfect for reading or recovery from endless screaming. I had a stack of Oregonians, waiting for a quiet moment to settle in.

That’s when the old lady with the bottle of vodka walked in.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to leave the bottle outside.” I could see the neck sticking out of the paper bag, and see it was down a couple inches. I could smell her from across the store. This must have been her second bottle.

“Yeah sure, I just want some cigarettes,” she rasped. She set the bottle just outside the store doors, like a sentry. Close enough.

“What can I get you?”

“I want your cheapest pack of cigarettes.”

“I have Pall Malls or Newport Reds, $6.60.” I reached for a pack. “Do you have a preference?”

“Yeah, I want the cheapest, I said.”

“Yeah, I heard you. When you asked for the cheapest, for some funny reason I told you the cheapest.”

“You ain’t got anything for five bucks?”

“$6.60. Going once…”

“What’s wrong with you? Are you on drugs? Are you in need of a fix? You can’t even stand up!” (I’d taken a seat on a milk crate, preferring to argue comfortably from a distance.) She wobbled, looked me in the eye, and spit on the floor.

“That’s disgusting! Get out!” I stood up from the milk crates and grabbed the push broom. I can push her out from a distance.

“You gonna hit me?” She squared up as I came around the counter. She spit at me again.

“Stop that! Get out!”

“What you gonna do about it, hippie? Cops’ll just take me to detox, you can’t do shit!”

That was when I noticed the bottle of vodka, and she remembered the bottle of vodka. I pushed the door open, she reached for it, but my broom swept in for the kill, pushing it on its side. I was praying it was unscrewed, but no such luck. It rolled down the sidewalk into the drain grate. She retrieved it as I pulled the store doors closed and locked them. She stood outside, spitting on the windows and cursing. I called Clean & Safe, who had one bicycle cop on duty. He’d get to me when he could. So I chose to wait her out.

I read a couple news articles, then went over and unlocked the door. I looked right, left, then right again. As I began to relax, the old goat came crawling out of the doorway. “You fat, drugged-out hippie prick, I–”

I relocked the door, and waited. She walked back and forth in front of the store, stopping to insult my lineage. I grew tired of this, and developed a plan.

I reopened the door, while holding the broom. I measured the distance between her head and the business end of the push-broom. It’d be like horizontal whack-a-mole. But I couldn’t.

“Whatta ya gonna do, hit me? YOU AIN’T GOT THE BALLS!”

She got within a step or two, and stopped to attempt to light her cigarette butt with a match. She cradled the vodka between her left arm and boob, turning to block the wind. It was my moment of opportunity, and I seized it.

I grabbed the bottle of vodka by the neck, wound up like Brett Favre and launched that golden goose thirty feet across the MAX platform, where it crashed into dozens of tiny, potato-soaked shards. It left a splotch the size of a beach ball.

Momma was apoplectic. Her attempts at spitting were pitiful before, but now she was spraying snot and goo every which way as she hollered and raved. “I’m gonna KILL you for that,” she swore at me through the window. I’d relocked. I can wait longer than she can, and I’m getting paid.

A few minutes later, I popped the door. “She’s about two blocks thataway,” said a customer who’d watched it all. I thanked him for his patience, and I had no more issues for the rest of the night.

I called back Clean & Safe. “I no longer need an officer. She left after a tragic accident with her vodka bottle. It died in a crash, on impact.”

“Sorry to hear that. Condolences.” We laughed.

I couldn’t hit her, and I couldn’t arrest her, but what I did hurt her way worse. I have four more work hours this week. Keep yo Momma’s at home.


1 Comment

  1. Obi_WanK said,

    I felt a great disturbance in the Force, as if millions of Russians suddenly cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

    Great Story, Thanks for sharing!

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