Willy wonka and the Cancer factory

I officially hate wednesdays.

So far today I have managed to yell at a customer on the phone, not once, but three times and counting(apparently can't take the hang up hint AT ALL), dropped all of my daily newspapers that come into my store(about 15 different titles, 5-20 apiece), then barked at a customer wanting to help.And these papers didn't just go in an up-down motion. oh no. I did the full version of the 'I got it! I Got it!' dance, and there was news every where.. and that nice, naive customer held the door open for a full 4 minutes while I did the 'mumbly-don't help me- I said I got it' stretches. all this going on, while behind me, and so unbeknownst to me, a good crowd of 4 or 5 people had gathered, either apparently too scared to pass the messy News-explosion into the helpfully opened door, or trying to keep their laughs down to a reasonably silent snorting session. yeah I heard it. helpful.

and it's not even 10:30.

ok now it is.

And enter- Oompa Loompa! Well. Not quite. He's a bit surlier than your average oompa. But he's short! And cancer-peely Orange! Someone should send that man to the tanning nazis. NO MORE GLOOP FOR YOU! ick. As always, he, like every other regular schmuck in my store, expects my mind-reading capabilities to kick in before lunch, or at least my third cuppa. So I'm behind the counter, vaguely aware that he likes to top off his carcinogenic routine with cigars, but I'll be a surgeon generals left t** if I can remember which kind. And so I start from the left of the display and move on, while he's making jokes about the intelligence level of retail employees in this day and age. I imagine the slow painful death he's made for himself, and picture him wheezing and purple, and somehow the comments bounce off . Not bad for 10:30. in the a.m. After I finally get the amount of and the kind(get this, a carton of bandi cigars, five to a pack , five packs a carton, twice a week. I hope he shares.) Oompa gets on his cell phone. Guess my converstional skills were no match to his lackey who can get him starbucks at his whim. So I'm standing there while he makes his order, still waiting for a form of payment. And the little bugger starts wandering around the store, visually picking out artery-clog inducing pastry! Hello! I want you to get the f out of my store! If you're not out in 30 seconds, your lackey better be bringing ME a venti-smooth-hot-something else-blahblah-water-more fake italian-latte, AND a muffin! I don't care which kind. not picky. haha... So , he finally comes back, and then tries to leave without paying. yeah. Saw That coming from a mile away, even in my caffiene-free coma. So we argue for a little minute, then I , in my graceful, refined and patient glory, say 'I have a video camera that's been watching you SIR! Why don't you have a look to jog your memory, cuz I am QUITE SURE that you didn't leave any fu**in money.' whoops. First rule,big one, no swearing at customers, the customer is always right. well I happen to know that most of the customers I serve don't know right from their own toes, so I guess that makes me a shitty manager. Whatever. So, wisely, he shuts his mouth, we go to the camera and rewind , he looks at himself going through the coffee summons, while I look on(thank god my back was to the camera, I'm pretty shure that I said many more unsavory things while watching his communicative ordeal.) (hah! big words! not even sure if they fit or make sense, but surprisingly they're the only words coming to mind)

And all he says is 'huh. so I guess I didn't pay ya.' and gets out his wallet. . kay best part. so he pays, says 'see ya next week, you know you don't have to let these things get to ya, don't let the world get ya down.' or something to that extent. then-'umm, I looked kind of orange in the camera... you might want to fix your contrast.'

priceless.