It's not always them

Yep. Somtimes it's me being the total moron. Well that's not unusual, but from the perspective of retail, it tends to be me being stunned (or entertained) by the antics of my customers, not the other way around. This happened some time ago but it is the event that finally prompted me to start a blog, for better or worse, and I feel that since most of my writting will likely focus on how the rest of the world is off it's rocker, it's only fair to recognize when I'm being a boob. So let's begin.

It was a pretty standard day at the bookstore and I was thanking my lucky stars that I was scheduled to spend my whole shift at the customer service desk. I hate being trapped behind the cash register - it's boring unless we're slammed and makes my back ache to stand in one place for so long. We were fairly busy during the afternoon and since I hadn't had to clean up anything disgusting I was counting it as a good day in retail. As fun as it is, working customer service has it's dangers...For example, one has to talk to the customers and this can lead to very serious foot-in-mouth problems. Think Ann Coulter is a handmaiden to satan and quite possibly Dick Cheney's own personal succubus? Better not mention that to the nice little old lady asking where the 'Murder She Wrote' mystery series is. Next thing you know, she's taking her autographed copy of Godless: The Church of Liberalism out of her purse and physically assaulting you with it. Besides, nobody likes to be told that the people/ideas they admire and believe in are an anathema to someone else. So I don't know what possessed me to say what I did when the neat and tidy older gentleman asked me to find him a copy of a book called Final Exit. I looked at him and raised my eyebrows slightly, my mouth in a little moue of delicate humor, commuicating with my very molecules that this was humor for you and I, sir, the smart and clever people above the hoi polloi, the people of the Dry Wit.

I said "Oh dear. I hope this isn't a call for help?" I smiled. He smiled back. I looked at what my search engine brought forth, to find his book and put it in his hands, to complete my mission as a bookseller. I read the title. I nearly threw up. You see, the full title for his requested book is Final Exit: The Practicalities of Self-Deliverance and Assisted Suicide for the Dying. I know I turned white because when I turned my agonized eyes to my customer he looked at with concern. Stammering something along the lines of follow me please it's this way, I led him to the Death & Grieving section, found the book, and handed it to him. I even managed to ask him if there was anything else I could help him find. Then I fled.

I mean it, I RAN like Klan was one step behind me. I achieved the safety of the employee breakroom and collapsed in a chair alternatley laughing and crying. Pretty much the only way to get over something like that is to tell everyone, and my co-workers were a great audience. Utterly horrified at what I had done, but these are smart people and they know when to be amused at an absurdity. My friends outside of work were ruthless of course, but that's what I love them for. They now tell it amongst themselves that I am such tough retail worker that I actually drove a customer to suicide. I used to rate how good or bad a day in retail was by what nasty mystery substance I had to clean up, but now it's how many customers I've left alive that day.

Tune in next time for more horrors from the Wonderful World of My Bookstore.