This story was originally posted on November 27, 2010. Gas Slave Emma gets a Retail Balls Award for not just standing up to one asshole custy, but THREE!:
So I'm working 50+ hours lately because it's been busier than hell, and so I've been having to eat more than one meal at work.
Well we only ever have one person on shift because of money issues or some shit blahblahblah office politics. Anyway, that means I have to eat 1-3 of my meals at work, behind the counter, on shift.
So I've been bringing food from home three out of my five shifts every week because I'm not made of money. And because I'm baking and cooking with my Gramma, a lot of these meals are really nice and full of awesome colorful gourmet foods and such.
Anyway, I was just about to tear into lunch (at 4:30 PM, technically my breakfast as I'd been here since 10 but hadn't eaten, but hey) of Swedish meatballs, two pieces of Lefsa, and a small container of krumkake (which is delicious - Also can you tell that my Gramma is Scandinavian?).
I'm about to eat a piece of my krumkake, and a customer comes up to the counter and says, "Hey can I get some of that?" pointing to my krumkake.
I look at him like he's nuts.
"What the hell, I thought we was friends, Emma!" He says, getting indignant.
I shrug. "This is the first damn thing I've eaten all day. No you can not have my krumkake. Get your own."
"That's not fair. The customer's always right, right?" says he.
"Not when they want my krumkake. Go home and make your own. It's not *that* difficult."
(Note, it is difficult. But worth it! So much!)
Another person comes up to me on my smoke break (place was totally dead except for this guy) and sniffs the smoke.
(Note, I smoke cloves most of the time, expensive and really hard to find around here)
"Dude your smoke smells good."
"Um, thanks?" I say between puffs.
"Can I bum a cigarette?"
I say, "No."
"Aw why not? I wanna try whatever you're smoking!" says he.
I shake my head. "No. These are too expensive to bum. If you want I can point you to the smoke shop (two towns over, only place I've found that carries the damn things with any regularity) where I buy them, but I'm not going to share one of mine with you."
"Aw come on bitch, seriously, I want a damn cigarette!"
I glare. I flick my cigarette butt (smoked to the filter, hah!) at him. "Have fun walking to SuperAmerica, asshole, because you aren't coming in here now."
Customer comes in on phone, mouths to me something that looked to me like Salem ultra lights, so I grab them and ring them up.
He looks at them, picks them up, and throws them at me, after setting his phone down saying "one sec" to them.
"I said NEWPORT LIGHTS, YOU WHORE." he says, spazzing out on me.
I stand there, half in shock, half in 'fuck you I'm not serving you now, that's assault asshole.'
"Well, what, sir?" I say, trying to keep my voice calm.
"WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY CIGARETTES?"
"Well, they won't be in the back of the cop car you're going to be in if you don't get the fuck out right the fuck now. That, sir, was assault, the way you just threw the cigarettes at me. And next time get the fuck off the phone you won't have this problem."
Three guys walk in, one idiot rapping about dogs and bitches or some shit.
"Yo can I get a blunt wrap?"
Note: we have thirty seven different flavors of blunt wraps.
"Which kind?" He looks at me like I'm fucking stupid. "KUSH, duh!"
"Well excuse me for not jamming my Ouija board up my ass this morning!"
Tune in next time,
Same bat time, same bat channel.
--Gas Slave Emma