When you have to go

Not all my jobs are or were customer service related.  At one time, I worked as a security official at a gentleman's club. Translation: I was the bouncer at a topless bar. Quality job with excellent benefits. Actually, it wasn't and the only benefit I got was seeing topless girls for free.Whether I wanted to or not.  It did allow me to meet some interesting people, though.

One friday night the place was hopping. Smell of cigarette smoke in the air, "Shook me all night long" blasting over the speakers, and horny guys giving young girls dollar bills in exchange for a brief moment of female contact. Not too much contact though. Too much touchy feely and I threw them out. Surprisingly, they don't "bounce" when you throw them out. They just land in a heap on the ground.

The owner came in from the front bar and asked me to come "throw this sumbitch out". Perfectly normal request.  It usually meant someone pissed him off. Then that meant I was going to piss them off. Funny how that works.

I went up front to see a rather large black man standing at the bar. Normally, I try not to make them angry since I am a fairly large white man with a shaved head. Insert outdated, politically incorrect, racial stereotypes here.

I calmly walked up to the man and told him he was going to have to leave.  He not so calmly told me he came in to use the bathroom. The owner angrily told me, again, to "throw the sumbitch out".  I tried to explain to the man that he had to leave.  Once again, he said he came into use the bathroom.  If you guessed that this man was highly intoxicated, you would be correct.

I aaked the owner if the guy could just use the bathroom and then I would have him leave.  During this very brief exchange, I realized that my calf felt warm and wet. Not a normal feeling in any way.  I looked to the side and saw that the gentleman was standing there, dick in hand, pissing on my leg.
Mere seconds later this same man was lying on the sidewalk still holding dick in hand. I guess its hard to walk and hold your junk at the same time  Who would have thought?

Instead of him being pissed off, I ended up being pissed on.

Daddy's little girl

One evening, this young girl walks into the station.  She quietly walks up and places her purchase on the counter.  One box of Trojan condoms.  Now, the brand has nothing to do with this story but I am a big supporter of product placement. 

As she is paying for her purchase another customer walks up behind her and looks over her shoulder. I am assuming that he  knows her.  At least I hope he does.  Otherwise, we have a possible stalker situation. 

She puts the condoms in her purse and turns to head toward the exit door.  At this time, the customer behind her taps her on the shoulder.  She turns to look at him, pauses, and then quickly heads out the door.  The man then walks up to counter with a smile on his face.  This whole exchange is a little confusing so I, of course, have to ask.

"What was that about?", I ask.

He replies, "That was my daughter."

BUSTED!!

Dick Shit

One of the products we sell at the gas station is Extenze.  Please do not ask me what it's for.  We are grown adults and I'm sure we can figure this one out.  However, I have seen many people who are totally confused by it's counterpart, Extenze for Women.  The exchanges I have had with people over this product is a story all of it's own.   SPOILER ALERT!  One dipshit actually asked, "Does it make their clit bigger?".  I never did dignify that question with a response. 

Back to my story, we sell Extenze.  We all know what it's for and we all know what it is supposed to do.  Let's be adult about this.  Anyway, this young lady walks into the station one day and walks up to the counter to pay for her purchase of soda, cigarettes, and lottery tickets.  While I'm not sure if those are the exact products she purchased, I can safely assume she did purchase at least one of these items.  It helps to know your customer base.  While she is standing in line, she notices the packages of Extenze on the wall rack.  This is where our story takes off. 

She takes a package off of the rack and asks me if the product really works.  I inform her that I have no idea as I have never needed to use any chemical enhacement.  I am not bragging.  I am simply stating the truth.  In my opinion, if you need a pill to get it up then it's time to look for another hobby.  Perhaps collecting state quarters or something like that.  She decides that she is going to purchase this product as a joke for her boyfriend.  Personally, I do not think it was for a joke.  If you saw the guy she was with you would understand.  When I informed her of the high price of 4.49, she decided to see if her boyfriend would even want Extenze.  Any guuesses on what his answer would be?

This young woman walks over to the door, opens it and yells across the parking lot,  I repeat, SHE YELLS ACROSS THE PARKING LOT, "Hey Honey!  You want some of this dick shit?  You know that stuff that makes your dick hard so you can fuck longer?"  What makes this exchange even more entertaining is the poor woman on pump 6, who is standing there with a look on her face that asks "Did I really just hear that?"  Yes you did.  You and everyone else within a 6 block radius.

Maury! I found your next guest!

One day, I was working at the convenience store when three young ladies walked in.   I use that term loosely. Hoochies, hos, tramps, street rats. Those might be more descriptive. Anyways, who am I to judge.

Back to my story. These "ladies" come in and are trying to decide what cheap sunglasses go best with their outift or something equally stupid like that.  All I hear is "blah blah blah, duh, oh my god." Once again, who am I to judge?

They are soon joined by the last member of their hoochie quartet.This one is pregnant and she is so fucking pissed.  I know this because her baby bump is framed by her midriff tanktop and she came in the door and said "I'm so fucking pissed!"  If anything, I am observant.

Although I try not to listen in on this conversation, the volume at which hoochie #4 is yelling makes that an impossible attempt.   From what I could understand, she had just been told that some guy was speaking ill of her.  I do not remember the guy's name, so we'll call him Bob.    Apparently, Bob was telling everybody that he "hit that" and that he was her "baby daddy". These are the actual terms used in conversation.  Now, while this may sound like an everyday conversation between ladies of such high standing, it is what was said next that makes this story memorable. 

Hoochie #4 finished off this conversation with this classic exchange.  I quote, "He wishes he got a piece of this.  There only three guys who could be this baby daddy and he ain't one of them!"  I thought this only happened on Maury Povich.  She needs to get the test results in. 

No one would believe this anyway

I am a clerk.  No, my story is not scripted by Kevin Smith.  I am the real deal.  I have worked customer service jobs ever since I was 14 years old.  Now, I'm almost 40 and I have seen some crazy shit.

I don't think this is the career choice that my parents hoped I would make.At least I hope not.  How fucked up would that be?   "Son, one day you will be a clerk.  We are so proud of you."  Ouch.  The Willie Nelson song said don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys. Sometimes, I think I'd rather be a cowboy. 

Now, don't get me wrong.  What I do for a living isn't a bad job.  It pays the bills.  It puts food on the table.  It puts some money in my pocket.  It allows me to meet some of the most interesting people I have ever seen. 

That's where this comes in.  I have always shared stories about the things I've done and the people I've seen.  Inevitably, someone always says that I should write a book or, at least, a blog.  Well, here you go.  This is my blog.  My collection of crazy encounters with equally crazy people.
Like the title says, I can't make this shit up.  Please remember that this is my life, my experiences, and my career path.

I wonder if I'm too old to be a cowboy?