Work was an adventure today.
I was minding my own business, just sitting outside during my 15 minute legally required break.
I was out on the patio with my newspaper (fine, my iphone) enjoying a relaxing bowl of soup (20% off), when one of the neighbors walked up. Being a neighbor, he spends more time in the store than most of the employees. He was carrying a bottle of tequila to take to the party going on down the block. Not for the other party-goers, but for him. Realizing, and rightly so, that he wasn’t supposed to carry a half-full bottle of Hornitos inside, he asked me to watch it for him. I obliged.
So there I was, eating my soup and reading the news in front of the store, with a bottle of tequila sitting on the table in front of me.
At which point one of my bosses decided to walk up.
“Are you DRINKING at work?” she screeched.
“No, no no no no! I understand how you could come to that conclusion, but this isn’t what it looks like!” I explained hastily.
My boss scowled at me. I began reciting the alphabet backwards to prove my sobriety.
Somewhere between V and U, our neighbor emerged from the swinging door with a fistful of limes, thanked me for watching his tequila, and patted my boss on her skeptical shoulder.
My break over, I returned to the register, and began working again.
It had come to our attention that a new crazy homeless person was in town. Before I’m accused of being insensitive, I must stress that he really was crazy. My coworker (tofu factory one) informed me that he’d been in town five years ago. After pepper spraying the innocent drunks at the bar, the kook in question was sent to prison, and now, apparently, was out.
At this fateful moment, crazy homeless man decided to come into the store. We shut up and went about our business. But alas, crazy homeless man would have none of that, he was on a mission.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he slurred. “The ladies outside said I was scaring their kids, but you know you know you know I ain’t dangerous or nothing, I mean, hey, hey, hey, I was a Rhode’s Scholar man, fuckin’ mothers, right? Who needs ’em?”
He halted his soliloquy to stare intently at me. I cringed. “You! I need a feminine perspective on this,” he barked.
“Uh, well, uh, I’m not exactly very feminine,” I said, trying to stave off a rant.
Taken aback, he stepped away from the counter. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, sir,” he said and exited the store.
And that, my friends, is how a homeless dude thought I was a man.