My Week

It's been a pretty bizarre week.

Monday:

I won't make eye contact with you for anything, I'll just lurk for two hours

 This guy comes in, with long brown hair, looks like he's trying to cross dress which might go better if he didn't have a huge bald pate. He has three diamond studs in each ear, and a single tooth. When I approach to talk to him he won't make eye contact, and it seems he's barely on this plane of reality, so I leave him alone. He's the only one in the store, so I pick up my book. After lurking through each section of the store he comes up and gives off the weirdest vibes. There is no word in English to express his demeanor, but it was as if he was defiantly-awkwardly-preening, daring me to make fun, but simultaneously coquettish. He asked, while being a weird jumble of things, "What size do you think I wear here?" Without batting an eye I said, "Probably a large or an extra-large." I expected him to then go away into lingerie, but he just stared at me, waiting for me to elaborate, then finally asks, "And where are those?" Resigned I explained lingerie was divided by color, not size, so anything that took his fancy he had only to look for those sizes in each rack. He continued to stare so I grabbed a large and an extra-large green sequin baby-doll and hustled him into a dressing room to check his sizes. When he came out he was beaming. "I'm an extra large. I have a photo shoot coming up, so I'll certainly be back tomorrow." Haven't seen him since.

Tuesday:

In my delusions, I'm in the Olympics winning all the turkey

A homeless man came in, scruffy and in numerous jackets, he struck a pose when entering the store like he'd just stuck the landing in the pole-vault, and proclaimed, "da-NUH!" and then left.

Wednesday:

Don't worry dear, I'm sure he'll stop crying and poop the bog of eternal stench soon

A woman brings in her baby. We can't allow strollers so she's forced to wake him and carry him around with her while she browses lingerie. When the baby wakes up he starts crying. She passes him off to her friend who coos and rocks to no avail. She comes up to retrieve the pacifier from the stroller and I look on in anticipation. I can't stand babies, and I didn't expect to encounter as many as I do working in a sex store. It's also just bad business having them cry in the store, because it reminds people of the most awful thing that can happen if you fuck up. With the pacifier the baby quiets for almost a minute and I start to relax again when to my horror, in slow motion I can see the baby open its mouth and the pacifier starts falling to the floor and I can hear a distorted slow-mo cry of, "Noooo!" and it's me, and I dive but the binky hits the ground. He starts crying again and in desperation I offer the lady use of the private employees only bathroom to wash the pacifier and she does so. I think I can relax when he's got the pacifier again, but no, it was on the ground again in no time.

Thursday:

I'm crazy and drunk, and I probably kill toons, can I do yoga on your sex couch?

A man comes in plastered. He looks like the villain from Who Framed Roger Rabbit except less well dressed, tall, with a wide brimmed hat, and sunglasses. Drunk, he asks the Assistant Manager to call him a cab. When she does the wait for cabs is over an hour and he says to forget it. She offers to call another service, eager to get rid of him, but he declines and wanders drunkenly around the store. He tells everyone loudly how he's moving to Montana tomorrow, bothering customers and staff alike. The AM tells me he came in when she opened and asked to use the bathroom, already drunk, and she refused. So he returned hours later to harass customers. He comes over to me as I'm helping two ladies check out, blatantly eavesdropping. I apologized with my eyes and turned to deal with him. "Wha's that?" he points to our position couch. "It's a couch for different positions, just takes the weight off and make a lot of positions easier." He nods, "C'n I do some yoga on it? I jus' wanna do s'me stretches." "No" I say, taking a tough line. "Oh... do y'have any magazines?" I point and he nods, leaning over the counter at me. "Wha's your name?" my smile is brittle as I say, "I don't give my name to customers" and walk away to put a product back. I hear him mumbling to himself as I busy myself around the store. When he comes to check out he can't seem to stop talking, "'M movin' to Montana soon, jus' havin' a last hurrah aroun' town before I go, shut up shut up, d'ya like Montana Miss No-Name? Shut up, shut up Hey, I'm Mister No-Name." I hand him his change and pretend I can't hear him telling himself to shut up. We're all pretty sure we'll see him next week when he realizes he spent all his Montana money on booze.

Friday:

Please sir, just take the bag

 I'm lounging at the front chatting to a coworker. Everyone has been talked to and we're just being silly when this guy comes up with a cheap dildo and a DVD. He's speaking something that is is almost but not entirely gibberish. She  tells him his total and he pays, but things get sticky around when she tries to bag his items. He keeps gesturing at the dildo and miming taking it out. Confused, my coworker asks if he doesn't want a bag, if he doesn't want the packaging. After failing utterly to communicate, she slides the toy across to him. He opens the package and shoves the garbage at her to throw away. She attempts to bag the DVD and meets the same resistance. Concerned that the DVD would get scratched without a case, she offers him a paper sleeve to cover it with and he refuses. He shoves the CD into his inside jacket pocket. As we watch he takes the dildo and does the same. I can only imagine he was hiding it there for ready access in case he needs to smack someone in the face with a dildo.