They actually trust you with power-tools?!
I look up to see a feebly smiling man in a dirty cover-all. I try to ignore the expression smeared over his visage that makes Forest Gump look like Steven Hawking. Perhaps it is just an unfortunate happenstance of fate he looks to require a bilge pump to prevent drowning in his own drool. I give him a blankly pleasant smile and ask if I may render assistance.
To which he just stood there and looked at me with the vague smile of one who might have just soiled themselves. Watery eyes focused upon my face, he didn't blink for some time. As interpersonal interactions are graded, he'd edged over the line from awkward into uncomfortable. I began to wonder if he'd suffered a stroke or other cerebral event. Eventually he works his jaw and words dribble forth.
"Is the boss around?"
An eyebrow attempts to make a sudden border-crossing into my hair-line. Nope. He's long since come and gone. What sort of idiot would be looking for a business owner a scant handful of minutes short of eight in the evening? You've got to be shitting me.
The guy actually looks crest-fallen and confused by this revelation. "Oh, the boss wanted me to stop by." Probably should try that during stereotypical business hours Speedy. "I do duct work. Air Conditioning." I'm shocked, stunned even. I would never have figured that bit out from the logo on your cap and cover-all. Or perhaps I am merely possessed of uncanny powers of observation to deduce from your uniform what your profession might be.
If you had anything you were going to leave with him, I'll make sure it gets to him.
He holds up a business card and magnet. After blinking at me five or six times, I swear I could hear the cogs clunking together slowly, he relinquished his information to me reluctantly.
I'll make sure it gets to him. Thanks.
He makes no move to leave however. This amuseth me not. I consider giving him a kick-start; steel-toe boot to the temple would make for a glorious start. At least from my perspective.
"Do you have any regular movies here?"
Oh for the love of lubed lug wrenches, he is not so daft as to ask me that is he? Excuse me? What do you mean by "regular" movies?
He leans in close, obviously this will just be our little secret. Oh joy. "Ya know, movies. Stuff that don't have sex in it."
Gods of a Poxed Doxy!!! He is so daft. I have to exert tremendous force of will to keep the scathing contempt from my voice. No, we don't carry those movies. Dear gods man, you're surrounded by sexual novelties, magazines of naked people, and fucking movies. Literally. What in the blazing pus of the abyss makes you think you'd find Miramax or United Artists releases on our shelves?! If you find "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid" here, you better like large, hirsute men in leathers in a special way or you're going to be very surprised.
Oh, you want our special rooms. Let me pull back this drapery here for you sir. We have to keep these videos on the down low. Wouldn't want some poor adult wandering back there and being traumatized by the lack of explicit sex. Gah!
So he reverted to looking confused. I would even go so far as to say that I believe he felt ill-used and betrayed that we do not carry mainstream cinema. He turned back toward me once as he was shambling toward the door as if he had another question or decided the store had to have a more PG section, but he shook his head and left without another word.
I fervently hope my boss declines to offer this guy contract. He could be a savant in the HVAC field, but that wouldn't diminish the idiot quotient. All we'd need would be for "Clue-less Joe" to carve through a structural support or sever an electrical line.
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