This is why they don't let me play with tazers

The other night was a study in pain. Much like Picasso forced us to endure what is euphemistically termed his "Blue Period" because society at large decided that cubism was possessed of some aesthetic value to the degree the man was a genius, so too am I at times forced to endure what I can only phrase "Dolt Epochs" because society at large has decided that feeling good about oneself is of more importance than the substance of that self.

It was a prime example of such mechanisms that intruded into my store. He was a callow youth, still close upon his age of majority possessed of eyes as bereft of intelligence as a salt flat is of vegetation.

His first destination after entry was to perambulate the arcade hallway. Some people like to gain a little familiarity with their surroundings, find the lay of the land as it were. I did not yet suspect his path was selected out of whimsy, maybe he was following a housefly. It was the span of a few minutes before he approached the counter and requested change. He promptly forgot to actually present me with any money to break into smaller bills, instead ducking into the largest viewing room. I discretely informed him that there would be a surcharge should he desire to use the particular room.

I shall be overly generous and say that he lingered in the room for only five minutes before returning to the counter soberly reporting that his ten dollar bill was not being accepted. Lucky thing too, Skippy because I was waiting for you to feed your money in so I could clear off all your credits. I in turn inquired as to whether he intended on using the room he'd been in a short time prior. When he replied in the affirmative, I again informed him that there was an additional charge for that room.

No problem. He still wanted it. I charged him. He gave me his ten. I gave him back the change.

He took at most a dozen steps before counting the bills in his hand, thrice. It could be that he wanted to be sure he was correct in his count, but I find it more probable he can't count his fingers without getting different sums.

"I gave you a ten?" He didn't sound all that confident about his short-term recall.

Yes, and I gave you change minus the room fee.

"Oh."

He retreats into the room. Ten minutes later or so he pokes his head out and asks me when I'm going to start the movies for him. On the second iteration that the fee only covered being able to use the room and he needed to feed money to the machine inside to watch his movies he finally achieved comprehension.

I enjoyed the relatively placid hour or so he spent quietly watching movies, interrupted only to get some more change and once, to be informed that smoking is not allowed in the arcade.

When he at last came out again, he scrutinized the display board showing all the movies currently playing in the arcade before asking me how one went about watching one of them.

What the frothy, blue fuck?! You've been in the bloody arcade booth for an hour and you couldn't figure out the reason there are was a screen over the main divided into fourths and little numbers in the corners of each? The selection buttons on the control panel were just there for decoration? Did you seriously sit in that room helplessly watching whatever movies happened to be playing while your money lasted?!

So I explained the ridiculously simple mechanism to him. He got more change and went back into the booth.

Eventually he wanders out to ask me if he can smoke in the building. Have you attempted to inspirate oxygen rather than expirate it? Do you not recollect that I've already warned you that smoking was not allowed? I bite my tongue and politely demur that smoking is not permitted in the building. He then asks if he can smoke outside. No I don't care if he smokes outside. I don't care if he bursts into flame as long as it doesn't damage any property.

When he returns from savoring his cigarette, he sets about exploring the aisles, uttering such intellectual gems as, "Do you have any movies?" and "Where can I find them?" It is not much later that a new level of fun is added to his visit; an individual banned from setting foot on the property comes in, walks over to him without pause and they leave together. This bodes not well, especially given why the critter was exiled in the first place.

Never fear, our gallant half-wit returns. Bills in hand, he seeks more change and then, after being told I'd charge him again for the big room, resigns himself to a regular booth. He doesn't poke his head out until a couple decides to take a peek at the arcade, whereupon he promptly appears and "helps" them with understanding store policy.

I just love when someone generates an issue whole-cloth for me, but then again, it's their own fault for listening to some nose-miner in the arcade instead of the staff.

Afterward, I think I'm finally quit of the simpleton, but I was wrong. He comes back with a woman on his arm that looks so run down by life, death would be an upgrade. Something about her just screamed "crack whore" like an air-raid siren.

No way. Game over. Get the flaming fuck outta here you gobshite! I sent them on their way. He of course wanted to know why, but I left my Golden Book of "You're Too Stupid to Live" in my other pants.