Uncouth and on a budget
It's a bit later than I usually like to churn something out, but what the hell, it's Friday. Can you honestly tell me there's a better day to say "Ah, fuck it" than Freya's day? I thought not.
In any case, there's been a marked influx of churls parading in here almost bursting at the seams until they can get within two feet of me before bellowing that they want to get fucked and/or fucked up and they have ten bucks.
When the blood hell did a ten dollar bill become the magic denomination to unlock all earthly pleasures? Depending on how you order, you can score a decent meal at some corner temple to the gods of burger flipping, but options are pretty limited here. One could watch a movie or two about an hour or take one home. I could set them up with some condoms and lube. I could sell them a magazine or two. That is about the extent of it. Ten bones are not going to unfurl the red carpet to a high roller weekend in Vegas.
And yet, they toss out that amount like they'd just hit the lottery. Incidentally, I've had a few of those. They tend to either grab whatever catches their eye or ask where the best stuff we have is and then produce a wad of large bills to cover the tab without so much as batting an eyelash at the total. I know they hit a jackpot that night because they always want to let me know they've done just that so they can draw out the moment that much longer.
Meanwhile, "Daddy Microbucks" is invariably looking stunned when I blandly inform them their budget is as anemic as a hemophiliac cutter.
Be that as it may, it still does not absolve them of their primary breach of intellect. Where, pray tell, does it say anywhere that it is within my purview to get anyone laid or high?
Let's take the first prong that forked assumption. I work in an adult store, sometimes incorrectly referred to as a "sex shop". I don't sell sex. In fact, the vast majority of items here are more attractive to people who aren't getting any. Ultimately, I don't give a greased shit what state a customer's sex life is in. People come in, I sell them sexually related items, and they leave. They can take it home to burn to heat their house for all I know. Point is, if no one wants any contact with your genitals when you come in the door, there is nothing on my shelves that is going to make you any more desirable. At the end of the day, you're still going to be masturbating in the corner sobbing brokenly in a fugue of cheap booze and denial. I shudder to think of what horror would exchange carnal favors for ten bucks. I guarantee, it won't be anywhere on this property.
Alright that leaves us with the ever so suave "get fucked up" desire. Of course the first thing that springs from my brain when I hear that is, "Sure, I'll kick the living shit out of you for ten bucks. Let me retrieve my favorite tire iron." Honestly, you just can't dangle such a tempting proposition to a frustrated misanthrope. Sadly, I know too well that they're not inquiring into free-lance direct suicide facilitation which neatly kills the plausibility of my defense to a grand jury. Oh well.
Therefore, they're asking, with the subtlety of a bullhorn, for something to get them high. Does that ever have good results? I don't peddle drugs. Any customer stupid enough to indicate they might want to make a deal is going to get booted if not permanently trespassed. In fact I'm disinclined to sell anything to them from that statement forward.
Why won't they let us spray for these pests?
In any case, there's been a marked influx of churls parading in here almost bursting at the seams until they can get within two feet of me before bellowing that they want to get fucked and/or fucked up and they have ten bucks.
When the blood hell did a ten dollar bill become the magic denomination to unlock all earthly pleasures? Depending on how you order, you can score a decent meal at some corner temple to the gods of burger flipping, but options are pretty limited here. One could watch a movie or two about an hour or take one home. I could set them up with some condoms and lube. I could sell them a magazine or two. That is about the extent of it. Ten bones are not going to unfurl the red carpet to a high roller weekend in Vegas.
And yet, they toss out that amount like they'd just hit the lottery. Incidentally, I've had a few of those. They tend to either grab whatever catches their eye or ask where the best stuff we have is and then produce a wad of large bills to cover the tab without so much as batting an eyelash at the total. I know they hit a jackpot that night because they always want to let me know they've done just that so they can draw out the moment that much longer.
Meanwhile, "Daddy Microbucks" is invariably looking stunned when I blandly inform them their budget is as anemic as a hemophiliac cutter.
Be that as it may, it still does not absolve them of their primary breach of intellect. Where, pray tell, does it say anywhere that it is within my purview to get anyone laid or high?
Let's take the first prong that forked assumption. I work in an adult store, sometimes incorrectly referred to as a "sex shop". I don't sell sex. In fact, the vast majority of items here are more attractive to people who aren't getting any. Ultimately, I don't give a greased shit what state a customer's sex life is in. People come in, I sell them sexually related items, and they leave. They can take it home to burn to heat their house for all I know. Point is, if no one wants any contact with your genitals when you come in the door, there is nothing on my shelves that is going to make you any more desirable. At the end of the day, you're still going to be masturbating in the corner sobbing brokenly in a fugue of cheap booze and denial. I shudder to think of what horror would exchange carnal favors for ten bucks. I guarantee, it won't be anywhere on this property.
Alright that leaves us with the ever so suave "get fucked up" desire. Of course the first thing that springs from my brain when I hear that is, "Sure, I'll kick the living shit out of you for ten bucks. Let me retrieve my favorite tire iron." Honestly, you just can't dangle such a tempting proposition to a frustrated misanthrope. Sadly, I know too well that they're not inquiring into free-lance direct suicide facilitation which neatly kills the plausibility of my defense to a grand jury. Oh well.
Therefore, they're asking, with the subtlety of a bullhorn, for something to get them high. Does that ever have good results? I don't peddle drugs. Any customer stupid enough to indicate they might want to make a deal is going to get booted if not permanently trespassed. In fact I'm disinclined to sell anything to them from that statement forward.
Why won't they let us spray for these pests?
posted by Lanius at 9:38 PM
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