Aggravation on the hoof

Late one evening while I was working behind the counter, a group of three young men entered the store. The leader of the group was the eldest, or so I surmised given the percentage of grey in his hair. Subject number two, was taller, quite slender, and had a shock of bushy hair. I doubt a near lightning strike or electrocution could make it worse. The last guy was doing his best to impersonate an urban Jawa. Short, skinny dudes just should not attempt to wear hooded sweatshirts off the rack of the local hip-hop Big-and-Tall store. They rapidly congregated at the front counter to ooh-and-aah over the goodies displayed in the cases.

Until I approached.

The moment I politely asked to see ID, Q-tip and Baggie suddenly found things they had to look at right that very second and oh I'm terribly sorry sir but I didn't hear you ask your question.

Awesome sauce.

However, it wasn't a complete waste of breath on my part. I kept the other two in my field of vision as I checked the license of Mr. "Just-for-Men." Yes indeed, his tonsorial bleaching was a couple decades ahead of the curve. I handed it back to him with a polite demurral that I would be back shortly to help him and made my way directly to where Baggie was poking through the movies.

Once again I requested ID.

No response.

I moved to the other side. The edge of the hood quickly pivoted away from my new position. I wonder if I've somehow won the lottery and gotten saddled with a deaf asshole. Nonetheless, I make another attempt to pry proof of age out of the shambling mass of laundry.

What a surprise, no response yet again.

Patience rapidly fraying despite an iron grip on my professionalism, I loom at his shoulder waiting.

Amazingly, it takes only a minute or so for him to turn and "startle" at seeing me. My immediate request for ID is a great deal more clipped than it had been at the start.

He begins a slow motion pantomime of checking his pockets. I make sure I'm outside of arms reach. Over-sized garments combined with a guy who not only seems unconcerned with compliance and won't make eye contact tend to make me very suspicious. I readied myself in case something unfriendly made a sudden appearance. About two very long minutes later, he's gotten distracted by the bright colors of a porn title.

I'm done. I tell him to take a hike. While he begins to amble in the direction of the door, I close in on the last of them.

This one at least chooses not to play deaf; however he doesn't have his ID on him though he assures me he's twenty-one.

I motion toward the door. No ID, no porn for you. He heads for the door.

In the meantime, Baggie is keeping Snowroof company.

Like fucking hell. I told you to leave. Get the fuck out of my store NOW.

Of course, Snowroof chooses to give the role of peacemaker a shot and asks me why I'm speaking so sharply to his friend, who by the way has not taken the least step toward the door yet. So I snarl back that I'd asked for his ID more than once without him producing it, therefore he was no longer welcome in the store.

For whatever reason, Baggie finally got it through the slime mold between his ears that I meant business and vacated the store. The sole survivor of their shopping group then asked if he could buy a few items.

The purchase seemed to come together way too easily so I knew he was either inebriated just enough to drop a load of cash on impulse buys or shoveling the feces with gusto. Just as I reached the register, he declared he needed to collect a little more cash and would be right back.

Oh joy. Oh rapture. A complete waste of time and carbon.

I didn't even wait for the door to finish closing before I was putting the merchandise back.