Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Customer of the Night # 651: The Shrieking Bitch.

This one's from a couple weeks back, actually, but I just found a note in some pants while I was doing laundry and I thought I'd go ahead and blog it.

I was working with W. It was a slow, slow Wednesday night, the kind that calls to mind the movie Clerks, and I start looking up random shit on the internet only after I have already cleaned every possible thing behind the counter.

So this girl comes in, obviously drunk, looking like a low-rent Par1s H1lton in a pink sweatsuit jacket and too much eye makeup. She is over-friendly and chatty and obviously stupid in addition to being half in the bag, and when she comes up she hands me a credit card with a guy's name on it.
I check her ID and tell her that I can't take the credit card.
"Why not?" she asked, still maintaining a sweet and innocent vibe. "It's my fiance's."
"Well, I have no way of knowing that, now do I?"
""So what do you need? A marriage license?"
"No, I need him. With an ID."
"He's out in the car, but he doesn't have an ID. He only has a military ID because he got a DUI."
"A military ID is fine."
"But we're MARRIED." Now she starts to whine. "I'm just having such a bad day." Faking breaking down in tears, she drops her head and goes outside. She returns moments later, after a loud and obviously heated exchange in the parking lot. Now she's pissed. A minute later a guy walks in. He is obviously drunk and likely underage. He mumbles something about not having his military ID, and she flips out.
"Where did you put it?!" Then, looking back at me, "This is bullshit anyway. I'm taking my business somewhere else." She slams her bottle of vodka on the counter in front of me and stalks to the door. "Fuck this place!!"
Smiling at a customer who is approaching the counter, I turn and wave.
"Have a nice fucking night!"
We watch as they weave drunkenly down the road away from the store. Since we didn't get a license plate number, we couldn't really call the police. Instead, W called the next liquor store down the road.
"Yeah, white car,m pink sweatsuit. Drunk and very dumb. Probably a stolen card."
I can't imagine how far she had to drive to get a drink.

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