And this old black lady comes in, walking very, very, slowly. She staggers zombie-like over to the Gin aisle and comes up to the register with a big-ass bottle of rot gut. As she fumbles in her purse for an eternity seeking exact change, she pauses for a moment, and her hands stop shaking violently. A few moments pass and she resumes shivering and produces the money. She grabs her bag and turns to leave, and out of the corner of my eye I see my manager’s face twist into a visage of sheer and absolute terror.
Oh yeah, she pissed herself. We watched in shame and disgust as she made her way over to the bus stop. Nevermind the probability of getting mugged and/or raped while using public transit, you need to start worrying about whether or not you’re sitting in a pool of some crazy old woman’s gin-piss.
Which is basically shaped like a horseshoe, with the ends being the cash registers. This guy comes in, buys a pint of Jim Beam, and proceeds to check out. With a dastardly shitty smirk on his face, he observes the two cashiers and asks, “So have you figured out what percentage of people actually go to the left hand side?” and then laughs smartly to himself before leaving. He didn’t explain, he didn’t have to. I got the implication. The fact that the majority of people naturally veer to their right. How fucking dare you bring that shit into the liquor store! Do you have any fucking idea what would happen if we were to use our customer base to study human nature and psychoanalyze them in order to learn about ourselves? Mass suicides, Nazi orangutans, book burnings, spontaneous implosions, flying manta rays, condoms made of sand paper, Corey Feldman, cats and dogs, living together! Basically the end of organized civilization. Good day, sir. I SAID GOOD DAY!