I've got hundreds...
When I was still in school, I used to work in that glorious Mecca of shiny technology, Dixons. I believe my 2 year tenure lead to me despising the general public (individuals can be nice though, I'm not going to be heading up to the nearest clock tower with a rifle anytime soon).

Most customers were fine, but there were always those who just wanted to push and push to get something for nothing. Today's story involves a swaggering, orange skinned mouth-breather, liberally coated with Elizabeth Duke and three days of sweat. He approaches me, ignoring the female staff member who's asking him if he needs assistance, and says "I wanna buy a kam-rah, one o' dem digikal ones."

Plastering on my dead smile, in a vague attempt to keep from sighing, I lead the gentleman over to the cameras. Now, bearing in mind that this was 2000, so digital cameras were fairly new and expensive, I was somewhat perplexed when he pulled a manky £50 note from his pocket and slammed it on the camera, saying "What can ya give me for dis?".

I point to the price tags, which started at £100 for something that my phone surpasses now, and say "Sorry Sir, the cheapest digital camera is more than £50, we do have some 35mm cameras in that price range though."

The Tango'd Man squints at the price tags, his beady little eyes trying to see passed his facial flab, before saying (quite loudly) "Fackin' 'ell! Dis place is a rip off! Alwight, show me wha' I can get for dis fiddy note then, it's for me son, he's goin' away.".

I then spend the next 10 minutes or so patiently talking him through a few cameras, before he settles on one. I mention that, as was the case with most of them, it didn't come with a film or carry case.

"Well, you can chuck dem in, can't ya lad!" He says, smarmily grinning and showing me his green and gold teeth. I explain that I can't, but it's not good enough.

"Nah lad, you don' understand, you can chuck dem in for me, it's for me son.". Again, I say that I cannot, and will not. He pauses, glaring at me in a way that he probably thought was intimidating (it came across more as vacant), before saying he'll buy it. I ask if he wants to buy a film or case for it, which he declines. He pays up, displays his hellish grin one more time, then fucks off.

Thirty minutes later, he storms back in and comes barreling up to me, barging the customer I was talking to out of the way, and gets right in my face.

"You fackin' cant! You said it came wiv a film an' a case! I'm about ready ta throw you through da fackin' windah!".

I recoil, mostly from his noisome aura, and am about to protest in my timid teenage way, when thankfully my boss steps in and simply says "please leave". The sack of shit keeps staring at me, his whole body heaving as he recovers from his ordeal of crossing the room. "Sir, please leave, now." says my boss, before adding in a nice "the police are being called.".

The neanderthal takes the time to weigh up his options (yet more exertion), and after hurling a few more insults, waddles out.

It was a few minutes before I'd calmed down, but it did mean I spent the rest of the day in the stock room, imagining all the witty one-liners I should have said, or picturing myself stamping on his shriveled gonads. Fun times.
( Labia Majora You keep on talking but it makes no sense at all, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:39, 1 reply)

nicely told
i can see those teeth - horrible!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:56, closed)