Chapter Thirteen: I'm Not One to Gossip. However...

Okay - the title is only faintly appropriate for this post. But it was the first title I thought of and it's in honor of my friend, Bri. If you don't have the pleasure of knowing her, you're missing out. I'm not sure how many times I'd be studying in my dorm room, when she'd come through the door. And every conversation started with "I'm not one to gossip. However..." and usually ended in a story about who knocked up who or who was in the middle of the courtyard yelling at their boyfriend in the middle of a tif. It always made my day. And she always had a way of cheering my roommate and me up.

And by now, you should know that I am severely ADD without any medication. So back to the slow deterioration of a salesperson and the (hopefully humorous) stories that accompany that....

While ringing up a customer's purchase, I overheard her talking to her husband.

"That Jennifer Aniston is a liar," said Woman, pointing to a tabloid magazine.

"What?" replied Man.

"She was just on Oprah telling her that she wasn't adopting. And here she is on the cover of (insert rarely factual gossip magazine name) and she's saying she is adopting!"

I chimed in. "Oh. You never can believe those magazines. They're always stretching the truth."

Woman looked at me with a blank stare. "Then why does it say 'A source confirms...'?"

I bit my tongue. For all I know, Jennifer Aniston is adopting. I'm not sure. I didn't bother to open the pages to find out. But when on earth did we start believing tabloids and quote unquote sources, instead of direct quotes from the actual person? Who's the source anyway? No wonder these magazines stay in publication and celebrities' reputations are tainted. We take whatever we see/hear in tabloids to be true.

I wasn't intending to get on a soapbox and convince you to boycott tabloids. I am just in complete shock by this woman's inability to think for herself and piece things together.

Chapter Twelve: Mama's Boy

Assume that any uncomfortable situation I encounter at work will be posted - funny or not.

Translation - Do something stupid at (insert popular drugstore name) and I will share it with the world...or the six people who follow my page.

Here's a simple and very awkward (and I don't believe I use this term too loosely in this blog) story for you:

Mother accompanies her 18ish year old son and his girlfriend into the store. ALL THREE of them go to the back of the store near the pharmacy and return to the front.

Son puts a pack of Trojan Magnum condoms on the counter. Between he and his girlfriend, they find the money to pay for these things, while mama bear stands directly behind them. The three of them leave.

See. Very simple story. And I shouldn't need to continue to explain why this is strange behavior, but I will. While I guess I appreciate the 'caution', if you are not mature enough to drive yourself or find your own way to the store, maybe you're not mature enough to have sex. Maybe I'm just crazy.

And while I'm sitting at my computer in shock at how our society is going down the crapper, let me continue. Why is your mother helping you pick them out? As I stated earlier, all three of them stood in the family planning aisle and gawked at the different brands together. So strange. So very weird. So very typical... Only in (insert ghetto town name).

There. That's the end of my rant.

Chapter Eleven: The Next Generation

Okay - I couldn't think of a better title.

But this story is not as humorous as it is unbelievable. My, oh my, times have surely changed. I'm only 22 years old, and I feel like an old lady. I know people begin to say that when they enter their twenties and compare themselves to youngsters, but seriously - I feel like an old lady. I don't understand why children need cell phones. Where do they go alone? Even if they're not with their parents, surely they're not out wandering the town without an adult. I didn't have a phone until I had a driver's license. And even then, I couldn't text for another year. (And maybe I'm just jealous of a fourth grader.)

A nine year old kid was studying the few pre-paid cell phones that we carry. His mother left him there to take his little sister to the bathroom. With a pencil box full of change in one hand and his purchase in the other, he approached the front and slid the Net 10 cell phone on the counter. He immediately started to count his change.

After he paid, he lingered at the checkout because his mom was taking a while. So I began to ask him questions about what school he went to and what grade he was in. I'm sure I scared him a little bit but I had no idea what else to talk to him about. As a child, I watched Matlock and played Nintendo. I had an inkling, he knew nothing about either subject.

Anyway -

I said "Is this your first phone?"

"No. It's my third."

My jaw dropped. "Third?! How old are you?"

"Nine."

"And how old were you when you got your first phone?"

"Four. I just keep dropping them in the toilet."

"Are you kidding me?... Guess how old I was when I got my first phone."

"Ten?" he guessed after much consideration.

"Sixteen."

"Whoa," he whispered. Somehow he was more shocked that I didn't have a phone until my sixteenth birthday than I was that he had one at age four, the year I got an Easy Bake Oven for christmas.

Chapter Ten: The Pathophobic

True Story:

I have never been sick as often as I have been since I started working at (insert popular drugstore chain name). I mean, it makes sense. It's a pharmacy, so most of my customers are sick. So when I had to go into work while sick b/c no one was able to cover, I should have prepared myself for what I would encounter.

I should explain that I wore my hair up.

No make up.

A nose brighter than Rudolph's.

Eyes glazed over.

Tissues stuffed in my fleece pockets.

Armed with hand sanitizer.

I mostly heard "Oh! You're sick?! Feel better."

I often heard "You know how to get rid of that, right? Vitamin C."

And I never grew tired of "You look terrible. Why are you here?"

But my most memorable experience through this hazy day was with a middle-aged woman, who I later diagnosed as a pathophobic (someone who is afraid of getting an illness).

She came up to the register and piled everything on the counter.

I began scanning the items and bagging them. I told her what her total was.

And she just looked at me and said "See. You're sick. And now I have to touch that stuff."

"I'm very sorry," I apologized. "I've been using a lot of hand sanitizer today, I assure you."

She paid, grabbed her stuff and left.

The next morning, she came back to return an item. And she was mortified to see that I was still employed at the store. I quickly gave her a refund and sent her on her way.

No more than three hours later, she returned.However, it was hard to recognize her. She had a sweatshirt on, hood up, gloves (this story is a few months old; and I'm telling you - the gloves weren't necessary), and a medical mask that covered most of her face... And I know that entire week is one giant blur, but I swear she looked almost like the lady in this picture. Any national quarantine crisis would be lucky to have her. She approached the line and bought something new. When I finally noticed it was the same woman from before, my jaw dropped. She wouldn't look me in the eye. And she was on the move, like her speed would somehow keep her healthy. I felt as if I'd been shunned and direct eye contact would have sentenced her to death or hell for sure.

It's probably best. Had she stayed any longer, I may have felt a sudden urge to cough.

Chapter Nine: The Disorderly Elderly

Like I've said before, I only write on this blog when there's something to share. Hence the huge time gap from my previous post. Yes, I know. Three months. Who cares. There was nothing to write about. I'm not one for blogging and this is primarily for my own journaling purposes anyway. And I'm too scatterbrained to keep track of an actual journal.

Today, a man came in and asked me to show him where the batteries were. I'd guess he'd be about seventy years old. While we walked down the center aisle, I asked him if I could see the battery he had in his hand to compare it to what he might need. He held out his hand. I took the battery and he immediately grabbed my hand and said "I'll hold your hand too." Okay. Someone please tell me: where in the store manual does it tell me what to say or do in this situation? I'm pretty sure this scenario is not specified. I panicked. I have the tendency to be abnormally uncomfortable in these situations already. So I said "Ummmmmmmmm.... thanks" and pulled my hand away.

Um, thanks?! Really. Great, Ash. If that's not an invitation to a 70 year old, I don't know what is.

I wish I could say this is the worst of my experiences, but I'd say previous posts have proven me wrong.

Chapter Eight: 'I Like Turtles'

Okay - I'm sure no one else will find this funny... I'm also sure I'm the only one who finds any of these stories funny... but this morning, I was ringing up merchandise for an older gentleman and I asked my routine question "How are you doing today?" His response? "I have warts on my feet." Wow. Thanks for sharing. I laughed because, in my opinion, that has nothing to do with what I asked. For the rest of that particular transaction, I kept replaying the youtube video of the boy who completely disregarded the anchorwoman's question and gave some random and unnecessary information. I laughed because I knew what that anchorwoman felt like. I also laughed because - well, I was sleep-deprived and sick of the mundane same ole morning routine and NEEDED something to get me through. Watch the youtube video of the little boy. It's funny - much much funnier than my version.

Chapter Seven: The Telepathist

So with all those new movies coming out in the last decade where superheros are everywhere - and they are the everyday man (i.e. Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, and even arguably, Unbreakable), I was only slightly surprised when I encountered one today at work.

It is Sign Saturday (as I like to call it), the day we change our sale signs. I was busy in aisle 4, sticking those bright colored tabs on every label in sight, when a man approached me from the right side. He was an older gentleman, and I could only see him out of the corner of my eye at first. He stood three feet away, and I could feel him watching me. I looked up, and quickly returned my attention to the price labels, as staring is somehow a normal occurance at this store. When he didn't look away or turn his attention elsewhere, I looked back at him. He was just staring at me. This is when the mind talk must have began, because he wasn't moving his lips, but he clearly needed something. He must have mistaken me for a telepathist too, because the blank staring continued - but only for a few short seconds before I chimed in with actual words: "Can I help you with something." He stalled then simply replied "yes." He must have gotten confused again because he stood silent, forgetting that I am not a mind reader. "What do you need?" I asked. Another short moment of silence. Giving up on having a conversation with a non- Superhero, he looked behind him at his wife. So - I approached his wife, and, to my advantage, she does not use telepathy like her husband does. She formed whole sentences and told me what she needed and I was able to help her find what she was looking for.

It just makes me wonder: Who does that man talk to if he's the only telepathist??