Today, a guy came into my work that comes in occasionally to waste our time by demonstrating his paper-thin grasp on the English language for a while before graduating to not buying anything. This time, he handed me some plastic wrapper to throw away because we have no garbage on the customer side of the counter. As I grabbed it, he told me not to touch his hand because he had Hepatitis-C and cuts on his hands. I became morbidly afraid before drowning my hands in alcohol-based sanitizer.
Hours later, a stripper came in and bought a pipe. She asked me if I would go smoke with her, but I declined. I thought it was only fair to my girlfriend to not get high with a stripper while on the clock. I like to think she'd do the same for me.
I've been in an infectiously bad mood lately. Which is fine. Anyway, on my lunch break today, I was headed towards Burrito Boy to quench my various hatreds with the soothing powers of beans and cheese. As I strolled along, minding my own business, some drunk stumbled out of a bar directly in front of me and asked if I had a buck or two. I declined, because I hate sharing, but he raised the stakes by offering me "Indian trade." I asked what he had, and he replied whisky. I am known to have a sip of whisky once and again, so next thing I know I'm pounding from a plastic bottle in the alley with some guy wearing a camo poncho and hat. He asked me to walk with him and I did. I was so fucking bored, and I got a kick out of the stories he told. They were really fragments of stories, about being a sniper and killing people. He had been in the Marines, and as we walked through traffic and cars came to abrupt halts not to destroy us, he would mumble, "Never give up, never surrender." His name was Wolf and he harassed almost everyone we passed, giving me insight into the lives of the people I hate who have nothing better to do but stumble around and waste at least 2 minutes of everyone's day, simply out of spite. I let him waste a lot of my time, out of curiosity. I bought us some 32-ounce beers and we brown bagged it down a busy street before he insisted on cutting into a residential neighborhood. We stopped in front of a house and he asked a favor of me, which was knocking on the door of the house and asking if Mona was there. If she was, I was supposed to ask her if she would take Wolf back if he were to change his ways. I knocked on the door, and a young woman answered. Grinning uncontrollable, I asked if Mona was there. She was not. The young woman asked if she could take a message, and I said no, I was on a somewhat unusual errand, and left her with that. I told Wolf of my failure and he led me into yet another alley behind a dry-out clinic where junkies go to pretend they're not junkies until they get kicked out for still being junkies. We pounded our beers with other deadbeats and he muttered, apparently Mona was his ex-wife. The story he tried to feed me was that he was discharged from the army 22 years ago and was trying to get to his hometown, which I happen to be familiar with. It was about 12 hours from where we were, which I felt was a feasible distance for a marine to cover with over two decades. The more he spoke the less sympathy points he was credible for. He grabbed me hard by the wrist and tried to pull me along with him, which I told him was not necessary each of the few times he tried. I was slightly more sober and kept telling myself that if push came to shove, I would have the advantage with speed and be able to escape before being hurt. He tried to give me his poncho, which I kept trying to return to him before he tried to grab my beer from me, but it fell and shattered on the cement. He then threw his down and the bottle bounced, without shattering. He began yelling, begging me to kill him. I repeatedly declined, even though it would most likely be in everyone's better interest. He tried to grab me again, and as it had become apparent he was completely insane, I walked backwards with my face to him and my fists up. He kept screaming for me not to go, but I kept telling him I needed to go back to work. He wouldn't have it, and his final lunge toward me resulted in the crumpled ones I had paid him for the long finished bottle of whisky falling delicately to the sidewalk. He dove for them and as he tried to collect them, it appeared he did not have the strength to stand back up. I would have happily helped him had he not been obviously psychotic, but as he was, I tossed his poncho to the ground near him, bowed like I think a Samurai would have and ran back to work, laughing uncontrollably. I checked my voice mail to find my girlfriend had left me a message stating she was at a restaurant down the street that her brother works at, so I showed up there really drunk covered in dirt, booze, and new found happiness that I probably shouldn't have earned from an afternoon of drinking with various burnouts that have failed at life. In the end, I was hooked up with a free burrito at the restaurant. Even though on my first quest for a burrito I was distracted and attacked, I persevered and got a FREE burrito. So, the moral of my story is, if you really want a burrito, keep your cool and don't turn your back on the crazies, and you will get a burrito.
3/1/06 A customer was being thick headed today and I was in a poor mood. I told him I'd be happy to explain store policy to him one more time slowly, but that after that I would call the short bus. He became explosively angry and caused a scene. My boss has mentioned a few times in the past that somebody might come back to the store with a gun and shoot me, which would not be surprising.