The Cake Girl Birthday Memorial Blog Entry
Today was the birthday of cow-worker Cake Girl. It was suitably celebrated by the Mean Girls™ who feted her with balloons and presents at a nearby bar. I ran over on my dinner break, and arrived just in time for the serving of the Slut Barbie Cake complete with teeny-tiny anatomically correct sex toys made out of marzipan.
When a group of booksellers congregates outside of the workplace and has an audience of even one non-bookseller, the conversation will inevitably turn to Crazy Customers We Have Known. Non-booksellers are always amazed at the levels of sheer bugfuckery that we witness on a daily basis. Perhaps the civilians assume that bookstores, by their very nature, must attract reasonable and sane patrons. No.
Here, in honor of Cake Girl's natal day, is a partial list of the CCWHK - people who, by repetetive acts of dementia, or one monumental act of totally inappropriate behavior, have earned their names:
The Book Licker: She would remove books one at a time from the shelves, lick the spines, and then return them to the shelf, blessed with the touch of her tongue.
The Shoe Licker: He licked the shoes of other customers while they were browsing unawares. One of his victims came to the information desk to complain to us about it. WTF? She couldn't deal with it herself?
Urinator 1: The old man who sat down, let go, and then wandered away with nary a warning to the next customer who, in a perfect Big Bookstore Moment, promptly sat down in a wet, warm chair. He was a regular for a while, until we ran out of upholstered chairs.
Urinator 2: This young woman had neuro-muscular problems but refused to wear Depends and would, instead, use newspapers and magazines from the Periodicals section to absorb her, uh, micturation. Then she would either return said merchandise to the Periodicals section for reshelving or cram the soaked papers into any nearby bookshelf. We finally had to ask her not to return. Hello? We have a cafe? Can you say Health Code Violation? Also, EW!
Masturbator 1: The old man who played with himself in the corner of the Kid's section. Double EW!
Masturbator 2: The young Russian guy who would grab some porn from the "Erotica" section, select a chair in a prominent place in the store, place his jacket over his lap, and then work that bad boy like he was 13-year old in a circle jerk contest. I caught him twice in one week.
The Shit Artist: The person who decided that our bathroom was his personal Lascaux and used the best materials he had to, um, hand to create his masterpiece on the walls.
The King of Efficiency: The person who had an entire Kentucky Fried Chicken dinner on the toilet, and left the box of chicken bones parked in front of the throne.
Then there are whole categories of everyday wackaloons whose demented behavior never quite lifts them above the constant background noise of batshittiness: people who want their merchandise untouched by human hands, people who change their child's diapers in the middle of the store, people who kick their shoes off and scratch their balls like they're on the couch at home, PEOPLE WHO DON'T HAVE INSIDE VOICES, "straight" guys who disguise their copies of Freshmen Ten with a copy of Maxim, people who arrive at the store every night at five minutes to close, and a whole raft of homeless people who just smell bad. Some of these people will eventually rise to a level of regularity in their nutbaggery and earn a Name. One of the homeless guys has recently been dubbed "Beaverhat" (™ Dark Goddess).
Beaverhat. Yeah. I think it fits.
When a group of booksellers congregates outside of the workplace and has an audience of even one non-bookseller, the conversation will inevitably turn to Crazy Customers We Have Known. Non-booksellers are always amazed at the levels of sheer bugfuckery that we witness on a daily basis. Perhaps the civilians assume that bookstores, by their very nature, must attract reasonable and sane patrons. No.
Here, in honor of Cake Girl's natal day, is a partial list of the CCWHK - people who, by repetetive acts of dementia, or one monumental act of totally inappropriate behavior, have earned their names:
The Book Licker: She would remove books one at a time from the shelves, lick the spines, and then return them to the shelf, blessed with the touch of her tongue.
The Shoe Licker: He licked the shoes of other customers while they were browsing unawares. One of his victims came to the information desk to complain to us about it. WTF? She couldn't deal with it herself?
Urinator 1: The old man who sat down, let go, and then wandered away with nary a warning to the next customer who, in a perfect Big Bookstore Moment, promptly sat down in a wet, warm chair. He was a regular for a while, until we ran out of upholstered chairs.
Urinator 2: This young woman had neuro-muscular problems but refused to wear Depends and would, instead, use newspapers and magazines from the Periodicals section to absorb her, uh, micturation. Then she would either return said merchandise to the Periodicals section for reshelving or cram the soaked papers into any nearby bookshelf. We finally had to ask her not to return. Hello? We have a cafe? Can you say Health Code Violation? Also, EW!
Masturbator 1: The old man who played with himself in the corner of the Kid's section. Double EW!
Masturbator 2: The young Russian guy who would grab some porn from the "Erotica" section, select a chair in a prominent place in the store, place his jacket over his lap, and then work that bad boy like he was 13-year old in a circle jerk contest. I caught him twice in one week.
The Shit Artist: The person who decided that our bathroom was his personal Lascaux and used the best materials he had to, um, hand to create his masterpiece on the walls.
The King of Efficiency: The person who had an entire Kentucky Fried Chicken dinner on the toilet, and left the box of chicken bones parked in front of the throne.
Then there are whole categories of everyday wackaloons whose demented behavior never quite lifts them above the constant background noise of batshittiness: people who want their merchandise untouched by human hands, people who change their child's diapers in the middle of the store, people who kick their shoes off and scratch their balls like they're on the couch at home, PEOPLE WHO DON'T HAVE INSIDE VOICES, "straight" guys who disguise their copies of Freshmen Ten with a copy of Maxim, people who arrive at the store every night at five minutes to close, and a whole raft of homeless people who just smell bad. Some of these people will eventually rise to a level of regularity in their nutbaggery and earn a Name. One of the homeless guys has recently been dubbed "Beaverhat" (™ Dark Goddess).
Beaverhat. Yeah. I think it fits.
posted by ereshkigal at 12:48 AM
2 Comments:
You can comment anonymously if you choose, Medieval One. By the way, did I used to sleep with you? Just taking a wild guess here.
And no, I'm not paying anything for this. Glad you like it.
darling, in sum the Mean Girls -- and you are a charter memember -- have slept with everyone worth sleeping with. Crazy lady tends to get more than her fair share of the action, but hey.
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