Our first guest today I shall call Squeaker.
It was late, about an hour from closing time, and I'd just mopped the floors. Let me say here and now for the record, I could not give less of a shit if you walk on my freshly mopped floor. It's just a floor, and I completely understand you have to walk on it. If I cared, I'd mop after close, but that would mean sticking around longer. The only time I have been irritated at having to remop up some footprints was when some douche saw that the floor was freshly mopped and kind of slippy, so he started moonwalking and smearing his shoes everywhere, on purpose. Created huge black marks and streaks. Even his girlfriend gave him shit and smacked him for that, though, so justice was served.
Squeaker comes in and squeaks her shoes all the way across the floor.
Fat Ho: Hello, how's it going?
Squeaker: Good. Wow, the floor sure is slippy.
FH: Yeah, just mopped, so be careful.
Squeaker squeaks her way over to the beer cooler and then squeaks her way up to the counter with her 15-pack.
SQ: It's a good thing I didn't slip and fall! There's no sign up!
FH: Actually, there's one right there. *points*
I even took a picture to demonstrate to you folks. If you come in the door, the first thing in front of you is my yellow floor sign, not to mention the big yellow mop bucket that I had out, too.
SQ: Well, I didn't see it because I came in the other door.
She pointed towards the Exit door, which is to the right of that photo. It doesn't have a handle on the outside, so you literally cannot come in that way - unless you came in as someone else was going out, but I know that didn't happen with her.
FH: Actually, there's no handle on the outside, so you can't have come in that way.
SQ: Well, I guess I was just concentrating on what I was gonna buy.
Translation: I was being an oblivious, self-absorbed tosspot and I am going to chastise you for not doing something that I was too ignorant to notice you had already done. I'm the type of person that would ask you where a certain product is when I'm literally standing right in front of it. I'm also the type of person who would order an extra hot coffee and then bitch about burning my tongue on it.
No wonder there are so many frivolous lawsuits nowadays.
Our next guest I shall call Change Man, not because he is constantly wrestling with the woes of society and wishes to help leave a better world for the next generation. Oh no, that would be noble and would only exist in the Land of Sunshine, Rainbows and Puppies.
FH: Mkay, that'll be $5.85.
Change Man: Okay, I wanna try my card, I'm not sure how much is on there.
I process his debit, but it was declined. He looked like he wanted to try again, with a smaller amount.
FH: I can do one more try, but I don't wanna sit here and just try all different kinds of amounts to find out how much you've got there, you've gotta know for sure so we can do this. It'll just waste too much paper otherwise.
CM: Well, I have a bunch of change I can use too.
He dumps a handful of change, probably close to $15, on the counter.
FH: Ok, you look like you've got more than enough there.
CM: Well yeah, but I'd like to split it.
FH: Only if you know for sure how much to put on the card. How are you gonna do this?
CM: Well, it's common sense I'm going to pay for it somehow.
FH: Yes, it's also common sense to be polite to your cashier, especially one who's in charge of selling you beer. I don't have to sell you anything if I don't want to.
CM: (somewhat contrite) You're absolutely right, you don't have to sell me anything. I'll just count out the change.
Justice Boner achieved. The next story is the story of my new nickname.
It was a busy weekend, what with being May Long Weekend and all. Two youngish guys came in, obviously in high spirits, probably had been drinking. They revealed themselves to be a part of the group of friends that all use the same points account under the one guy's name, Tyson. They were not causing any problems, though, and followed my Two Rules of Service:
1. Be polite.
2. Don't pee on the floor.
Here's a paraphrased transcript of the conversation we had.
Dude 1: Hey, Peanut.
FH: ... Did you just call me Peanut?
D1: Don't call you peanut?
FH: No, no, *did you* just call me peanut?
D1: Oh. Yeah, is that ok?
FH: Oh yeah, it's ok. I like that, I'm ok with it.
D1: Okay good. Let's get something fun to drink.
FH: You should get the Blueberry Pancake.
Dude 2: Blueberry pancake?
D1: No, I want purple Hpnotiq.
FH: Or what about Glazed Donut. That's cool.
D1: Why don't we get them both?
FH: Sure, go for it.
D2: We need beer, too, that's what we came here for. Do you get commission?
D2: You should, because we came here for a 15 pack and now look at all this.
FH: You're right, I should.
D2: Can we put this under Tyson's account?
FH: Yeah, for sure.
D1: Oh, and the peanut thing, we call each other that, it's a high term of respect for us.
FH: Really? Do you call Tyson peanut?
D2: Hahaha no, now you're making it weird.
FH: Have a wonderful night, guys!
So now you can call me Peanut, I guess. I like that a whole lot more than baby, or honey, or sweetie or anything like that. Those are just patronizing and rude, I find, but Peanut is just a little different enough, and doesn't have a specific gender associated with it, I guess, that it's cool.