Idiot Child with Brass Balls
In this country (USA, FYI), there are certain substances that require you to be a certain age to purchase them. And when you are younger than that age, it can be difficult to obtain those things. A few of those youngsters come into the store in groups, pick out some things to buy, and ultimately choose the one friend of theirs that’s old enough to buy those things. What some of them haven’t yet learned is that I saw them come in to the store as a group, and that I will ask to see all of their IDs. Yes, only the one guy is buying, but the rest of you yahoos are the idiot children who ruined it all by coming in and not being old enough. They call me mean and leave angry, but I get to keep my job (yay.) and it doesn’t bother me one bit. Recently one even blatantly asked me, out loud, while the store cameras were running and pointing at us, if I could buy beer for him. I just laughed and told him to get out.
Here’s the thing. I hope one day soon to open my own brewery. When I apply for a license to sell alcohol, the ATF will look for any reason to deny me that license. Knowingly selling alcohol to a minor will pretty much destroy my dream in that regard. So if you’re underage, just wait a bit you little punks. I will not put my career at risk for you so don’t even ask.
It’s just one guy so far. He’s come in a couple of times, and each time I ask him how his day is going, he replies with something like, “Absolutely Fantastic! How are you doing, sir? I hope it’s all going well for you!” Not exaggerating. He also wears bland, logo-less sweatshirts, has a bland haircut, smiles incessantly, and only buys caffeine-free diet Coke. Either he’s hiding something, or I’m seeing everything I need to know about him.
He gets impatient when I scan his merchandise. He sighs angrily and rolls his eyes when I ask him how he’s doing. When I tell him the total cost of his purchases, he looks elsewhere, weakly tossing each dollar bill onto the counter one at a time, so I have to reach all the way across the counter and scramble to gather them up as if he’s some kind of Scrooge McDuck doing a favor to the unwashed masses.
To get back at him, I don’t tell him to have a nice day.