I've been drunk at work twice and, truth be told, it greatly improves my customer service skills. When I’m drunk, I'm as sweet as pie. Sober, it's sometimes hard not to pull an oversized dildo off the shelf and bludgeon certain jokers to death.
Jokers like one gentleman who stumbled in to look around, make several unintelligible jokes about the lollicocks then ask for my phone number.
"No," I said. "And you’re bothering me. I’m at work." I tried to step away, but he put his brown-bagged can of Coors down on the counter and began making his case. He liked me, he said. It was his birthday. He thought I was pretty. And then came the pièce de résistance.
"I plan to take a bath, you know,” he said, wobbling where he stood. “I'm gonna take a bath now and then I'm gonna go to sleep and when I wake up I'm gonna take another bath." He leaned over the counter. "I'm going to take two baths."
"Get out," I said.
I know it was a bit of a hasty response to perhaps The Greatest Pick-Up Line of All Time, but there were paying customers in the store and he was so drunk he was harshing every single mellow in the place.
For the record, I do like the idea of a grown man taking a nice, relaxing, lavender-infused soak after the end of a long day. That made me laugh. So wherever you are Bubbles, thanks for that.
Quite a few men get drunk before they come to the store, so they can get into some real talk about their penises.
“I’m small,” a man might say to me, dispensing with any sort of greeting. They always just launch straight into the meat of the issue, their eyes glassy and sincere.
I think it takes quite a bit of courage and consideration to say this. I generally like these men because they’re in the store in search of ways to augment their partner’s sexual pleasure.
And, even if they’re drunk, there’s a certain sense of pride that comes with having the kind of face that makes men comfortable talking about their size concerns. Some people will walk on the moon, some will save lives. Dick size confession-face is the hand I was dealt and I'm doing the best I can with it.
By far, the dumbest drunk customer I’ve ever had was a young woman who came in because she had a couple of questions about the Hitachi Magic Wand. The Magic Wand is a device that was originally designed as a back massager. It is literally the size of my forearm and you have to plug it into the wall.
"It's huge!" she said, holding up our display version of it.
"Yeah, I said, "but I have one. It does the trick."
"But how do you get it in?" she said, looking horrified.
"Well, I don't put it inside."
"Phew! I was gonna say! I know you're black but—"
I’ll never know how she planned to end that sentence, because I immediately walked away. Idiot. Absolute idiot. I wasn't being unfair with that early crack about bludgeoning people.
Just to make sure we’re all on the same page, I took this to mean that she assumed:
a) because I'm black my boyfriends always are and
b) all black men have dicks the size of my forearm and
c) my vagina would therefore be used to punishment, so I’d be cool with jamming a Magic Wand up there.
Either that or she grew up with parents who taught her all black women are really into fisting.
Of course, her having said that had nothing to do with her being drunk and all to do with her being an ass.
After I closed the store, I went out with a friend and had way too many Margaritas in a bid to shake off the frustrations of the day. I was drunk out of my mind on the walk home and I kind of wish I’d had the courage to go up to some babe and tell him I had plans to take two baths. Just to see if I could that amazing line my own.