Epic Retail Sagas, Part II

Yup, here we go again...  Yet another charming story of my old college job working at a discount department store in North Scottsdale.  Like I said in the introduction to my previous poetic tale, a huge portion of the craziest, grossest things I've ever seen in my life went down at this one little store.  I have no way to explain it.  Sometimes I used to wonder if Scottsdale had a full moon every freakin' night.

I used to run the customer service desk at the front of the store, so I would have a bird's-eye view of everything that went down at any of the cash registers.  There was many a day that I witnessed something that made me wish I'd just stayed home.  Tonight's selection is a true account of one such horrifying incident...



Gather 'round, gather 'round,
And I'll tell you a story.
About some messed up shit,
That belongs on Springer or Maury...

You see back in the day,
I worked in a store.
Where people would shoplift,
And shoplift some more.

We were in a nice part of town,
I've never understood,
Why so many shoppers
Were up to no good.

But we'd never get angry,
And we'd never act pained.
Because this plethora of shoplifters
Kept us well entertained!

It was just like a game,
Of skill, luck and wit.
We'd try to catch them
While they stole our shit.

One cashier named Manny,
Was sort of our ace.
He loved to catch people
And get in their face.

He'd spot pilfered items.
He had an eye for switched tags.
And when people bought luggage,
He'd root through those bags.

See, items hidden in luggage
Are tough to see or feel.
And that makes buying luggage
A great way to steal!

Well one day two old ladies
Approached the front of the store
Looking to check out with luggage
And a few items more.

"I'm open here," said Manny,
I'll check you out quick!"
But if he caught them stealing,
He'd act like a dick.

He scanned what they bought,
Opened that luggage up wide,
And he must've seen something,
For he reached up inside...

"Oh gosh ladies, what's this?"
He asked with a smirk,
Obviously preparing
To act like a jerk.

He pulled out his hand
And waved it in the air
Grinning from ear to ear...
Until he saw what was there.

Three used tampons,
Or possibly four.
But my memory is hazy:
There could've been more.

With Manny's hand in the air,
Time seemed to freeze.
Then he realized what had happened
And dropped to his knees.

I knew that I had to do something
And do it right quick
So I handed him the trash can
So he could be sick.

The poor old ladies stood there
In a shocked sort of silence,
Watching Manny engage
In intestinal violence

I looked at their luggage,
Then looked them in the eye,
And asked if the luggage was something
That they still wanted to buy.

One of the old ladies gagged,
When she heard what I said.
They didn't say a word,
And out the door they fled.

I picked up the suitcase
And took it out the back door
While Manny still lay there
Sick on the floor.

Manny went home that afternoon,
I'm surprised he ever came back.
But now when people buy luggage
He cuts them some slack.

If you're wondering how this happened,
Then there's something you should learn.
When there's something that nasty in a store,
It probably came back as a return.

You see, people do gross things
When they take merchandise home.
Then they bring it all back
And what they did isn't known.

I can tell you this is fact,
For I've seen it myself.
There are some nasty, nasty items
That make it back onto the shelf.

It could happen to anyone,
So best open your eyes.
'Lest you be the recipient
Of a suitcase surprise.


~fin


*Names have been changed to protect the innocent.  


**For the love of all that is holy, if you know what store I'm talking about don't name it.  They'll probably sue my ass off, and nobody will ever shake hands with "Manny" again for as long as the poor guy lives.

Epic Retail Sagas, Part I

Here's a little-known fact about me: Back when I was in college, I used to work at a certain well-known discount apparel store.  I used to do their cash accounting on weekends, and when I got done with that I'd go up to the front of the store and run the return desk.  Sounds pretty normal, right?  


Wrong.

I've never seen so much crazy shit happen in all my life as I saw go down at this store.  From the creepy to the gross to the crazy to the profane, we literally had it all.  (Sounds like a great slogan, right there.)  While I worked there I was constantly telling stories to my friends and family, and they'd always say that I should write them down...  Well guess what?  I couldn't think of a good topic for this evening, so I decided to follow everyone's advice and relate one of my many crazy retail stories...  And since, for some reason, I'm feeling all artsy-fartsy this evening, I'm going to tell it in verse.  Yeah, that's right.  So, without further ado...


Once upon a time,
I worked in a store.
You'd think it would be quiet,
and sort of a bore. 

T'was a discount shop,
In a rich part of the city.
We had many shoppers,
And some of them were shitty.

They did things that were crazy,
And things that were gross,
But there was one certain old man,
Whom we hated the most.

He wore a straw hat,
With a look of composure.
And the shortest of shorts,
For indecent exposure.

He spoke in a whisper,
Perverted and throaty.
And we all called him "Truman,"
Because he looked like Capote.

He'd follow female shoppers around,
Up and down each aisle,
And try to look up their skirts,
With the sickest of smiles.

People would get angry,
And we'd get many a complaint.
But when we'd follow him,
He'd act like a saint.

At least, that is,
Until one summer day.
When he grabbed one shirt,
And headed the fitting room way.

He checked in politely with the girl
At the fitting-room door.
And there he remained,
For three hours or more.

He emerged looking happy,
His face glowed like the sun.
He handed the shirt to the girl,
And he told her "I'm done."

The way that he said it
Left her somewhat disturbed
As did the way he ran for the door...
Without another word.

The man was a pervert,
She began to suspect,
So she went into the stall he had used
To have a little check.

I still remember the scream.
It echoed through the store.
I ran back expecting
To find blood on the floor...

Now this man was not a thief,
Or a violent attacker.
But I'd have taken a dozen of either,
Over a fitting-room whacker.

He'd ruined the curtain,
That hung 'cross the stall door.
The details would make you quite ill
So I shouldn't say more.

Our manager had to clean it up-
He looked like he wanted to quit,
But nobody else got paid enough
To handle that shit.

He wrapped the curtain in plastic sacks,
And tossed it in the trash,
And said to me, "IF TRUMAN COMES BACK,"
"YOU F#^*ING KICK HIS ASS!!!"

Then back to his office,
Our poor manager did slink...
To ask corporate for a new curtain,
And probably have a drink.

And so I was surprised,
When he came back out in a hurry.
His steps were loud and angry,
His face clouded with fury.

He told me what happened,
And my faith in humanity was lost.
When we went out to the dumpster,
To find the curtain we had tossed.

You see, corporate is nasty...
Like a mean older brother.
They told him, "Wash the curtain!"
"Because we won't send you another!"

And so we took the sticky curtain
Back into the store...
And the manager opened
The petty cash drawer.

He reached on in,
And took out three hundred bucks,
Then he looked me in the eye,
And said "This really sucks..."

"...But take this thing to the dry cleaner,
The one that's close by...
Tell them to wash it as much,
As that money will buy."

The cleaners washed the curtain
In every possible way.
And it still hangs in that store,
To this very day.

We never saw Truman again,
Which was lucky for him.
His odds of survival,
Would've been rather grim.

But I'll tell you one thing,
And this is for certain:
In a discount store's fitting room...
DON'T TOUCH THE CURTAIN.

~fin

(P.S.  Some of y'all know exactly what store I'm talking about...  For the love of God, don't name it in the comments.  I don't want to get sued.  Gracias.)