Porn Shop Sunday - Don't be a dick.

 Sorry it's been a bit since my last post - life does tend to get in the way sometimes.  Life and Cuervo.  Anyway, it's time once again for Porn Shop Sunday -

Dear customers -

 I am well aware that human sexuality is at the heart of this business.  That, and well, finding things to cram into your orifice of choice.  I do take an interest in my job, and I do have an interest in sex.  I'm not trying to deny that.

This does not, however, mean that I have any desire whatsoever to see your penis.  I am surrounded by dicks all fucking day.  Quite frankly, I'm a little tired of looking at them.  Most, if not all, of the dicks I see on a daily basis are far more impressive than yours.


By the way, did it occur to you that, although this is an adult bookstore, you're still out in public exposing yourself to a complete stranger.  I could call the cops, but I won't, because you're such a sad little man.  So please, do us both a favor and keep it in your pants.  There's plenty of things for me to laugh at around here without having to deal with your tiny penis.  

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish covering up the naughty bits on the DVD covers with price tags.  Why?  Because it amuses me.


Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

You say "tomato", and I say "fuck you".

Dear customers -

 There is absolutely no difference between "nonfat" milk and "skim" milk.  No fucking difference whatsoever.  I don't know what you call it at home.  I don't care.  As long as I can figure out what the fuck you're asking me for, we're good.  I am not going to make your drink again because you're clueless.  


While we're at it, I don't care what color the cap on your milk at home is.  It says "nonfat milk" on the jug.  Last I checked, that means it's nonfat milk.  Or skim milk.  Whichever you prefer, because they're the same fucking thing.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Porn Shop Sunday - Cock pumps!

Dear customer -

Seriously, these returns are getting worse and worse.  It's one thing when they're just fucking stupid.  It's another when I require gloves to handle them.

This is the third cock pump you have returned in the past two weeks.  This is the third cock pump you have broken in the past two weeks.  I'm fairly confident that this isn't a testament to your virility.  Otherwise, you'd have a place to stick your dick other than inside a plastic tube.  Sir, I believe there is something wrong with your penis.  Perhaps you went a little too far, and wound up with an end product resembling a hot dog that exploded in the microwave.  I'm not sure what your problem is.

No, I'm not going to accept a return on this product.  You returned it saturated in K-Y Jelly, and who know what other fluids.  You don't have your receipt.  You don't even have the original packaging - your cock pump is in a fucking plastic grocery bag.  In addition to it being the third one you've tried to return, no, we're not doing that.

I love the fact that you threatened to write a letter to the local paper about this business, and not allowing you to return the product.  I hope you know that, if you do, we will write a rebuttal, informing them just what you were returning, the condition in which it was being returned, and the fact that this is the third cock pump you have broken.  I work in an adult bookstore.  I have no shame.  You're trying to maintain the image of a respectable citizen.  I'm not afraid to fight dirty.  Let's see who wins.

 Next time you need a hole to insert your penis into, try an electrical socket.

Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.

One day(and cup) at a time.

Dear customers -

I appreciate that you are visiting our establishment to purchase your coffee beans.  However, is it really fucking necessary to buy a quarter pound at a time?  A quarter of a pound.  How far is that going to get you?  Obviously, not very, considering that we see you two or three times a week.

You know, there are ways to store that coffee so that it stays fresh.  On top of that, it's going to be less expensive in the long run if you buy the full pound.  It's also going to save you a couple of trips a week, and it's less time that we have to screw around with your quarter pound of coffee while there's 15 people on line behind you.  But, if you insist, you're more than welcome to buy a quarter pound at a time.  Good job, dumbass.  See you in two days.


Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.

Boobs. They make dudes stupid.

Dear customers -

Yes, the girl at the cash register is gorgeous.  I'm not going to argue with you on that one.  And yes, it can get a little chilly in here.  When one spends their day behind an espresso machine, it gets pretty warm.  If you're planning on making thinly veiled sexual comments to your barista - i.e., "Well, it looks like somebody's cold!" - you may want to make sure that the customer on line behind you isn't her father.  Yeah.  I'm pretty sure that fathers don't like that sort of thing very much.  Now if you'll excuse me, I need to round up the garbage.  That way, I can justify taking out the trash, and hopefully watch you getting your ass kicked in the parking lot by an angry barista dad.

Signed,
Your disgruntled(yet thoroughly amused) barista. 

Great moments in work history - Crackers in bed.

I seem to be working on my whole damn resume here.

This one goes back to my days of living in the flaccid penis of America - Florida.  I was there for a short stint, and in this time, I worked in a tattoo parlour.  Florida seemed to have an abundance of morons...and drunks on bicycles.

I think I want to call this particular customer "Chuckie".  The reason will be abundantly clear soon.

Dear Chuckie -

  Sometimes, people regret tattoos some time after the fact.  You get a tattoo of the name of your significant other.  You break up.  You're young and stupid, and you get something that reflects that.  I see it all the time.

Sometimes, though, even I have to ask, "What the fuck, dude?"

You work with a bunch of black guys.  Okay.  They keep calling you a "cracker".  Considering the fact that you look like Jim Henson's visualization of Charles Manson, and that poor, dumb girl you're fondling looks like she might be your sister, I'm not surprised.  However, this isn't exactly something that I think one would want to advertise.

And yet, you have made a conscious - and inexplicably sober - decision to get a tattoo of the word "Cracker".  On your neck.  Good job, pal.  Now I'll be able to identify you when I see you on America's Most Wanted.

Signed,
the apprentice.

That's not a maternal glow. You're hopped up on espresso.

Dear customers -

I am all too aware of the influx of pregnant women that have been coming in as of late.  When the shopping center across the street has no less than three overpriced maternity clothing boutiques, a lactation clinic, and a restaurant that for some reason serves sushi and hamburgers, that's going to happen.


There's always new studies coming out regarding pregnant women and caffeine - some say to cut it out all together; others say that it's okay in moderation.  I've never been pregnant.  I have no desire to get pregnant.  This information is of little use to me.

However, if you are obviously pregnant, I'm more than likely going to ask if you would like your beverage decaffeinated.  I don't know for sure as to whether or not you can have caffeine, and I'd rather be safe than sorry.  Your response should be either "yes" or "no".  Rolling your eyes and informing me that your doctor says you can have caffeine - not an appropriate response.

And yes, maybe your doctor did tell you that caffeine is okay.  I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you weren't told that four shots of espresso every morning is they way to go.  I'm sure your child is going to grow up to be an annoying little fucker, and run around my store breaking shit while you yap on your cell phone.  I'm sure your caffeine intake isn't the only factor at work, but that quantity really can't be good for your unborn child.  Yeah, your ass is getting decaf.  You really need your coffee that badly?  Maybe that should have been a consideration before you got knocked up.  Hopefully, you were at least able to give up the booze.  Go have fun whining about your stretch marks.

Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.