IS THE VANILLA GORILLA GONNA HAVE TO SMACK A BITCH?

"Jessie" is the fake name I will give to the waif-like 19 year old girl with the stunning resemblance to Avril Lavigne, who used to work a schedule best described as "whenever the hell she felt like it".  Cute girls get away with a lot in porn store employment, for the same reason that people who are naturally good at math get preferential treatment in the accounting field.  So, of all of us, she was naturally the worst at customer service.  Granted, this isn't an aspect of a porn store that most patrons notice (what with their attentions either fixed on the floor in shame or on someone's sex features).  However, one day, it nearly got her into some heavy poo poo.

It all started with this new policy from the higher ups, who were sick of shortages in the register.  They decided that change could only be given in the event of a purchase, and anyone caught using the "No Sale" button would be fired.  Now, if people wanted change for the snack and coffee machines, they would have to buy something.

What this policy did not take into account, was the fact that the register shortages were caused mostly by Jessie's habit of giving people either too much or too little change on a regular basis.  If the customer noticed, she would just hit the "No Sale" button and correct the error, usually in a huff - they were stealing her valuable magazine-browsing time, after all.

On this particular day, the pudgy, overstressed businessman on the other side of the counter noticed a 65-cent discrepancy in his change - he had been shorted.  "Miss, you didn't give me the correct change," he said.

Jessie looks over at him with a frown.  "Sorry, I can't open the register.  You'll have to buy something," she says, with a straight face.  Keep in mind the guy just spent something like $80 on porn and porn accessories.

The guy furrows his brow, looking every bit like he's about to have a Falling Down moment any second.  "I just bought something, miss.  I want my change please."

Jessie rolls her eyes.  "Look, I can't open the register without a sale or they'll fire me.  I'm not losing my job over 65 cents."

The guy stands there, eyes bugging.  "Give me my change, lady."

Jessie sighs loudly, storms over to her purse, and grabs her wallet.  She pulls three quarters out of it and tosses them onto the counter.  "Here.  Happy now?"  She tosses her purse into a corner.

The guy grabs the change and scowls at her.  He points a shaking finger and says, "You girls these days.  You think you can get away with this attitude bullpoo poo?  THIS is what happens when you don't hit women."

Jessie and I look at the guy in stunned silence.  He continues: "You dumb girls have no sense of reality.  I'm twice your size, I could knock you the hell out.  Where do you get off talking that way to me, huh?"  His face gets redder, and he's gesticulating more wildly with every few words. "Someday, little missy, someday, you're gonna pull that poo poo with a guy like me again, and there won't be a counter in your way, and you'll get cracked right across that little nose of yours!"

This is where both honor and employment demand I step in.  "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What, you her boyfriend or something?  You need to educate this little bitch before I slap her in the snotbox..."  This is as far as I let him get.  I walk right up to him, all 6'1", 240 big fat hairy pounds of me.  I look him dead in the eyes and say, "You want to slap someone in the snotbox?  I'm about your size, why don't you come teach me a lesson, tough guy?"

The guy mumbled something about being pussy-whipped and left the store.  Jessie was crying so hard that I had to let her go home early and I had to work the rest of the shift by myself.

The best part?  The guy left his change on the counter, so I did get a free soda out of the deal.

 

 CONFRONTATION EMBRYO SQAUD 

what kind of soda did you get?

Cherry Coke.

   Good story, keep 'em coming.

Cherry Coke.

and a Cokeologist, no less!

these stories make my day

Dude, you better have scored with the girl after all that. I mean, you saved her and she was crying in the end, how hard could've have been?! And don't give me bullpoo poo about being married!

Dude, you better have scored with the girl after all that. I mean, you saved her and she was crying in the end, how hard could've have been?! And don't give me bullpoo poo about being married!

she sounds pretty dumb, and anyways Zmann is above that kind of thing.

Nothing wrong with fetching dumb chicks

Nothing wrong with unicorning dumb chicks

you would know
I've heard Brazilian hookers are some of the dumbest people on the planet

Quote from: ZIGS_ARE_WINNER on 30-08-2009, 16:15:11 PM

Nothing wrong with unicorning dumb chicks

you would know
I've heard Brazilian hookers are some of the dumbest people on the planet

Hey Syniphas, DZ is badmouthing your fine women. You're gonna take that poo poo?!

Quote from: ZIGS_ARE_WINNER on 30-08-2009, 16:15:11 PM

Nothing wrong with unicorning dumb chicks

you would know
I've heard Brazilian hookers are some of the dumbest people on the planet

yes but they all have dicks :D

Dude, you better have scored with the girl after all that. I mean, you saved her and she was crying in the end, how hard could've have been?! And don't give me bullpoo poo about being married!

Well, I wasn't married at the time, but "Jessie" was 19, looked like Avril Lavigne, and fairly used to getting her way with men.  Let's just say she wasn't my type.

zmann is a gentleman unlike you!

I don't know where you get these blasphemous ideas about me.

THE 'MY DAD IN CHAPS' STORY
Sometimes, it baffles me that I've told lots of freaky stories about the one year I spent working at an adult bookstore, but have somehow skipped the two decades (give or take) that I spent living with or around my father.  So, here's the summary I give everyone when I explain my father: when I was growing up, he was an ultra right-wing Archie Bunker type for whom God made all things possible.  He told me, when I was 18, that the reason I wrote short stories about zombies and satyrs and Cthulhu and poo poo, was not because I was a wicked boy - it was because Satan was speaking through me.  So yes, really quite Christian, and good for at least several hundred stories, but this is the porn store thread.

And I only have one story that involves both the adult bookstore and my crazy-conservative-Christian dad.

At the time, Dad lived in Orange County, NY and I lived on the other side of the State in Buffalo.  About once every couple of years, Dad would come to Buffalo for our birthday (his is the day before mine).  We'd celebrate together, typically through some variation of letting him yammer on about something and I shut up and pretend to listen. 

So anyways, during the year I'm working at the adult bookstore, he calls and says he'll be in town that year.  So great, I have three days to get ready for a visit from my Dad.  And, he'll be arriving on a day that I work.

Now, I'm still used to the Christian Crusader who is very fond of lectures.  That's who my Dad was the last time I saw him at that point.  He said credit cards were the work of the Devil.  He said magic was witchcraft which is the work of the Devil.  He said Transformers were the work of the Devil - in 1986.

And, for the past several months, I've been working first shift selling rubber dicks and titty flicks.

I told him I would be at work most of that day, and he asked where I worked.  I said, "A video store."  I did not tell him what kind, but I did tell him the name and mentioned the section of town it was in.

He did not tell me he was going to use this information to meet me for lunch.  He also didn't tell me he'd be riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle for the trip.

An aside about the Harley thing.  My dad apparently got it in his head one day that he always liked Harleys, and it occurred to him that he had enough money to buy a Harley, so he did.  Apparently he also had lots of money left over to buy all the accessories, and I mean all of them.  Two of them if it was made of black leather.

I was largely unaware of this.  I therefore was not at all prepared for what I saw that day:

There's a section of the porn store that has a camera firmly fixed on it at all times.  It's the corner where the really cheesy gay porn is on display.  Most of it is still on VHS tape.  All of it is glittering treasure, just waiting to be shoplifted by a few of the old guys, taking a break from their theater excursions, to put those sticky fingers of theirs to a different use.  I'm staring at the video monitor, keeping an eye on "Freddy" - that was the nickname I had for this one old guy that used to come in every day from like 9AM to 3PM.  He looked like a cross between Liberace and Classy Freddy Blassie, so that's what I always called him in my head.  Also, he was about as trustworthy as Blassie at ringside, so you had to watch him when he went into that gay porn corner. 

So anyways, Freddy has been staring at the same tape for the past ten minutes now.  As I've mentioned in a previous story, none of these tapes have more than two minutes of browsing on them.  But he's transfixed.  And I have to watch a man ogling a cardboard box covered in wangs, and it's really irritating.

Suddenly, Freddy glances up.  Something, or someone, has his attention.  I can tell he's looking towards the door, but I can't see at what, until I look up at the door with my own two eyes.

I see my Dad, covered head to toe, in Harley-brand leather.  Leather goggles on his head.  Leather studded jacket. 

Leather neckerchief around his neck.  Leather gloves. 

Studded leather boots.

And tight-fit denim jeans, with leather chaps.

And he's just looking around the store, wide eyed.  He only now realizes he's in a smut shop.  He walks up to the counter, smiling, and goes, "Zilla, want to go to lunch?"

My female co-worker (the one from the earlier story that looks like Avril Lavigne) looks at him, then looks at me, and gets one of those grins that I fetching hate.  I very quickly explain, "No, it isn't like that.  He's my dad-" I try to stop myself, but it's too late.

"Mmm-hmmm.  Well, go have fun.  At lunch.  With your 'daddy'."

You have no idea how happy I was when they fired her.  Anyways, my Dad takes me to lunch.  I'm fearing a religious lecture like you wouldn't believe, while at the same time desperately trying not to laugh about him getting eye-buggered by Freddy.  It's Chinese buffet, so we both fill up some plates, grab a booth, and it begins.

No, not the Jesus lecture, something far more insane.  As it turns out, every problem in my father's life is caused by the fact that he just really loves pussy.  So, instead of Jesus, he lectures me on all the kinds of pussy he likes.  Then, after lunch, he had me point out the sections of the store where those types of pussy were caught on video, preferably with as few dicks as possible.

It is the one and only time my father ever took advantage of my employee discount.  Truly a bonding moment.