I went to use the label maker to put out a new section in the back issue bins, and discovered that the label maker was covered in dust, and out of paper.
Also, the last label someone tried to make read "I'm incapable of forgiveness."
That's not at all creepy.
Guy who is allowed to store too many comics here, who refers to the massive amount of books that pile up as his "Goody Box" always looks for new ways to make me hate him.
Today, he let me know that he schedules his trips for the day that I have the most work and the least amount of space because "You don't mind getting up on the ladder."
Me: "I do. Mind. You really need to buy a lot of these comics. You shouldn't Have a box worth. They should all fit in your folder."
Guy: "I'm going to buy a bunch today."
He bought three comics and a book.
Guy: "Can I have a bag."
Me: "That's eleven cents."
Me: "Since March, any place you shop or order food at in Cambridge has to charge ten cents for a bag, which, after tax, is eleven cents."
Guy: "Was the guy that made this law the guy who wrote Mein Kampf?"
Me: "Yes. Bag tax is the Worst Thing since Hitler. The absolute worst. Imagine having to bring your own bags to carry things or else have to pay A Dime And A Penny to use someone else's. It's Just Like The Holocaust."
Maybe this will discourage him from coming in on days when I'm working.
Lazy Guy On Phone: "Hi. I have no idea what I'm looking for. Twenty years ago I read a comic. I don't know the writer or the artist. It had a superhero in it. Do you know the one I'm talking about?"
LGOP: "No. Not that."
LGOP: "Not that, either."
Me: "Do you remember anything? What color the suit was? What they were fighting?"
LGOP: "No. It might have been an army book, and not a supehero book now that I think about it. And, possibly not a comic."
LGOP: "HOW ARE YOU GLARING AT ME THROUGH THE PHONE????"
This morning I got momentarily irritated at "The Godmobile" as it drove by with its spinning billboard and blindingly blue colors. Of course, it rushed an orange light and almost hit somebody in the next crosswalk.
I went to look at its license plate, and instead noticed that it was advertising a seafood distributor.
Oh, the CODmobile.
Random Customer: "I'm looking for a specific comic."
RC: "I don't remember the title, but it's named after a type of ice cream."
Me: "Ummmm...Strawberry 100%? That's uhhh. Huh. That's the only one I can think of."
RC: "No, it's..."
Me: "I can't think of anything."
RC: "What's the one that's lots of flavors in one?"
RC: "YES! Neopolitan!"
Let's see you figure that shit out, Amazon Dot Com.
Racist Piece Of Shit Comic Guy On Phone: "Do you guys buy comics."
Me: "It really depends. Your best bet is to call after six and ask for My Boss. Also, have a list ready of what you have."
RPOSCGOP: "Oh, I got that list. Spider-Man #1. It's appraised. It's got no creases. I know exactly what it's worth."
RPOSCGOP: "Do you think he'll be interested?"
Me: "I have no idea. Call back after six."
RPOSCGOP: "Some (racial epithet) in Quincy tried to (mixed metaphor racial epithet) me out of my money, flipping fast through the pages. I was all What Are You Doing Guy?"
Me: "Ah. That would be My Friend, Tom."
RPOSCGOP: "Tell Tom to stop trying to (second racial epithet from previous statement) people out of money. I know how much these go for at auction. You can't bullshit me."
Me: "Well, selling it to a store is different from selling it at auction because the store Also has to make money, so they're not going to pay you the same amount they're going to sell the book for. They wouldn't make any money that way."
RPOSCOP: "Oh, I know guy. But this guy was totally trying to (previous racial epithet) me."
Me: "Well, call back after six. I'm excited to hear what you think of our owner."
RPOSCOP: "I just don't even want to take it out of the safe deposit box if I'm not going to make $100,000."
Me: *laughing* "Good Luck."
I hope the bank holding his safe deposit box burns down (partially because banks deserve to burn), and that he sees the flames, speedwalks to the bank, and is run over by a television crew on his way there.
My least favorite part of cat ownership, aside from emptying litterboxes and cleaning up vomit, is listening to cats scratch things.
Whenever Selina coughs up a hairball, she scratches at the floor to let me know I need to grab some paper towels to clean up. Motherfucker scratches chairs when she is hungry, and worried that the only 1/4 full food dish may soon be empty. Zeke has no claws.
I often wake up to the sound of scratching, and yell in the general direction of the kitchen. I almost always yell out "Selina! Cut it out!", even though, statistically speaking, there's a 50% chance of it being Motherfucker. This is usually followed by more scratching, one more yell, and then peace.
I woke up around four to SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH SCRATCH. I yelled at Selina, who, it turned out was resting against my chest. Motherfucker was perched directly to my right, and Zeke was on my right arm.
My house might have A Ghost Cat.