Working on A Not So Secret Project at Problematic Pizza, and a guy just came in.
Problematic Pizza Guy: "Hey, (name), where you been?"
Reasonable Dad: "I've been working."
PPG: "Where are the kids?"
RD: "At home. Actually, I need to talk to you. You have to stop hitting on my babysitters when they come in. You're creeping them out."
PPG: "I'm nice to them."
RD: "They don't like it. Any of them. My kids like your pizza but my wife won't come here, my babysitters won't come here. You've got to knock it off."
PPG: "Hey! Your Wife won't come here? I don't hit on your wife. I'm not that kind of guy."
RD: "But she doesn't like the way you talk to...well..anyone, but especially young women. We have a daughter."
PPG: "Woah. I'd never hit on your daughter."
RD: "But you hit on her babysitters, and they're fifteen."
PPG: "Fifteen!?? I didn't know that."
RD: "They are. And they won't come here anymore."
PPG: "Is there anything I can say?"
RD: "Not really. I'll still pick up pizzas from here. But my kids probably won't be back, and my wife DEFINITELY won't be back."
They small talk, and the guy leaves with his pizza.
PPG (to me): "Do you believe that? I didn't mean to hit on a fifteen year old. You know me. I'm not like that. I'm not trying to go to jail or nothing but if a girl is pretty what am I supposed to do?"
Me: "Nothing. You're supposed to do nothing. You're supposed to sell them a pizza or a sub or whatever they came in here for and leave them alone."
SIDE GLARE OF DEATH
PPG: "Right.Right. Whatever."
Random Loiterer: "Where is your Charles Dickens?"
Me: "I think Oliver Twist and A Christmas Carol were collected in Classics Illustrated. I'm not sure about anything else he wrote."
RL: "I want his books."
Me: "Then you're going to want to go to The Harvard Book Store."
Me: "We're a comic book store. Not a book store. We don't have prose novels just graphic novels."
RL: "WHAT? YOUR SIGN SAYS BOOKSTORE!!!"
Me: "What sign?"
RL: "YOUR SIGN."
Me: "Where do you see a sign that says 'bookstore'?"
RL stomps out of the store, up the stairs, stands in front of the window (which says only "Million Year Picnic: Comics, Toys, T-Shirts") and gives me the finger before returning to whatever he imagines to be his life.
Some nights, I look through the Bartender's Black Book for drink specials, and I wonder "Who Hurt You?"