Today is my last day of scheduled comic retail for a while, and there is a pair of kids and their poppa who are making sure I will appreciate never having to endure their presence again.

Due to Christmas, our new weekly comics were delayed so I couldn't pick them up yesterday, and had to pick them up today. Unfortunately, the timing didn't work out, so I had to rush to the store without the books, making me about five minutes late.

I arrived to two kids in the hallway. "DO YOU KNOW WHEN THE COMIC BOOK STORE WILL BE OPEN?"

I was about to say, 'I'm opening it right now.' but from downstairs, a voice yelled "Your back door is open. Do you want it to be open?"

I yelled back down. "There's a yoga studio down there. Maybe they have it open for a reason? I don't know."

He yelled back, "Well, it's letting the heat out. It's costing us money."

I peered down to make sure I was correct before asking "Who is us?"

"I'm the landlord." yelled back someone who definitely is not The Landlord. *waves at Don, The Landlord, who is on my FB friends list*

"You look different, Frank. Did you do something new with your hair?"

"Yes!" The liar shouted back.

"Well, the landlord's name is Don, so I don't really know who you are, but you're welcome to talk to the yoga people about the door if it will make you feel better."

One of the kids then shouted, "ARE YOU GOING TO BE OPEN NOW OR WHAT?"

"Not for fifteen minutes." I said, opened the door, went inside, got the bank deposit ready, and then came back out.

I figured it was a four minute errand which would thrill people who thought they were waiting fifteen minutes.

"Are you free?" the non screaming kid asked.

"NOT FREE, YOU MORON, OPEN. ARE YOU OPEN?"

From downstairs, "Let's go. We'll come back in a few minutes when he's had time to open up."

"SHUT UP, POPPA. WE'RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE AND COME BACK. THAT'S STUPID. WE WAIT HERE OR I'M TELLING MOM."

I escaped to the bank, just in time to see the very nice, elderly greeter give a treat to one of those medium size guinea pigs that some people call dogs. The dog started barking and then bit her on the face.

So I'm not the only one having a not so great day.

The teller and I talk about what a weird day it is. The greeter checks her face in the mirror and is fine. And I go back to the store.

As I'm about to enter, I see an older woman who I caught shoplifting stickers a couple of months ago. I just stand still as she passes.

When I come back, Screamo, Poppa, and the other kid are trying the handle on the door, even though they all saw me leave for the bank and tell them I'd be back.

"ARE YOU OPEN YET? ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE US WAIT AGAIN?"

Poppa is just not acknowledging that the whole family and world at large is suffering from his grandmonster's shitty behavior.

I open the door. "Come on in."

The two kids go over to the Legos, where there is a constant stream of "STOP DROPPING THINGS. ARE YOU DUMB? CALM DOWN. STOP PICKING THINGS UP AND DROPPING THEM ON THE FLOOR. THIS IS WHY NO ONE WANTS TO GO ANYWHERE WITH YOU. YOU SUCK. STOP DROPPING THINGS!!!! WHY ARE YOU EVEN HERE?" and similar things.

Poppa comes over to the counter. "Is Walter here?"

"Who?" I ask.

"Walter. The owner. I'm a friend of his."

The owner's name is not Walter.

"Only on weekends." I say, which is true about the owner. Not so much about anyone named Walter that I'm aware of.

"The last five or six times I've come in, nobody seemed to know who he was."

I shrug. The guy's already lied about being the landlord, I'm not going to divulge any info about the store to him. He is A Lot Nicer than I imagined when he was yelling about the door. But he is also ignoring his twelve year grandmonster who I would gladly hurl into traffic. (There isnt much traffic here, so he'd be fine, hopefully just terrified into silence.)

Another customer comes in. A reasonable one with questions about back issues. But while he's talking to me, the non-Screamo comes over, steps in front of the guy, mid-sentence and says "Do you have hamsters here?"

"DON'T INTERRUPT PEOPLE TO ASK STUPID QUESTIONS. YOU KNOW THEY DON'T HAVE HAMSTERS HERE. HE IS TALKING TO SOMEONE ELSE."

"We don't have hamsters here." I say, and look back up at the reasonable adult.

"Hamster toys?"

"WHY ARE YOU SO STUPID? I HATE YOU. COME BACK HERE AND LOOK AT THE LEGOS."

While he's yelling, one of our regular buyer/loiterers who comes in to ramble at us about his dad, his job, his bowels, whatever's on his mind, walks in, looks at the kid, and walks out. This should make me hate the kid a little less, but he's So Rude that it doesn't help.

Eventually, the screaming kid is too much for the reasonable adult, who tells me he'll be back later.

Normally, I'd ask the kid to tone it down, or ask Poppa to talk to him, but I vaguely remember them being in the store before, trying this approach, and it making things Much Worse.

My lunch arrives, and Poppa needs to know "What's the favorite local spot?"

"I was in a hurry today, so just ordered from Subway."

"Here? Why? Pizza Across The Street is right there, and their stuff is delicious."

I have never heard anyone say anything positive about Pizza Across The Street. I've heard their food is terrible. I've heard their owners are transphobic. I've heard their customer service is atrocious. And I've heard from employees who quit because it's a total shit show. But nobody has ever said Their Pizza Is Good. "I'll keep that in consideration for next time."

"Ok, kids. Time to bring your stuff to the counter. Our meter is running out and it's time to go."

"WHY ARE YOU THE KING OF RUSHING? IT'S WHY NO ONE EVER WANTS TO GO ANYWHERE WITH YOU. RUSH RUSH RUSH. IT'S SO AWFUL."

Three more people come in, giving the kid and Poppa a Wide Berth.

"Get your coupons out boys." Poppa says.

"WHY DO WE NEED TO USE OUR COUPONS NOW? WE SHOULD USE HIS MONEY TODAY AND SAVE THE COUPONS FOR WHEN I HAVE TIME TO BUY SOMETHING COOL."

"We're using them today."

"POPPA NOBODY LIKES YOU. YOU JUST LIE AND MAKE THINGS AWFUL FOR EVERYONE. I HATE YOU."

I don't make eye contact with anyone. Like, for real, get this bag of shit in a sweatshirt out of the store. I aknowledge that there are at least dozens of things I don't know about Poppa and Screamo. There could be special needs involved, and an issue with the parents, but, like, you can't have kids acting like that in public. Or adults.

Each kid buys two legos. They pay with gift certificates, and then Poppa takes them into the hallway, where the kid spends five minutes yelling at Poppa about how awful he is, and how dumb his (friend?) (brother?) is. There is no attempt at any discipline, or even just calm talking to relax the kid. Nothing. Just let him scream his face off.

One of the newer customers asks "Do you have the Fabulous---"

"WHY WON'T YOU JUST DIE SO THE REST OF US CAN BE HAPPY?"

"---kill...joys?"

"I do. It's--"

"AND YOU NEED TO STOP TALKING TO ME. YOU'RE SO STUPID."

"--over here."

Then the screaming trails down the stairs and away. The door slams behind them. And eveyone in the store's shoulders relax, and then an old man comes in asks "Where are your discount Christmas cards? I like to stock up on the day after Christmas when the stores aren't trying to scalp everyone."

"Oh, we don't have any." I say. "We're a pop culture and comic book store."

"You've probably heard this before," he says, and I instantly know the rest of the monologue "but when I was a kid we never spent any money on comics, but we had a mountain of them. All in perfect condition and from the 60s, so we probably had the first Superman." Probably not. "But my mother sold them all for a dime of piece when we moved out."

"Yea, I do hear that quite a bit. It's always sad."

​He then lists a bunch of collectibles that we would never sell but that he would like us to buy from him. And then he leaves. Without buying anything.

In about 25-30 years of retail, every single person who has ever uttered "I'm a friend of the owner." has been a complete fucken pain in the ass.

Sometimes, I end up getting along with them in spite of this, but there is never a point where someone says this and then is a completely reasonable human being during our first interaction.

Today's goober called up and said "I'm a friend of the owner. I need you to put something aside. He usually knocks about twenty bucks off for me. Should I call him and have him let you know, or are you authorized to make your own decisions?"

"No problem." I said.

And then I upped the price on the sticker by thirty-five dollars before he came in.
I call it Entitlement Tax.

If an owner is really your friend, you'll support their business instead of trying to bankrupt them because you shared a cab in 1997 or whatever loose affiliation makes you "friends" even though I haven't seen or heard of you in the three years I've worked here.

*********************************************************************

The complete flipside of this was a few months ago when a father and son came in, mentioning it was their first time. The kid asked a billion questions (but in a polite, enthusiastic way), and ended up with about $200 worth of Pokemon cards. As I rang them up, the kid said "And we're really going out for dinner tonight? And I get to order and everything?"

I must have made a weird face because the dad said "We're celebrating. He just got his feeding tube out for the first time."

​THEY got a fucken discount.

Occasional Customer Mostly Loiterer walks into the store, not wearing a mask.

Me: Hey. We're still requiring masks.

Him: I don't have one.

Me: But you know we require masks. I told you yesterday.

Him: I don't have one.

Me: You can't come in without one. Sorry.

Him: Can I have one of the store's?

Me: No. I gave you one yesterday, and you just took it and walked out. That was the lastone. What did you do with it?

Him: I needed it to get into another store.

I shrug.

Him: So you're not going to give me one?

Me: I don't have one. You took the last one yesterday.

Him: Can you get more?

Me: Sure. Do you want to go pick up a pack for me? I'm here by myself so I can't go anywhere.

Him: I'll watch the store for you.

Me: Thanks, but no.

​He leaves without buying anything. Just like he did yesterday.

My Boss, Literal Statement: "Wow. The roads look clear, we should actually make it in early today. Should we stop for bagels?"
​
My Boss, English Translation: "Wow. There is very little traffic. We should make it to the store early.  How can I make us late?"

​I was too mad and confused to post about this last week, but here is why you should NEVER order groceries via Doordash, even if it seems like it would be much faster and more convenient than using your grocery store's app.

At 6:00 AM, I started putting an order together. We needed some basic things: juice, bagels, not butter, cereal, yogurt, nothing terribly exciting. I also put in some chips because you shouldn't even grocery shop online when you're hungry. I finished the order around 6:30, and DoorDash let me know that it should arrive around 8:30/9:00, which is totally reasonable.

As soon as your order is given to a dasher, DoorDash shows you a map that includes your location, the location of the store/restaurant you ordered from, and the location of the car that is supposed to bring you your groceries/meal. I was assigned a dasher within a minute. But for an hour and a half, their car did not move. And it was not anywhere near the grocery store. I sighed loudly, and clicked on the "get help" button on the Doordash dashboard.

DD: Hello, my name is <notabot>. We are sorry that your are currently being inconvenienced and will do everything in our power to help solve your problems this morning. How may I help you?

Me: Hello. I put in a grocery store order an hour and a half ago, and the dasher's car has not moved since they confirmed the order. I don't know if there is a problem with the app or the driver, but I wanted to check in make sure my groceries are on the way.

DD: I can see how that would be frustrating Mr. Stone. We are sorry you are currently being inconvenienced, and I will do everything in my power to help you solve your problems this morning.

Me: Thanks.

DD: Would you like me to contact the driver?

Me: Please.

DD: Thank you Mr. Stone, I have contacted the driver and there is currently no problem. Your order may arrive a few minute late. Is there anything else I can help you with this morning.

Me: Thank you. Could you tell me if the problem is with the app?

DD: I can understand how that would be frustrating Mr. Stone. Is there anything else I can help you with this morning.

Me: That didn't answer my question. Is the problem with the app? Has the dasher already started the order?

DD: I have contacted the driver. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused. Is there anything else I can help you with this morning.

Me: Your answers aren't matching my questions at all. Are you a bot?

******Chat Closes*****

Oh dear.

I reopen the chat.

DD: Hello, this is <alsonotabot> how can I help you this morning?

Me: Is this a bot? The last "live operator" I chatted with turned out to be a bot and they closed my chat.

DD: I'm sorry. That sounds really frustrating. May I ask what the problem is this morning?

Me: I put in an order at 6:30, which is supposed to arrive between 8:30 and 9:00. It's almost 8:30 and the dasher is nowhere near the grocery store where I put the order in. Is there a problem with the app or is the driver just not doing the order?

DD: That sounds really frustrating. I will do everything in my power to help you this morning.

Me: That's what the bot said.

DD: I'm not a bot.

Me: Oh good.

DD: I have contacted the driver. It looks like they accepted the order, changed their mind, and couldn't figure out how to remove the order from their queue. I'm sorry. Would you like me to find you a new dasher?

Me: Please.

DD: Ok, Mr. Stone. I've reassigned your order. It should now be arriving by 10:30. Is there anything else I can do for you?

Me: What's the difference between a snow tire and a radial tire?

DD: I'm sorry?

Me: Just checking that you aren't a bot.

DD: I promise that I'm not a bot. But I also don't know anything about tires.

Me: Me, neither. Thanks for all your help.

******Chat closes*******

At 10:15, I receive a text from the dasher, a real human being. "The store is out of strawberry yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

Me: No, thank you.

At 10:24: "The store is out of banana yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

How is this person STILL in the yogurt section?

Me: No, thank you.

At 10:35: "The store is out of strawberry yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

Me: No. If the store is completely out of yogurt, that's ok. I don't need any substitutions.

At 10:41: "The store is out of banana yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

Me: NO.

At 11:00, my phone rings.

Dasher: "Hi, is this Insafemode?"

Me: "Yes."

Dasher: "Can you please tell the app that you do not want any strawberry yogurt? It keeps telling me you want strawberry yogurt."

Me: "Um. I've said no a few times now."

Dasher: "The app doesn't like how you said it."

Me: "I don't know how else to say 'no' other than 'no'."

Dasher: "Ok. I am going to be checking out soon, is there anything else you need?"

I debate asking the tire question, but this guy sounds frazzled. "No, thank you."

At 11:15. "The store is out of banana yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

Me: No.

At 11:21. "The store is out of strawberry yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

Me: NO!

Comrade wanders into the room, and I explain the Doordash frustration, and the yogurt issue.

Comrade: "Next time is asks if you would like a substitution, tell it cake?"

At noon, there is a knock on the door. It is the dasher, he hands me two plastic bags and says "I'm sorry, they didn't have the bags I liked." and he walks back to the car.

I carry the bags into the kitchen. Both grocery bags are filled with ice and water. One of them is ice, water, and a loaf of bread. One of them is ice, water, and a bag of Doritos.

Comrade: What the fuck?

Me: I don't know what's happening right now.

I go back to the front door.

Dasher: I tell them I need cold bags for your groceries. You have tipped very well, and I want to make sure you have great service, but they do not have cold bags, so I had them put ice and water in all of the bags so they did not melt while I drove them to your house.

I live a three minute drive from the grocery store. Also, I didn't order anything that needed to be frozen.

Me, grabbing a plastic bag filled with ice, water, and a jar of peanut butter, "Ok. Thanks."

The cat litter is, luckily, neither in a plastic bag, nor a bath of ice and water.

"I think this is all." the dasher says, handing me more soggy bags of groceries. "If I knew they did not have the bags I like, I would not have grocery shopped. But you are very nice."

Me: "Thanks."

As soon he drives away, I click the "Get Help" feature again.

It goes pretty much the same way as before, including a bot terminating the chat when I ask if it is a bot. But I do eventually reach a live person who has the appropriate response to:

Me: "and then the dasher showed up with plastic bags filled with ice and water. Each bag had one type of item floating in ice and water. Whether it was a carton of juice, a loaf of bread, or a jar of peanut butter."

DD: I'm sorry. What? That sounds really frustrating.

Me: Every plastic bag was filled with ice, water, and one type of grocery item. It was very strange. He was really nice. I want to make sure he gets his tip since it took him two hours to buy $100 worth of groceries, but I wouldn't match him with a grocery store order ever again.

DD: I'm sorry. That is an unusual situation. I am refunding your money for this order, and adding fifty dollars in credit. Is there anything else I can do.

Me: Are those credits going to arrive in a plastic bag filled with ice and water?

DD: No. Your credits will be dry and room temperature. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience. I have done everything in my power to help you today. Is there anything else I can do?

Me: Those last three sentences are exactly what the bot said.

*******Chat closes********

​12:35: "The store is out of banana yogurt. Would you like a substitution?"

One of my favorite modern retail interactions is when a Boomer-aged person comes in looking for something for their granchildren or grandnephews/nieces and says something like "I would love to get the Totoro pencil case for them, but he's a boy so I'd better get the soot sprite."

And before I can roll my eyes they say, "It shouldn't matter. I like them both. He probably wouldn't care but his parents are neanderthals. I don't know where we went wrong."

​And the roughly equivalently aged man who came in with her says "It's because your first husband is an idiot. Give them time. They'll figure it out, or *child's name redacted* will just start spending all their time at our house, which is a win for us anyway."

About a year ago, I posted about a guy who came in and claimed his dad had Action Comics #1 in his basement. I mentioned that it was worth MILLIONS OF DOLLARS if that were true, and the guy ran out of the store. Never to return.

Until today.

As I figured, it was not Action Comics #1. It was a reproduction of just the cover of Action Comics #1. Worth nothing.

​I don't mention this to shame him but to praise him because he came in with his clearly recently out as trans child, and he was a Fucken Delight. He was buying pride pins, and wanted to get copies of "How To Use Them/Their Pronouns" for their grandparents (they said they didn't want to, and he didn't argue or try and buy it behind their back, he just accepted their decision and moved on to the next thing), and ended up buying a non-trans book because that's what the kid wanted.

"I'd rather give my money to you instead of Sears, or whoever owns Amazon now." --Guy who crawled out of a cave for the first time since 1982 and came directly to our store

​Sears?

A couple is in the store, shooting the breeze with my coworker, trying to figure out whether or not to get to Volume 1 of the Invincible trade or to get the first compendium, when they guy's phone rings.

Approximation of Random Guy's Call:

"Yes. yes. Well, that can't be right. No. No. I'm on vacation. Yea, we traveled. No, I'm fine. I mean. Yea. A bit of a stuffy nose." Fuck. "Just since before Christmas. I'm sure it's not. Ok. Yea. Give me just a minute."

Shockingly, he decides he and his girlfriend should go outside to take the rest of the call. I am very much appreciative of this, as I'm guessing the call is to let him know he has Covid. Both my coworker and I are wearing KN95 masks, and I know that many people don't have the means and privilege to get checked for Covid every day, but you're supposed to get checked before traveling, even if you've been vaccinated and boostered. It's just common courtesy (and not in the Skeletor voice).

Assuming they're gone, I begin entering things into the computer when the girlfriend starts WAILING. I mean people a block or so away can hear her "BUT WE ARE ON VACATION! IT'S CHRISTMAS AND YOU PROMISED WE COULD DO THINGS. WE SPENT SOOOOO MUCH MONEY. I DON'T WANT TO QUARANTINE."

She lost all my empathy with her last sentence. Look, nobody wants to, but if your partner gets a call that he has Covid, your vacation is over. You need to go back to where you're staying, apologize to whoever you're staying with (because they almost definitely also have Covid now) and fucken quarantine. No matter how much money you spent, your vacation is OVER. Binge watch a show together, read some books that you already own or are in the place you're staying, have a Youtube party but stay the fuck at your home base.

When the wailing subsided, I heard the door to the building open, and I saw her walking towards the store door, I shut it. I didn't say anything or make eye contact. It's really shitty to find out you might have Covid and then try and go into a retail establishment. Get out of public.

​She didn't argue or complain, but hung out in the hallway until her partner came back. I'm not sure what he said because I'm back on the computer, but she started crying again and they slowly disappeared from earshot.

At around close tonight, we had a standard style frustration: a kid who wanted to sell stuff but didn't know what he wanted to sell or what he wanted to buy, but was definitely going to be in the store ten or fifteen minutes after we'd closed. That's fine. It's a kid. Kids are allowed to not fully grasp social contracts.

But as he was nearing what I imagined was the end of his transaction, I flipped the sign to closed, and went outside to get the sandwich board. As I did, a woman in her forties came in, made eye contact with the kid, and then stayed in the hallway for a bit. His mom, I thought. So I didn't tell her we were closed, or shoo her away. It actually only occured to me now that I don't think she was masked, but the rest of our interaction was so Harvard Square that I didn't even process it.

****TENSE CHANGE BECAUSE IT GOT TENSE****

As the completely unrelated child walks out, and my coworker moves to the back room, she starts jumping up and down and shouting "YES!!!! YES!!!! OH MY GOD!!!! OH MY GOD!!!! WOOOOOO!"

"You're a fan of Berserk?" I ask, as that is the book she is holding on to and jumping up and down with.

"I usually don't come in here because .... because it would be so bad, but tonight is a treat. It's really a treat." She hugs the book to her chest.

"That's great! Volume one hasn't been available to us for a while, but I ordered some last week, and we should have them in a few days. Did you want me to set one aside for you when it comes in?"

"I would normally never buy myself something like this." Uh-oh. That doesn't answer my question. "But I DESERVE a treat. I got fired today."

"Oh, I'm so sorry."

"No. No, it's GOOD. They never gave me forty hours and there was pffffffffffffffffft nothing to do. Nothing. I'm going to treat myself tonight."

"Ok."

"I'm sorry. I'm a little" she mimes drinking, which was fairly apparent. "you know. Glug glug. Shhhhhh."

Oh dear. She learned how to be drunk from lazy sitcom writers.

"OH!!!!!!" she picks up another book, and just sort of leaves Berserk on the table. "Grrrrl Scouts! Grrrl Scouts!!!! My daughter was in the Grrrl Scouts." Ok. "She would love this. She's bi. She doesn't know it yet, but she's totally bi. I should get this for her. Not that she would read it. She thinks ... she thinks she's ... she doesn't like me ... she thinks we're SO DIFFERENT but I've seen her grades, we are the same THE SAME, you know? Do you have kids?"

"I do not."

"They just don't know how much they are their parents. But they're so great. Amazing. You should have some. GRRRRL SCOUTS. WOW! Maybe I'll get this for her. Oh, I wish she'd talk to me. WOW, I am talking too much, aren't I? Shhhhhh. Sorry."

She is basically a monologue assignment from an acting class in the 1990s. Trust me.
"I have two kids. HAD. Had two kids."

Oh no.

"My daughter. She's the one who's alive." OH NO. "She doesn't talk to me. She went to go live with his father. You know what HE'S LIKE."

I do not.

"My best friend in high school, the one I SHOULD have married. He just got divorced, and his wife looks like Kim Kardashian, and my ex-husband looks like Pete Davidson, so they should just FUCK ALREADY, right? So my daughter, WHO'S FUCKEN ALIVE, she won't talk to me, but her brother, who died." She points to the ceiling, and hugs the air. "He always speaks to me. You know? He's always the one who's been there." Fuck me. "He said I should just be happy, but when is it my turn, YOU KNOW? When will my amazing person show up? I'M RIGHT HERE MOTHERFUCKERS!!!!!"

I begin texting my coworker about getting ready to leave.

"OH, Jamie Foxx and Jared Leto are absolutely 180 from each other, you know?"

I don't know how this subject comes up. We have no Jamie Foxx or Jared Leto merchandise anywhere in the store.

"They're so different, but I would fuck either one of them. Just, like, show up in my driveway, and I'm yours, YOU KNOW? Today's Wednesday. Jared LOVES Wednesdays, so why doesn't he just come to my driveway and get some, right? I deserve amazing things."

"Sure. We all deserve amazing things."

"HIGH-FIVE" she mimes high-fiving through the Covid Shield that seperates us. I'm grateful that she's content with the air-high-five. "WE DO DESERVE AMAZING THINGS. WE ARE AH-FUCKEN-MAZING my dude! LET'S GO JARED LETO!!!!!!"

I text my coworker that I'm about to politely nudge this person out of the store. Perhaps with a taser. When he texts "Here, I'll set you up." And he walks out of the backroom and asks "Are we closed yet?"

"Oooops." says the drunk lady. "Time to close the office. The office is CLOSED. I'll just ... this place is great. I'm going to come back here. Definitely." And then she lifts the doorstop, checks the lock, and says "It's all locked up. Nobody can get in now. Goodnight." which was ... unexpected.

And my coworker and I shake our heads. I ask if he'd heard our conversation but he says he just heard her Enthusiasm, but not the words.

We close up the store, and I'm telling him the beginning of the story when we reach the gas station to fill up the car for the ride home.

This is where I discover It's Full Moon O'Clock today.

See, there are two nineteen year old guys who work at the gas station. They're nice, they like my coworker, and they hate their jobs, so I relate. Also, they each get stalked by this creepy probably somewhere on the queer spectrum guy in his fifties or sixties who just stands ten feet away from the register and bothers them for hours on end. The fact that their manager hasn't fixed this lets me know they're exactly the kind of unqualified jackass that gets promoted to middle management at a gas station. The guy should be asked to leave, and it's not the nineteen year olds' jobs to figure out how.

So I walk into the gas station's convenience store just as the 19 year old says "and here comes his sidekick."

"Sidekick?" I ask. "I'm the fucken protagonist." and walk to the coolers.

Creepy Dude waves at me. "I hear you work at the Paper Insane Asylum."

"Today, certainly."

"I must have walked by it a billionty times but I don't recall seeing it. Where, precisely is this place I keep hearing about."

I point in the general direction of the store. "Over there. By the coffee shop."

"I don't drink coffee." He says, proudly.

"Me, neither." I shrug.

"What does one sell at a paper insane asylum." What a hoot, he is.

"Comic books."

"Oh. I'm not a comic booker. I grew up in the sixties when they were good." Says the guy who doesn't read them. "But just the Batman. I didn't have time to read the other stuff."

"Yea. Batman's great." I grab a soda from the cooler.

"This one here." he thumbs at the nineteen year old "He reads the anime books."

"Manga" the nineteen year old corrects him. "I watch the anime. I read the manga."

"I don't know what those words mean." He smiles. Because he does. "I just know when I was his age --"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CLICKY THINGS?" My coworker comes in, drowning out Creepy Guy. Very purposefully drowning out Creepy Guy. "There aren't any more clicky things on the gas nozzles."

"Oh, yea. We took them off. People used to forget they were on, and drive off with them. I managed to work here almost a year before it happened. I saw it happen in slow motion. So my manager came in and took them all off.

"BUT I LOVED THOSE." my coworker says.

"I might just deign to go this paper insane asylum, does it sell anything else aside from comical books." Cuh-reep.

"Yea, we sell stuffed animals, action figures, pins, button, stickers, pop culture stuff, basically."

"Well, I don't really DO pop culture." Cuh-reep. "But I should come in if I can ever find the time. I just thought it was a stationary store."

"It doesn't move much." I say, paying for my belongings.

"How was it down at your end of the street?" the nineteen year old asks.

"Crazy!" says my coworker. "Adam just had ... I don't even know ...." he manages to not make eye contact with Creepy Guy as he says "It's just All Crazy Everywhere tonight, I guess. Have a good night!"

And we walk out of the store. I mention Creepy Guy, and my coworker says "Yea, he's there bothering them all the time. I just pretend he's not there. He'll ask me stuff, or try and say something funny, and I just keep talking to the nineteen year old like that guy doesn't even exist."

​And we get in the car, and drive back to Boston, where I've been sitting in my house with the lights off, pretending that everybody doesn't exist.