Creepy creeper has been in the store for fifteen minutes making lame jokes and lamenting that no one’s in the store (three people left when he came in and started talking.
He approaches the counter with his comics and says “These are from my subscription.”
Me: “What’s your last name?”
CC: “Dangerfield.” He pulls on his tie and tells me about the amount of respect he’s not getting.
"Your actual last name.” I sigh.
CC: “Puddin-Tane. Ask me again, and —”
Me: “What’s your actual last name?”
My eyes are audibly rolling. “I can’t give you your discount if you don’t tell me your last name.”
I enter his comics in and tell him the price.
CC: “That’s with the discount?”
Me: “Sorry, Mr. Dangerstiltskin-Puddin-Tane, you’re not in our system.”
He gives me his proper name, and I give him the new total.
"How much is that Rocky & Bullwinkle comic behind you." He asks.
He pulls his tie again. “That’s cuh-raay. If I had forty bucks, I’d spend it on broads, not books.”
"I’m guessing they’re not exactly lining up on your doorstep, though, huh?"
He does his Rodney Dangerfield impression again, and leaves.
While I was dealing with Creepy Creeperson, a homeless man came in and beelined it to the porn section, where he stood back to me, reading a book and making…noises.
I finally made my way over there to discourage him, only to find that he wasn’t reading Sizzle or Housewives At Play, but was, in fact leafing through How To Understand Israel In Sixty Days, and had Guy Delisle’s Pyongyang next to him.
Sorry for misjudging you uncreepy homeless guy, keep on reading.