Disgusting Memories of My Life in Retail, Part III

There were a number of poor people who shopped at that K-Mart store. There were also a number of pigs as well. It wasn’t always just a question of someone not being able to afford to dress better or not knowing that they were dressed inappropriately. I’m convinced that it was a mission for some.

It was common to see heavily made-up girls, their stubbily-chewed nails with chipped dark blue polish, wearing skimpy tube tops barely covering their 48DD’s, and Daisy Dukes so short you could see their tampon strings dangling. None of the clothing EVER covered up the humungous hickeys on their boobs, beer bellies or thighs. And nothing ever came close to hiding the filth and calluses on their pudgy feet. Flip-flops were called “thongs” back then and were as disgusting on their feet as current-day thongs would be on their asses.

I won’t even get into those little brown, stubby, hole-filled Chiclets that the men and women tried to pass off as teeth. All sorts of things swirled through my head such as, “With teef that NASTY and decaying cigarette breath that STANK, how could you have sex with it??” And let them give you hickeys? That leaves a slimy trail of stinky spittle in its wake. EWWWWWW.

It was always a hilarious eye-rolling experience to see guys strutting in their “muscleman/wife-beater” t-shirts ripped wide open at the armpits so that you could see a hairy nipple and most of a beer belly. Of course, the shirt couldn’t have hidden that gut even if it wasn’t torn. Usually they had receding hairlines, 3 days facial growth, dirty hands and an unfiltered Camel hanging from the corner of their mouths. They looked at you with one squinty eye, trying to keep the cigarette smoke out of the other. Even after 30 years, I can still picture the collective group.

These “males” (they surely weren’t men by any stretch) were convinced that they were charismatic and desirable and were sure to work overtime at increasing their girlfriends’/wives’ insecurities by hitting on us. Typically they’d berate the girls/women, who were usually fat, in the checkout line. While the women would look like beaten dogs, the males would then turn on the charm to the cashiers. This was to show the woman what a piece of shit she was and that he had a “bond” with the cashier who’d surely fuck him in the parking lot if he’d only ask. “Sure, handsome! I’ll take you on right here, especially since I didn’t hear ANY of the vile things you just spewed at your girlfriend/wife, as spittle sprayed her & ran down your chin. And even if I DID, I’m sure she deserved it!”

One of my more enjoyable moments was when one pig mentioned that he forgot to grab a 12 pack of condoms. First of all, everyone knew we didn’t have them at the checkouts. Then he tried to be suave , mentioning he’d need them for a “busy night.” Big mistake. I looked at him with a sad, straight face and said, “Quick shooter? Sorry that you waste so many. " I should've told him that we didn’t carry anything that small except for the finger cots in the stationery department. That smirk left his face and he looked like I’d ripped his balls off. In retrospect, I sure hope I didn’t cause his girlfriend/wife to get her ass beat after that.

A vision that will be forever burned into my retinas came to me in the form of a HUGE unkempt woman. She surely weighed at least 300 pounds. Her face was so fat that it looked like someone had punched it in. Combine that with shoulder length greasy, stringy blonde? brown? hair whose dirt I could smell across that counter, black rimmed men’s eyeglasses on her pimply face and horrendous underarm odor. I didn’t know whether to feel sorry or disgusted. I settled on both.

The coup de gras? As I bent down to write information on the personal check she’d given me, I made the mistake of looking up. My head was about 10” from the counter, and belly high to her. Her belly was resting on my counter. Her navy blue polyester pants had split up the front seam, and were held together vertically by those huge safety pins. In addition to being overcome by horrible rottencrotch stench, I was treated to the sight of her pendulous doughy abdomen pressing through those straining safety pins that would’ve punctured my brain had they blown open. The hair from her “trail of misery” poked through as well.

Jesus fucking Christ, my eyes started to water. My jaw started trembling, mouth watering, ass cheeks sweating. I needed to get the fuck outta there NOW. I processed her check, practically tossed the bag of merchandise (including Rid Shampoo, wonder why?) at her, shut down my line and as politely as I could, tore outta there toward the employee bathrooms at the back of the store.

I was happy to graduate to the Service Desk, where I got to deal with REAL thieves!