And Her Roots Were Blonde

(I’m working a graveyard shift. It’s 3:00 am and a girl comes in, obviously more than mildly inebriated.)

Customer: “Umm… so, I came in here an hour ago and bought a Pepsi, and I, like, took a drink of it just now, and there was, like, a hair in the Pepsi. Can I get another one for free?”

Me: “Do you mean there was a hair in the bottle when you drank it?”

Customer: “No, um, like, I took a drink, and one of my hairs got in my mouth at the same time, and I guess I bit it off and drank it, too, and that was really gross so I, like, threw the Pepsi away.”

Me: “So you swallowed your own hair, and you want me to pay for your Pepsi to make up for it?”

Customer: “Exactly! I’m sooooo glad you understand me!”

Me: “Um, no. You’re gonna have to pay, actually.”

Customer: “Aww, I knew that wouldn’t work. I told him that wouldn’t work. He, like, told me I was cute enough that you’d give me free stuff, but I knew it wouldn’t work. Oh, well. I’ll pay, I guess!”

(She goes to the cooler and starts tapping on the lids of various bottles with her finger, before deciding on one half-way back on the rack, requiring her to take a dozen bottles off before getting to hers, and coming to the counter with it, leaving the rest on the floor.)

Me: “Um… what were you doing?”

Customer: “Checking for a fresh one! They, like, sound different! You work here; you should totally know that! You’re not very good at your job, are you?”

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