Confessions Of A Teenage Bagger

| Frankfort, KY, USA | Uncategorized

(I’m a 17 year old bag boy at a local grocer. I’m finishing up an order when the customer, a middle-aged woman, walks uncomfortably close to me and stares at my curly hair.)

Me: “How are you doing this evening, ma’am?”

Customer: “I love your hair.”

Me: “Uh… thanks. I kind of hate it, to be honest.”

Customer: “I just want to go barefooted and romp around in it like I was in a meadow.”

Me: “… have a good day, ma’am.”

Customer: “Bye!”

(She winks. I shudder.)