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Confessions Of A Teenage Bagger
Supermarket | Frankfort, KY, USA
(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.)
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