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  • Confessions Of A Teenage Bagger

    | 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.)