Bare Your Teeth At Thieves

It’s 1995, and I’m working at a cheese store in a touristy Midwestern city. I am a bald white man with a preference for dark colors. It has been a tough week. Some dental work has failed, so I am without my three front upper teeth for the next week until the new bridge is made. I am trying hard not to smile.

A local has been browsing our postcards. She selects a pile about an inch and a half thick and just walks out with them.

I follow.

Me: “Excuse me. You need to pay for those.”

Customer: “Deese be free.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “You be a cheese store. Deese be free.”

I laughed with a full toothless skinhead-looking smile. She was startled. I reached over, plucked the postcards out of her hand, and returned to the store.

I tried really hard not to smile at people until my dentist installed the new bridge.