Reading The Smoke Signal Loud And Clear

(I’m working third-shift in a quiet part of town, when a car pulls up, a man steps out, walks in, and comes up to the counter.)

Customer: “Pack of Marlboro Reds.”

Me: “Sure thing. May I see your ID?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “Your ID. I need to see it before I can sell you cigarettes.”

Customer: “Are you f****** kidding me?”

Me: “…no, sir. I need to see ID before I can sell you cigarettes.”

Customer: “Look, I know this is a s***ty little town, but in a real city like Cleveland, they don’t ask people older than 18 for ID for just cigarettes.”

Me: “Sir, I doubt that. I’m abiding by state law, and that applies in Cleveland, too.”

Customer: “Just give me the smokes!”

Me: “Sir, I can’t do that without ID.”

Customer: “You know what? You’re just some dumba** kid who works a s***ty job, and you’ll never amount to anything because you live in this piece of s*** town. If you had a real job or weren’t a total loser, you wouldn’t be such a piece of s*** about this. You won’t ever be anything in life, you f***.”

Me: “That might be true, but, you know what I can do that you can’t?”

Customer: “WHAT?”

(I turn, grab a pack of my brand of cigarettes off the shelf, scan them, pull out my wallet, swipe my card, grab my receipt, open the pack, and slide a cigarette behind my ear, before pocketing the smokes and receipt.)

Me: “I can buy cigarettes here.”

Customer: “F*** YOU!”

(He turns and storms out.)

Me: “Have a great mornin’!”