(I’m on vacation with my grandparents. My grandpa and I are having a drink with my uncle and his girlfriend who are staying for a few days at the house we’re staying in. We are talking about how I’ve been doing graphic design commissions the past few months. My grandpa asks my uncle if he has any tips for me since he is an established artist, known for putting popular people in pink clothing in his paintings.)

Grandpa: “Do you have any advice for him to get himself out there at all?”

Uncle: *to me* “You said you were advertising on Twitter and stuff, right?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Uncle: *to my grandpa, chuckling* “Yeah, I got nothing. He’s actually already doing more than me.”

(I am fifteen. A friend’s dad gets free tickets to a ballet, and offers them to my friend and me. It is a production about Merlin, so we decide to dress up and go. We get handed programs, sit down, read them, and wait for the show to start. It starts with dancing and leaping and so many other amazing moves that I cannot begin to do justice to with words. According to that part of the program, the story goes that a beautiful woman comes to a clearing and dances with glee, then is accosted by a demon, is chased, and becomes pregnant with Merlin. We get to a point where Merlin’s mother is lying on the ground, while the demon keeps walking back and forth above her. I’m wondering if this is some kind of metaphorical thing, because he is stepping over her body the whole time, and lean over to my friend and whisper to ask her opinion.)

Me: “Do you think he’s already—”

(Right as I say this, the “demon” gets down on all fours, lies on top of her, and arches his back.)

Me: *pause* “Never mind.”

(I produce very fine pencil drawings of city views, done in psychedelic colour schemes. I also sell ink drawings of those same views, which resemble colouring book pages. Customers sometimes ask if it’s okay for them to colour them in, and it is, since it doesn’t affect me. This woman is a lot less polite about it, though.)

Girl: “Ooh, these look nice, Mum.”

Woman: “Yes, they look okay. How much are they?”

Me: “The colour prints are £40, black and white £20, and the originals are about £250.”

Woman: “What?! You’re charging £250 for pencil drawings!”

Me: *taken aback* “Well, they’re each nearly a month’s work and done in very fine detail.”

Woman: “I’m not paying that. I could do this!”

Girl: “Oh, but I really like them.”

Woman: “Fine.”

(She decides to buy one of the black and white prints.)

Woman: “Mind if I take a photo?”

Me: “That’s fine.”

Woman: *to her daughter* “Now we can copy it, and sell our own for £250.” *smiles smugly and leaves*

Me: “It’s your money.”

Another Visitor: “Aren’t you worried about her?”

Me: “It took 300 pencils to do these. A lot of the patterns are in very tiny spaces and done on a whim. Computers have trouble scanning them, and I couldn’t copy them, even with all the pencils to hand. Even if she does succeed, she’ll have to invest a few hundred getting her own art business set up. That’s money I haven’t made back yet. She is not going to make this £20 back.”

(Our store has a few floors, and each floor has a counter with registers. Because we’re usually short-staffed on the upper floors, we only put people on the second and third floor registers when it’s really busy. I’m behind an empty register pricing some products.)

Customer: “Hey, can you ring me up?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, only on the first floor.”

Customer: “You know, you should really have a sign that tells me you’re closed!”

(I glance over to the three huge signs in front of every register that say, “REGISTER CLOSED.”)

Me: “Yeah, we probably should.”

(This happens every single day, without fail!)

Related:
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 9
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 8
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 7

(I’m at the park, sketching random people as they walk by. One guy comes up to me and sees what I’m doing.)

Guy: “Hey, that’s pretty good.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Guy: “So, do you artists also draw, like…. naked people?”

Me: “Uh… Occasionally. For study and stuff.”

Guy: “Cool. Can you draw me?”

(Before I could answer, he began stripping right in front of me, in full view of everyone. I grabbed my things and ran off. It’s been years, and I’ve yet to go back to that area in fear I’ll run into him again.)