(I work at a convenience store with an automatic car wash that’s located in a seedy part of town. One day, a man walks in wearing a pure white t-shirt and jeans, both liberally smeared with his own feces.)
Man: “Help! Help! Man, you gotta come help!”
Me: “Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance for you or something?”
Man: “No! You gotta get out here?”
Me: “What’s wrong? Do I need to call the cops?”
Man: “No! In the car wash! You gotta help!”
(I go outside to the car wash when a little old lady — completely soaking wet — bumps into me and shoves her car keys in my hand.)
Little Old Lady: “You go! You wash car!”
(As I walk into the car wash, I see that she missed the wheel guides when she drove in.)
Me: “What–”
Little Old Lady: “You wash d*** car now, please!”
(I take her keys and get her car in the wash correctly. About halfway through the five-minute cycle, I realize that I just left the store unattended and begin thinking the worst. Finally, the wash is done and I drive around to the front of the store. I’m surprised to see the soaking wet lady standing in front of the entrance with her arms spread wide, blocking anyone from entering. There’s a line of about a dozen customers in front of her that stretches down the sidewalk. I get out and give her back her keys.)
Little Old Lady: “Thank you! You nice young man!”
First Customer In Line After The Lady: “What the h*** just happened?!”
(As for the man covered in feces, I later found out that there was nothing wrong with him besides the fact that he routinely got so drunk that he crapped himself.)
