Well, This Situation Has Gone To Pot

(My first job is at a tourist-trap antique store selling overpriced nostalgic items. I am manning the register. Today, I woke up late, so my hair is a mess and I am wearing the first thing I could find to wear: a band t-shirt with a button-up flannel. An elderly woman from out of town comes up to the counter with her small items.)

Me: “Hi, how are you today?”

Customer: “Oh, just dandy. Enjoying the weather.”

(I write down her items, ring her up, and give her her total, when I realize she’s looking me over pretty good.)

Customer: “Do you know where I could get some pot?”

(I can’t help but give her a blank stare and question whether I heard her right the first time.)

Me: “I’m sorry… What?”

Customer: “Pot? Marijuana? That kind of pot? You seem like you would know.”

(Dumbfounded, I remember how I might appear to someone who doesn’t know me or see me regularly. I always dress better for work, and I most certainly do not smoke pot. But I know I must look like it from a first impression. Our town even set up a ban on dispensaries a while back; the nearest one is the next town over. I still can not believe that this sweet old woman buying little trinkets needs some dope.)

Me: “Um… No, we don’t have any dispensaries nearby, miss.”

Customer: “Do you have a dealer that you could maybe call?”

Me: “No, miss. This is not my everyday look; I don’t smoke pot.”

Customer: “Oh, darn. Well, you have a nice day, dear!”

(I had to take my lunch break after that.)