In my line of business (retail whore) I see a whole lot of different people.  Happy people, sad people, tall people, short people, fat people and really, really fat people.  It’s a cornucopia of annoying individuals.  I love it. 

Okay, that’s sarcasm but there are some enjoyable aspects of my job.

Like crazy people.  Boy howdy have I seen some crazies.  They usually enter my store asking for the restroom key.  At my job we have a “Just say yes” policy which means that, regardless the request, we must oblige the customer.  So they can order the most insane, disgusting, unsettling order and we would have to create it.  That also means that any crazy person who comes to the store, buying something or not, can have access to the restroom.  This is usually followed by them a) showering in the sink  b) shitting all over the place or c) all three if you’re lucky!

Sometimes I’m not sure if a person is mentally unsound.  One normal-looking lady entered the store and asked for the key.  After being handed the key (which is attached to a small metal pitcher so people don’t misplace it), she inspected it and seemed very upset.  “Why does it say Women on it?” she asked.  “Why?  Why?  Why doesn’t it say Jesus loves you?  Why?”  Fantastic.

I hadn’t really thought about it before.  I always assumed the key said “Women” because it was for the Women’s restroom.  But maybe “Jesus loves you” would work as well.  Maybe I’m just old fashioned and stuck in my ways.

Regardless, the woman took the key and used the restroom.  She exited awhile later (awhile being twenty minutes) and looked very upset again.  She tossed the key down and started rambling on about the devil and all the devils walking up and down the street.  She then pointed to one of our African-American patrons and called her a devil.  That led to a pleasant, awkward silence.  She left the store and sat outside.  Every few minutes she would yell about devils, waving her hands like she was batting away flies.  She did this until a group of black people showed up and she ran away, terrified.

I don’t care if someone’s crazy.  Go to town, crazy it up!  Be as crazy as you want to be.  But just let us know.  Enter the store and say “Excuse me, but I am going to rant and rave about various things for a few minutes.  Don’t worry, it won’t make any sense so you don’t have to follow along.  Just nod your head.  Then I’ll probably take some stuff from your trash and call you an Anti-Semite.  Is that cool with you?”  I hate having to guess if someone is crazy.  My life’s confusing enough.

I’m going to run for mayor of L.A. and propose a new initiative that requires all insane people to wear a certain hat.  Maybe it’s blue, maybe it’s purple.  Whatever color, the hat will range from “WONKY” to “REALLY WONKY”.  This way, all retail employees know who they’re dealing with.  See, easy?  Problem solved.

Or maybe I’ll just load all the crazy people on a bus and send them to another place. 

Like the ocean.