Oh, the sea of retail sales is a tempestuous one.
Our first customers of Sunday were a guarana addicted family from "the Island" (as they needlessly announced to us). I can only imagine they were refering to the Island of Lost Souls. The mom was this horrifying she-devil, who had obviously used her banshee song to lure her husband all those years ago. I know that she used the banshee song because everytime we asked her a question she would scream something seemingly unrelated back at her husband. This happened a few times until she decided that her transaction was over with, questioning bluntly "How much?"
We finished the sale and wished them a safe journey.
Moments later the she-witch returns, barking requests for "a tissue" or "toilet paper". We search the counter, but alas, there is none and our loo is occupied. She stares blankly. Waiting. Staring. Trying to set our heads on fire with her mind. She is delusional. She had been drinking energy drinks all morning and was not going to let us treat her that way. I offer her some wrapping tissue after explaining for a second time that we don't have anything else. She stares blankly back at me. She waits. She stares. She is still trying to set our heads on fire, or worse, explode them. We apologize again. There is still no response. She is still staring. I fear she has slipped into a guarana induced diabetic coma.
After a few more uncomfortable moments, she turns and storms out the door. We have no idea what has just happened. Her husband and child are outside waiting for her. The boy looks sick and I fear the worst. The woman is staring at us through the window with that same evil glare as before. I shudder as they walk away, then go outside to inspect the scene. Sure enough, the boy had vomited all over the side of the store. It was all pancakes and Red Bull.