When you gonna eat that pickle?

12:45 a.m.: Two young men come in and grab a couple of energy drinks. As one is paying for a Monster, the other grabs one of the bagged pickles we sell.

"Whoa! It's hard. There's actually a pickle in there," he says.

"Maybe that's why it's called 'Pickle in a Pouch,'" I answer.

"Who would buy that? That's crazy."

"Well, we sell a lot of them," I say. "We also sell a lot of hard-boiled eggs in a bag. And I can't even imagine eating one of those."

"Have you ever had one of the pickles?" he asks. "Are they any good."

"No idea. I've never had the urge."

"You should buy it," the other guy goads. "C'mon. It's only 99 cents."

"No way," the first one says, and they head for the door.

I see them talking and laughing outside the door, when suddenly they both return.

"He's gonna buy me a pickle," the one says.

"You want regular or hot and spicy?" I ask. "Either way, I'd get one of the ones in the refrigerated section. These ones up the counter scare me a little, though I'm sure they're fine being vacuum-sealed and all."

"I better get the spicy one since he's buying," the one says.

"You have to drink it right here," the buyer declares, so he (pointing to me) can see if they're any good."

"Drink it?" I ask. "You don't drink it. You eat the pickle."

"But you've got to drink the juice!" the buyer declares.

"Nasty," I say. "Do what you want, but take it outside so you don't spill or barf on the floor."

The two leave, and I see the one taking a bite out of the pickle. He gives a thumbs up through the window, but I don't see him drink the juice.

There was no vomit in the parking lot the next morning.

Bad boy bulldog

Photo by Angel Gomila

To the guy outside the door at 1:30 a.m. with the slobbery bulldog on a leash:

No. It's not funny that you goad your dog into barking and lunging at all of the customers coming in.

No. It's not funny when you tease your dog with a package of firewood, which the canine tries its best to destroy.

No. It's not funny when your crazy wife comes in, rounds up about 20 items, then turns away from the cash register saying, "You know, I've changed my mind. I'm not buying any of this."

No. It's not funny that after your wife leaves the store and takes the dog to the car, you storm in and ask loudly why we don't have any breakfast sandwiches prepared.

Yes. It's funny that when you leave the store, you'll have to get into a car with a worked-up, slobbery beast and a schizo bride.

Have a nice night!

"I like to experiment"

Photo by Horia Varlan on Flickr

2:15 a.m.: A woman that my wife would describe as "wholly unattractive" is waiting to check out, a cell phone plastered to her face.

I hear one side of the conversation:

"Well, I wasn't with HIM!"

"I don't cheat. But when I'm with My Man, I like to experiment."

"It was dark! You'd have to really be paying attention."

Hello! You're not with Your Man, you're standing in front of a person who just wants to finish mopping the bathrooms. The word "experiment" brings to mind Mary Shelley, not D.H. Lawrence.

You're pretty

2:45 a.m.: An attractive young woman walks up to my counter to pay for some snacks. During the exchange, another attractive young woman walks up to my co-worker's cash register.

"You're pretty," the woman at my counter says to the other woman. "What's your name? Oh, no. I don't need to ask that. It's just that you have a natural beauty, you know."

The other woman offers a hesitant, "thank you."

"Yes, some of us are just born with it," I add, tousling my hair and flashing a grin.

The woman at my counter ignores the joke and continues.

"No, it's just that some of us have to work at it -- go to the gym, eat salad, use makeup."

"I'm not wearing any tonight," my (male) co-worker cracks.

"I could be talking about me," she answers, again with little humor.

The woman at the other counter takes this opportunity to sidle toward the door.

"No, really. You're beautiful," the first woman calls out. "Kudos."

Kudos? Isn't that a granola bar?