I know this is my first day, and I don't want to step on any toes, but maybe we should put together a Call of Duty display or something? I've already sold 63 copies of Modern Warfare 2, and it isn't even 10:00 AM yet! By 9:30 I just set a big stack of them out on the counter; most of the guys ask for it by name, but a few of them come in and start making gun sounds all around the store until I calm them down and hand them a copy. I did just like you said and approached slowly without making any sudden movements -- I remembered what you told me about your old floor manager and how he'll probably never walk again.
Oh, one of them is wandering around the store right now with his arms stretched out like a plane. Maybe we can make some arrows on the floor with masking tape to help these guys out or something? Just a thought.
Are we supposed to give Gamestop discounts to army wives? One of them came in today, violently pregnant and swarmed by what I originally thought was an unrelated herd of children. She demanded I discount her copy of Modern Warfare 2 by 10%, so I told her that this special rate is for GameStop employees only. She responded by saying that if I'm not going to stand behind the troops, I should get in front of them, and also that I should thank her husband that our store still takes American dollars and not Obama's New World Order currency (apparently a copy Modern Warfare 2 costs 1000 Pelosis). Then when she noticed that I charged her sales tax, she lifted her fifth-youngest son up to the counter and coaxed him into calling me a "faggot" after feeding him several "fun size" candy bars. I'd like to avoid these kinds of altercations in the future, so please clarify re: the discount issue!
You made it specifically clear to me that the soldiers ARE NOT to bring their prostitutes into the store, but you try telling that to the Fort Jacobs boys after they've downed their weight in Miller Lite. I tried to be accommodating, but many of these "ladies of the evening" didn't have the chance to hose down after their weekend tour of the barracks, so I went to prop open the door a bit if only to lessen what I can only describe as the stench of a dumpster behind Red Lobster after their Crab-Strava-Ganza week (I bussed tables there for 18 months, if you can believe it!).
Eventually it got so bad that I asked the gentlemen if the ladies wouldn't mind covering their various sores with makeup at the Baskin-Robbins next door. I received no less than nine challenges to arm-wrestle before a large, acne-covered man they called "Scrote" headbutted me and screamed "Semper Fi" before tearing our Epic Mickey standee in half. I would have told him that "Semper Fi" was the Marines' motto, but I had lost my vision and hearing for about 20 minutes and was more concerned about that. Just wanted to let you know why my lunch break was a little longer than usual today.
The guy with the melted face came in today. I assumed I was ready but -- dear God, what the hell happened to him? I mean, I know these sort of things are possible in the military, but Sweet Christ, wouldn't you at least try to find another job if your current one melted your face off? Anyway, just wondering -- how do you normally handle him? For twenty minutes I pretended to read the box of Imagine: Babyz as he moaned and grunted at me while I responded with phrases like "I see" and "Is that right?" For at least a minute, I tried to make eye contact, but after being unable to find anything resembling an eye socket, I quietly vomited in the trash can behind the counter and rang him up for seven copies of Modern Warfare 2. While walking out the door, he wheezed something that sounded like "see you later" out of one of the two jagged gills on the side of his neck. Dan, please tell me he was lying.
The UPS guy never showed, and -- well, the unthinkable happened. We ran out of copies of Call of Duty. As instructed by my training, I offered them alternatives like Mercenaries 2 and Battlefield: Bad Company but the soldiers could not be pacified. The leader of the group, a teenager with a "WHITE POWER" neck tattoo sloppily covered by a poorly-drawn Tasmanian Devil kept screaming "We ain't leaving 'til we get to kill some Hajjis!" When I tried to tell him that the enemies in Modern Warfare 2 aren't from the Middle East, he approached the ruined Epic Mickey standee, cradled it in his arms, and began gently sobbing and murmuring to himself. Apparently, this was his signal for the rest of group to start tearing the store apart, which they are continuing to do even as I write this. But Dan, I'm not worried; Jeff Dunham is performing on base later today, and I've yet to meet a military man unable to resist the siren song of his adorable puppets. 'Til then, I'm just going to stay in the panic room and go over these subscription numbers. What an exciting first day!
Hope is without a doubt my ideal wife. I mean if she was a human and not a dog and not 6 years old. But if she was a human and of age, she has all the qualities I am looking for in a wife. She has soft hair and an unbelievable personality.
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