You, my Drug Store Cowboy, work in dismal retail hawking all kinds of shit. From ‘Hair Mayonnaise’ to infant incontinence meds.
The first time, a slouchy Hello sent my eyes to catch yours. In the same moment, there was a voice from o’erhead shrieking Assistance to beauty please!
An angry lady in a wheelchair, feverishly avoiding her morph into a Velociraptor in the fluorescent light, interrupted your seismic stare. My heart melted when you came from behind the counter to adjust her oxygen tank so a wreath of plastic-filled plastic bags could balance like a sunflare around her chair.
I played a little hide and seek with the voice from above until I spied her behind the counter, arranging cheap perfume. She was a bonita babe with large hooped earrings and a Bump-it even-keeled with a baby bump. Like a vitamin deficient rare bird, I quietly observed her biting her empty nail pits. Then, you waltzed over to her and said in a faux-French accent, “Assistánce?”
“You ever heard of Olive Foil?
“You mean, Olive Oil?”
“Yeeuh, for stretch marks.”
“Sure, it’s used for all sorts of stuff..greasing a gun, home labor, cooking mostly.”
“So, like, you can eat it?”
I could see you squirm, so I came over for a price check on Hair Mayo.
$9.99, she said, then turned to you and asked if she could “eat this too?”
Narrowly escaping that vom-filled conversation, I prayed a self-checkout would be available for my “5 days sooner!” pregnancy test. God answered at least one of my prayers when you said “I can help you over here!”
“Would you care for CrackerJacks? 2 for 1..”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind the prize. Crack and a Jack & Coke, amiright?”
“Robitussin is on sale, the orange flavor..”
“Oh really? A true treat! Do you know if Hair Mayo can be used as an expectorant? Or is it for external use only?”
Medical assistance to the front register, please.
