I gave like three people the death stare this week. And I really try not to do that. I'm friendly. I don't lick your face, or nothin'. But I'm friendly. Just for the record.
I was at the cellphone place. Kid needs a charger, and probably a battery. We bought the extended cover-all. Figuring she'd lose the phone. But it covers all shit.
So the guy says "Warranty don't cover charger." He's new. And in his defense, he didn't know I'm Brasky.
I don't give a fuck if the warranty covers the charger. Give me a fucking charger, bitch.
Get Bernie on the phone. He does.
Bernie, heyman. I need a charger. Cool.
Snap the phone shut. Guy digs around in a box, gives me a charger.
We go out. My kid says "I thought you were gonna kill that guy."
I didn't raise my voice, or throw a tantrum, or behave inhospitable in any way. I'm still unsure of what happened. And this was after waiting forty-five minutes while he completely botched signing up the prior customer. I wasn't *glaring holes* in the dude.
What it was, was - I didn't honestly know what to say. He knew I waited forty-five minutes. And I was being so exceedingly cool, about how messed up his other customer's shit was, I let him alone to deal with it. No problem.
So when my turn came, and he starts givin' me shit. With my contract right on the screen, and coverage plans.... Dude... You give me a fucking charger, goddammit.
So, as I'm standing there, processing this. Tryin' real hard. Rubbing the forehead. Slow, deep breaths, subtle. I say "Call Bernie."
--
Another guy has been bugging me on the level of Manlaw. I won't get into it, but he's supposed to look me square, shake, and say "hey." And he won't fuckin' do that. He wimps out. He'll either glance sideways, or in the past, tried to completely brush me off.
And the more he does, the more I wanna grab his hand, and not let go. And say, you know what? The more you act like a snakey cunt, the more I want to know what you're trying to fuckin' hide.
We don't have to out-man each other, or nothin. Just square, is all I ask.
--
The last guy was this greasy little Burger King manager. I order some stuff, and wait there. This other guy comes in, all whacked out, and bitchin about his fries. So they drop him new fries. They work the window. His fries come up, my burgers come up.
And the goddamn manager takes these two shit-ass lookin' fries from under the lamp, and puts 'em in my bag. Then he takes some new, good hot ones, salts 'em up, and gives 'em to the crackhead.
I turn to him, and I say are you fuckin serious? You bring up brand new fries, and you give me these old soggy fucking things.
He fixed it. I was like, goddammit, I don't even believe I have to open my mouth about this shit. What a slight. The little fuckin' prick.