Letters From Your Friendly Cashier: Vol 29

Yeah, it's a rerun. But at least it's something, no?

Most Highly Esteemed Customers,


It's been awhile since I filled several pages in my notebook with your antics. Not all bad! No worries! I'm not always coming after you with the big guns. For example, a good majority of you ask me how I am before I can get to it. Which isn't saying much because while I'm happy to greet you with a "hello", I'm not much for "How ya doin". Unless I chase my dose of ritalin down with a whole can of Dr. Pepper in the 15 minutes I get at break time. Try doing that and holding the burps in. It's not easy. You can thank me later.

To the little boy who accosted his mother:

I saw that. How you kicked your mother in the leg when she wouldn't give into your incessant whining about some diddly toy you just HAD to have. You won't believe me when I tell you, but someday you'll be glad she didn't give into your every whim and fancy. That act of denial that I witnessed might very well be the start of a chain of events that keeps your tiny butt out of juvy. But for now, I'm sure there's a special place in time out for you.

To the guy looking for lip gloss--for himself:

Dude! You're a guy! Did you mean to say lip BALM? I don't think so, but I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. You were very specific about the pink container it came in and everything. Have some dignity and just call it chap stick. In the meantime, I won't tell anyone you like your lips a little shimmery.

To the lady who had her hair dyed green:

Since it's not yet summer and swimming pool time, when sometimes blondies walk around with a slight greenish tint from the chlorine, I'm going to assume you've made the choice to have pastel green hair. Maybe it's leftover from St. Patty's day. Who can really say? I won't judge you, since my last hair disaster left me with a banana head of epic proportions, but really: you have brown eyes, and for some reason they clash with your green hair. I'm just saying. We girls have to think of these things.

To the guy from North Carolina who wanted to show me some physical affection:

Requiring I.D. for all alcohol sales whether you are 21 or 91 makes some people very angry and some people very forgetful of public propriety. You see that platform in between me and you? It's there for a reason. I'm so glad that I made your night when I asked for your I.D. and you felt so young and carefree that you asked me, "Can I come over there and hug your neck?"

First of all, I haven't heard the expression "hug your neck" since I lived in East Texas and I assure you, it doesn't come with good connotations. Second of all, although I gave you a friendly "no" for your answer, you can rest assured that you didn't creep me out in the least. I just don't hug you guys. Ever. It makes me feel a little googly just thinking about it.

To the guy who suggested the use of duct tape to hold a gift sack closed:

You cracked me up, Mister! When you and your Missus came through with one gift sack, one Spidey toy and a package of tissue paper and your lady had her doubts that the sack would be big enough for the toy, your response was classic.

"It's fine. We'll just tape it closed with some duct tape and call it good."

That warms my heart a little. Don't think for a minute I haven't thought of it many times and just never had the guts to do it. You guys are lucky in that respect. If a woman ever tried to pull that stunt, she would get kicked out of the party right after the other women painted a big red "P" on her shirt for Pariah. And maybe they'd even tar and feather her.

To the guy who taught me a thing or two about physics:

For some reason when you were counting out your ones I felt very weird all the sudden. Like I was on LSD (never taken it, just guessing here) and everything was moving in slow motion. And not regular slow motion, but alternate universe slow motion. Then you said, "Boy, I have really dry hands" and then I knew you noticed it also.

So I have to conclude that dry hands=slow motion. I'm still chewing on that one. I feel weird just thinking about it. Thanks for enlightening me.

To the guy from Comedians-R-Us:

I should have known when I saw you a few persons back in the line that I could expect shenanigans from you. You just had such a sly look on your face and you kept looking my way. That's a red flag for sure. Is me ringing stuff up so fascinating and quirky to you?

But when it was your turn you looked at my name tag and quipped, "For a minute I didn't know if your name was Crabby or Carrie!"

Har. Har. And then I told you, "Well, I'm not crabby! Not today anyway." Because I wasn't.

Then you continued sticking your foot in your mouth by asking, "Say, are you any relation to Carrie Nation?"

Remember what I told you? That it's the last name that makes you related to someone, not the first? Yeah, that was kinda dumb on your part. Unless that was just part of the joke.

In which case, it's time for some new material. Or maybe a new profession. Chimney sweep perhaps?

On the lookout for new talent,
The Friendly Cashier

copyright 2008 carrie evans
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for more Letters go here
for the first volume in book form go here
and don't forget to scroll down and read about my poll!