How much would you like?"
"I want a dolla's werf."
"Man. When I took this job they told me there wouldn't be any math," he said, laying slices of cheese onto a plastic sheet atop the scale, squinting, and obviously thinking hard. Then he pressed a button on the scale and a sticker rolled out of the printer. He picked it up and stuck it to the edge of the counter with a sigh, and then he bent one of the slices of cheese in half. After breaking the piece off, he promptly ate it.
"What are you doin?"
"I'm trying to make a dolla's werf."
He printed another ticket and cursed under his breath, and then he reached for the top piece of cheese again.
"Keep yo nasty ass hands off my cheese. Why you gotta touch my cheese?"
"Because it's a dollar and five cents werf."
"I only got a dolla."
Redneck Brian finally just wrapped up the cheese and handed it to her with a nickel. "Here. Just take it."
"Best not be touchin' my cheese with no nasty ass hands," the woman said as she walked away.
"What up, ghost girl?"
"I want a dolla's werf a cheese," she said.
"Shut up," he said, but a glance from his manager changed his attitude…a little. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
"I want a sandwich."
"Just punch it up on the PoS, and I'll make it with extra love," he said, no emotion in his voice.
"I don't want to use the Piece of Shit. I want you to make what I ask you for. Got it?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" he asked while turning one of the point-of-sale devices toward him. "Do you want a cold sandwich or a hot sandwich?"
"Both."
"Uh. It won't let me do that."
"I know. That's why I won't use that piece of shit."
"OK. Just tell me what it is you want then."
"Thank you," Sam said. "I want a 12-inch hoagie with hot bologna, melted provolone, hot dog cheese, raw onions, chili, and mustard."
"Damn. Are you pregnant or wasted?" redneck Brian asked, but then he glanced over at his manager, who was giving him a dark look. "I don't even know what to charge you for that. I mean the hotdog cheese is usually just for hotdogs, and we don't charge extra for it."
"Just make me the sandwich and charge me something. I don't care. And don't be touchin' my cheese with yo nasty ass hands." This earned her a quick one-finger salute.
"Did you order that crazy ass sandwich again?" Shells asked when she walked up from behind. "You are such a pain in the ass."
Redneck Brian looked like he wanted to agree, but his manager was now standing with a hand on her hips and the look on her face warned of a good tongue-lashing. "Here's your sandwich, ma'am."
Sam snatched the sandwich with one hand and gave him the finger with the other.
"Hey," he half whispered half yelled, "party at my place tonight. No one leaves until the keg floats."
A look of stern disapproval was on the manager's face as she rung up Sam's items. A line of people queued up behind Shells, and there was not even so much as a thank you for Sam when the woman handed back her change.
"Do you have any condoms?" Sam asked, as if suddenly remembering that she needed them. Shells snickered.
The woman just grimaced and threw a pack of Trojans on the counter.
"Do you have any of the really big ones?" she held up her hands and made a circle with her fingers.
"Yes, ma'am. We have Magnums."
"XLs?" Sam asked, straight-faced.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ribbed?"
Shells leaned into Sam's back as she tried unsuccessfully to contain her laughter. Those in line shifted in the uncomfortable silence.
"They don't make ribbed Magnums," the woman said, looking as if she might explode.
"Well, you would know. Thanks. I don't need any right now, but I might later," Sam said, and she moved to the side.
Shells stepped up, "Do you have any D batteries?" This time it was Sam and redneck Brian who had to try not to laugh. Shells spread her hands about 14 inches apart on the counter and then cut that space up with her hand into battery sized chunks. "I need six of them."
"Yes. We have them."
"Long lasting?" Shells
"I want a dolla's werf."
"Man. When I took this job they told me there wouldn't be any math," he said, laying slices of cheese onto a plastic sheet atop the scale, squinting, and obviously thinking hard. Then he pressed a button on the scale and a sticker rolled out of the printer. He picked it up and stuck it to the edge of the counter with a sigh, and then he bent one of the slices of cheese in half. After breaking the piece off, he promptly ate it.
"What are you doin?"
"I'm trying to make a dolla's werf."
He printed another ticket and cursed under his breath, and then he reached for the top piece of cheese again.
"Keep yo nasty ass hands off my cheese. Why you gotta touch my cheese?"
"Because it's a dollar and five cents werf."
"I only got a dolla."
Redneck Brian finally just wrapped up the cheese and handed it to her with a nickel. "Here. Just take it."
"Best not be touchin' my cheese with no nasty ass hands," the woman said as she walked away.
"What up, ghost girl?"
"I want a dolla's werf a cheese," she said.
"Shut up," he said, but a glance from his manager changed his attitude…a little. "What can I do for you, ma'am?"
"I want a sandwich."
"Just punch it up on the PoS, and I'll make it with extra love," he said, no emotion in his voice.
"I don't want to use the Piece of Shit. I want you to make what I ask you for. Got it?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" he asked while turning one of the point-of-sale devices toward him. "Do you want a cold sandwich or a hot sandwich?"
"Both."
"Uh. It won't let me do that."
"I know. That's why I won't use that piece of shit."
"OK. Just tell me what it is you want then."
"Thank you," Sam said. "I want a 12-inch hoagie with hot bologna, melted provolone, hot dog cheese, raw onions, chili, and mustard."
"Damn. Are you pregnant or wasted?" redneck Brian asked, but then he glanced over at his manager, who was giving him a dark look. "I don't even know what to charge you for that. I mean the hotdog cheese is usually just for hotdogs, and we don't charge extra for it."
"Just make me the sandwich and charge me something. I don't care. And don't be touchin' my cheese with yo nasty ass hands." This earned her a quick one-finger salute.
"Did you order that crazy ass sandwich again?" Shells asked when she walked up from behind. "You are such a pain in the ass."
Redneck Brian looked like he wanted to agree, but his manager was now standing with a hand on her hips and the look on her face warned of a good tongue-lashing. "Here's your sandwich, ma'am."
Sam snatched the sandwich with one hand and gave him the finger with the other.
"Hey," he half whispered half yelled, "party at my place tonight. No one leaves until the keg floats."
A look of stern disapproval was on the manager's face as she rung up Sam's items. A line of people queued up behind Shells, and there was not even so much as a thank you for Sam when the woman handed back her change.
"Do you have any condoms?" Sam asked, as if suddenly remembering that she needed them. Shells snickered.
The woman just grimaced and threw a pack of Trojans on the counter.
"Do you have any of the really big ones?" she held up her hands and made a circle with her fingers.
"Yes, ma'am. We have Magnums."
"XLs?" Sam asked, straight-faced.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Ribbed?"
Shells leaned into Sam's back as she tried unsuccessfully to contain her laughter. Those in line shifted in the uncomfortable silence.
"They don't make ribbed Magnums," the woman said, looking as if she might explode.
"Well, you would know. Thanks. I don't need any right now, but I might later," Sam said, and she moved to the side.
Shells stepped up, "Do you have any D batteries?" This time it was Sam and redneck Brian who had to try not to laugh. Shells spread her hands about 14 inches apart on the counter and then cut that space up with her hand into battery sized chunks. "I need six of them."
"Yes. We have them."
"Long lasting?" Shells
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