'Twas The Night After Christmas

'Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the store,
Not a creature was stirring, except me (I was mopping the floor).
Fresh coffee was brewed and the beer coolers all stocked,
The bathrooms were clean and so was the parking lot.

When up in the front the door buzzer did "ding,"
I looked up from my mop to see who had walked in.
No matter how slow, it’s no doubt  a sure bet,
Lots of people show up when the floor is still wet.

A young drunk woman staggered in through the door,
She had run out of booze and wanted some more.
When I said “sorry, too late,” she said, “listen my dear,”
And tried to act sexy while Flirting for Beer.

Soon another woman came in, she had blood on her face,
Her boyfriend had hit her so she walked to our place.
At her insistence I decided to not call the police in,
Then wondered all night, Did I do the Right Thing?

Then in came a guy, a very grouchy old man,
When he asked for change he yelled, “PUT IT IN MY HAND!”
He seemed cruel and mean and pitifully rude,
That poor old man was a Crotchety old Scrooge.

A woman arrived so drunk she couldn’t talk
She left a trail of a mess wherever she walked,
A guy she was with seemed desperate (and a wee bit shady),
It was another Return of the Nacho Cheese Bullshit Lady

A black guy was not happy with our small choice of rubbers,
I wished I could have helped; I truly wish we had others.
He said, “I fit the stereotype, my man, it’s the largest you’ve seen,
He emphasized it with this: "I Need the Extra Large, You Know What I Mean?”

A creepy strange guy who seemed mentally ill,
Asked me about the money I keep in the till.
“If I were to rob you, how much would it be?”
“What is this,” I asked, “A Hypothetical Robbery?”

Another guy said I should carry a gun,
So I pretended I did just for giggles and fun.
“I’m a crook and you’re me; I’m gonna rob you,” so I said
Then I pointed my finger and yelled, “BOOM, You’re Dead!”

An intoxicated woman asked me out on a date,
I explained to her why I would not be a good mate.
“Oh, come sleep in my bed and read the Bible, okay?
Honey, One Night With Me and You Won’t be Gay!”

The popcorn was low so I cooked up some more,
But I cooked it too long and it smoked out the store.
In came a sorority girl who I wish I didn’t meet,
When she said of burnt kernels, “That’s What Black People Eat!”

A young guy came in to buy smokes, and beer too,
“I’m sorry,” I said, “but it’s way after 2:00."
"I can’t sell alcohol this time of day,”
To which he replied, “Come on dude, That’s Gay.”

Another guy was shouting profanities in line,
While waiting to by a 12-pack and wine.
When I refused to serve him because he was rude, drunk and putrid,
He asked, “Why Are You Looking at Me Like I’m Stupid?”

When a man said we charge too much for cigarettes,
I gave him a coupon so he could save 50 cents.
But he was a grouchy old guy and didn’t give a damn,
I now refer to him as The Marlboro Man

There’s another weird guy I find classless and crude,
Who thinks the people of Montana are all rather rude.
He dresses pretty sharp, but he is not a good soul,
I will forever refer to him as the Gentleman Asshole

A woman wanted to buy one of our “beers for a buck,”
When I said it was after 2:00 she said, “Ask me if I give a fuck.”
I looked at her boyfriend, who was tall, rude and fat,
he asked me “What the Fuck Are You Looking At?”

After a cop came and left, a man said “I don’t like that guy,
He’s the asshole who gave me my third DUI."
He said "Yes, I was driving drunk, the third and first two times too,
but I was almost home, and That’s a Douche-Bag Thing To Do."

A guy into sports came in and bragged about his team,
And after awhile he got kind of mean.
When I said I liked New England he threw a big fit,
He said the Patriots suck, and “Tom Brady’s a Faggot.”

A guy from the South who was a racist old prick,
Was offended by lighters that make fun of dumb hicks.
“Those niggers, Jews and fags don’t have it nearly as rough as me,
The real discrimination is towards us Rednecks: America’s Last Minority.”

Just when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore,
An angel of beauty walked in through the door.
He smiled and said, “Hi, my name is Matt.”
And all I could say was, "um . . . uh . . . hey . . . Nice Hat!”

A really nice man caught me sorting through pennies,
I was looking for rare ones, of which he said he had many.
He drove home and then came back before going to bed,
To give a gift for my son, The White Woman Indian Head.

There’s another old man who comes in every day,
Who often cheers me up in a fun, friendly way.
He always seems happy; he always seems nice,
When I ask how’s he doing, he says, “Best Day of My life!”

And then there’s the story, a favorite of mine,
About the charitable man who helped another in line.
“All I ask in return, is just give me your word,
When opportunity arises please Pay it Forward.”

When the small handful of assholes begin getting me down,
I think about all the good customers who are always around.
And when getting along with others seems way too damn hard,
I try to remember this: Divided we Fall: A Lesson from the Graveyard.

The Christmas Truce of 2014 (Dispatch from the Christmas War Front)

I've attempted to disavow war since I got out of the Marine Corps, but war can indiscriminately and unexpectedly affect everyone and anyone. I was recently inadvertently drawn into it; It was bound to happen -- I said "Happy Holidays" to a custumor. What was I thinking?

"It's CHRISTMAS," the custumor said. Do you know what CHRISTMAS is?"

"Spending a lot of money and exchanging gifts?" I asked.

He gave me a dirty look.

"I suppose you have a 'Holiday Tree' at home?" he asked.

"No, it's a Douglas fir," I replied.

Another dirty look.

"For the record, I try to stay neutral," I said. "I'm like Sweden. I alternate between 'Merry Christmas' and 'Happy Holidays' to be fair and all inclusive."

"What a bunch of politically correct bullshit," the guy said. "People have forgotten what Christmas is about."

"I agree," I said. "It wasn't even a holiday until merchants persuaded President Grant to make it one to boost sales and profits."

Another dirty look. 

It seemed I was escalating rather than diffusing conflict and hostilities. I felt bad. Whatever else Christmas may or may not be, I know it is NOT about war.

Curious about General Bill O'Reilly's bold and glorious assaults against the subversive secular progressive uprising in America, I did a bit of research and recently learned this: 

Christmas was pretty decadent in 17th century Europe. As a result, many of the puritans who fled England and settled America did not celebrate Christmas. In fact, Christmas was actually outlawed in Boston from 1659 until 1681. It wasn’t until the 19^th century that Americans re-invented Christmas and changed it from a "raucous carnival holiday" into a "family-centered day of peace and nostalgia.'

Unemployment was high and gang rioting by the disenchanted classes often occurred during the Christmas season. In 1828, the New York city council instituted the city’s first police force in response to a Christmas riot. This catalyzed certain members of the upper classes to begin to change the way Christmas was celebrated in America. In 1819, best-selling author Washington Irving wrote "The Sketchbook of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent.," a series of stories about the celebration of Christmas in an English manor house. The sketches feature a squire who invited the peasants into his home for the holiday. In contrast to the problems faced in America, the two groups mingled effortlessly. In Irving’s mind, Christmas should be a "peaceful, warm-hearted holiday bringing groups together across lines of wealth or social status." Irving’s book, however, was not based on any holiday celebration he had attended -- historians say his account actually “invented” tradition by implying that it described the true customs of the season.

The North and South were divided on the issue of Christmas, as well as on the question of slavery. Many Northerners saw sin in the celebration of Christmas. But in the South, Christmas was an important part of the social season. The first three states to make Christmas a legal holiday were Alabama in 1836, and Louisiana and Arkansas in 1838. In the years after the Civil War, Christmas traditions spread across the country. Children's books played an important role in spreading the customs of celebrating Christmas, especially the tradition of trimmed trees and gifts delivered by Santa Claus. Sunday school classes encouraged the celebration of Christmas. Women's magazines were also very important in suggesting ways to decorate for the holidays, as well as how to make these decorations.

President Ulysses S. Grant declared Christmas a legal holiday in 1870. Since that time, materialism, media, advertising, and mass marketing has made Christmas what it is today. The traditions we enjoy at Christmas today were invented by blending together customs from many different countries into what is now a national holiday.

A happy holiday! A holiday known as Christmas.

So in the true spirit of Christmas -- in the spirit of the famous "Christmas Truce" of 1914 when British and German soldiers took a break from killing each other during WWI and crossed trenches to peacefully mingle on Christmas day -- I decided to use a more peaceful tactic.

"Well, then,  Merry Christmas to you!" I told the custumor.

He smiled.

"Thanks, and Merry Christmas to you as well," he said

The Gentleman Asshole

3:00 am:

The final step in cleaning the cappuccino machine is to push the right sequence of buttons to let hot water run through each of the five spigots to ensure all the pieces have been correctly put back together. It's not so loud that I didn't hear the door "ding" when a custumor came in, but I couldn't hear what he said.

He was a distinguished looking grey-haired man, perhaps in his 50s, dressed nicely enough that I could envision him on the cover of a hybrid between GQ magazine and an LL Bean catalog.

"I'll be right with you," I said, and hurried up to the register.

While walking through a narrow spot to get behind the sales counter there are some coolers stocked with frozen deli sandwiches, burritos and ice cream with a loud enough buzz that again I did not hear what he said. So when I got behind the register, with just a three-foot-wide counter between us, I said, "I'm sorry, I did not hear you, could you please say that one more time?"

"How many times do I need to say it?" he asked.
"Oh, just one more time should do it," I replied.

Then he said, very loudly: "I WOULD LIKE $20 ON PUMP TWO!"
"Um, okay, you got it!" I said, and rang it up.
"That will be $20."

He just stared at me with a scowl on his face while an awkward moment passed.

I repeated: "That will be $20. please."
He points to a $20. bill he had already placed on the counter, near the basket of bananas. I hadn't seen it. "What are you deaf and blind?" he asks.
"Sorry, I didn't see it. Will that be all?"
"Well open your eyes," he says.
"What is your problem?" I ask.
"What is your problem?" he replies. "I am just trying to buy some gas."
"Well, you seem pretty rude about it," I said.
"I am not rude," he replies. "I am a gentleman. This town is rude. This state is rude."

I've heard Missoula and Montana called a lot of things, but rude is not one of them.

"I suspect what you perceive as rude is a response to you being an asshole," I said. "Perhaps you should take a good, long, hard look in the mirror."

He shook his head in disgust, scowled once again and left. I watched him pump gas, get in his SUV and leave. He had Washington plates.

I hope he at least took a good, long, hard look in his rear view mirror as he drove away headed west. 

At Least He's Honest About His Dishonesty

A high school student comes in to prepay for gas with cash (which saves about six cents per gallon at our store).

"Twenty-five on pump two," he says.

I hit "2" on the register, then the "prepay" button, then "2500" and "total."

"Will that be all?" I ask.
"Yes sir," he says.

He hands me $25.00 and I complete the transaction.

"Thank you," I say. "Have a great day."
"Thanks," he replies. "You too."

As he's headed out the door he suddenly remembers something and turns back around.

"Oh, I need my receipt please."
"No problem," I say.

I hand him his receipt.

"My mother makes me bring her the receipts, to make sure I put all of the money she gives me towards the gas. She doesn't trust me."
"Well that's too bad," I say.
"I don't blame her," he replies. "Last week she caught me only putting $20.00 in when she gave me $30.00."
"Ah! So it's justified, hey?" I ask.
"Oh yeah, totally," he replies.

The Malicious Minority

After reading most of my graveyard blog posts a friend responded (a bit facetiously, I hope): "When I lived in Montana in the 1960s it was a really friendly place; what happened?" Others have said things such as, "How do you put up with that shit every night?"

Fortunately, I don't. An overwhelming majority of customers are super nice people. Many are regulars. I've become friends with a few. I went on a date with one. I recently got drunk with some of them (see: One of THEM! (Again)).

But if I were to write about most of my interactions with customers, it would be something like this: "A really nice person came in and bought stuff. We exchanged in a bit of chit chat and pleasantries. As they were leaving they said, 'Have a good night Dave,' and I replied, 'Thanks, you too.' They rode off into the sunset happy as a spring meadowlark." 

That would be pretty boring.    

One of THEM! (Again)

Last night for the first time in a long time I went to a bar to down a few drinks with a friend. It's a lounge and casino called the Lucky Strike -- stumbling distance from the store where I work. On Sunday nights they have $1.00 well drinks all night. Attractively dangerous.

When I got there it seemed half the folks in the bar were people who often show up at the store after the bars close. Some of them have been pretty obnoxious. Some of them are in my stories.

I was in their lair; I found the nest! I briefly, humorously considered being obnoxious to them on their own turf; but they wouldn't notice -- most were already obnoxiously drunk. So after one-too-many vodka tonics I rapidly assimilated. I was happily obnoxious and got along well with all. I became one of them. Again. (see I Am One of My Stories! (Dude)).

Except I didn't stagger to the store afterwards.