Fireworks: Day 4 and Day 5, my final days.

Day 4:
I had to touch boob money. A woman, with her boyfriend/baby daddy/husband? in tow came to the register and was short some bills. After giving her enormous right tit a squeeze, she said, "Ah. Found some." She stuck her hand in her cleavage, lifted her right breast with her right hand and grabbed the money from beneath her breast with her left hand. For anyone with breasts, you know that the underside (unless you have petite, skinny-lady, no-kid, nonboobs) of the breast is the most damp part during the summer. S-W-E-A-T-Y! Touching boob money is the equivalent of touching nutsack money. Now, I will admit, I have carried a debit card, cash, and lipstick in my cleavage before, but never, never, did I let such items travel to the depths of the underside. The items always stayed saddled right between the girls. Touching the boob money.

The boob money and mean customers is a reminder of why I will never work in retail again, if I can help it. By the end of the day, I was cranky and sick of customers. I was more irritated with the smart remarks of the "fireworks savant," however:







Within minutes of getting to "work" for the day, my sister's boyfriend (actually fiance) was on my case about my sales techniques, my attitude, blah, blah, blah, teamplayer, blah, blah, harrassing him for using a Starbucks cup to pee in the shipping crate today instead of a soda cup, blah, blah. While he's funny on most days, I was short on nerves to begin with and was hoping since I would be annoyed with "the away team" i.e. the customers, that I wouldn't have to get annoyed with "the home team" i.e. my family.

All turned funny again once he decided he was the "fireworks psychic," that is, look at everyone pulling up in their cars and predict what it was that they were going to buy. His first and last prediction (at least to me) was for an older couple. His products were almost on, but his numbers were way off--fail! By the end of the evening, when he was exercising his "assistant manager pants," I cinched a black trash bag over his head and considered leaving it, but I thought better and took it off.

The highlight was Janey Chao showing up with a box of muffins from Marie Callendar's. They were a hit with everyone:





Alana showed later with her little man and husband in tow, and it was awesome to see her and even cooler to sell fireworks to a bonafide Canadian!

I saw an old customer from the Record Exchange--one I used to make fun of a lot, especially for the time when he tried to return the album he special ordered because it sucked--Mr. Pooky, a tough rap-guy album. I felt bad for all of the years of backstabbing when he bought about $120.00 worth of fireworks. Well, not that bad.

Day 5:
I showed at closing time to help count the left-over inventory.  We went back to my sister's house for a late-night BBQ and to set off all of our fireworks.  Everyone in the neighborhood had illegals, and well, every 4th of July reminds me of when I was a child--a time when my dad fashioned his own fireworks out of tons of gun powder and dynamite.  On one particular fourth, I remember getting burned with falling debris.

As an adult, not a lot has changed:

Glad it's over for the year.