This past week I’ve been opening the store every day for my Dad. He’s away to the Dominican Republic. Yea, DR. He’s there on a golf trip with some of his buddies. So the mornings are pretty quiet. I start at ’round 7:15am. There isn’t much work to do so I either read comic books or as of late, since I found a local wireless network to piggyback on, sit on the internet.
In the time I’ve been here, I’ve seen all the regular customers, and got all the expected small talk. “Didjya like it over there?”, “Haven’t seen you in awhile.”, and my favourite “How was it?” (How do I sum up a year in the few seconds of small talk between someone paying for their cigarettes and walking out the door?) “It was great.” I say.
I also get a lot of “Hey Jimmy…oh hey, you’re not Jimmy! Where’s your Dad at?” And more often then not, it’s an old guy who comes in every morning to buy the paper and talk to my Dad about golf. My dad often gives’em tips.
But, today a guy came in asking for a pack of smokes ‘on credit’.
My mom says it best when complaining about this particular type of request. “What am I? A bank? Do I look like big business?”
Anyways, the guy came in asking for a pack of smokes on credit, explaining that my dad will often give it to him. I reject him because I usually don’t, and am ‘not authorized’ to give credit. But he pleaded with me. “I’m good for it. I swear!”
But, all I could think was, if you’re really good for it, if your credit is really that good, would you really be in a corner store asking for CREDIT for a pack of cigarettes?
January 30th, 2007 | Life | No comments