shanmonster | The Dream

I'm in a house haunted by a violent, terrifying ghost. I walk with utter trepidation, as I know this ghost relishes scaring people to death. Slowly, step by step, I creep my way through the hallway. Finally, I happen upon a closet. I look inside, and there is the ghost. He's watching tv, and is completely unaware of me.

A sharp and unintended sudden gasp comes from me, and it scares the (un)living shit out of the ghost, who screams and vanishes.

Later on, I feel really bad because I find out the ghost has summarily been voted out of the haunted house by Simon Cowell.

Then I wake up.

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Work was mostly uneventful, but here's an example of one of the not-so-nice customers I get.

I finished my lunch break and came out to the counter. There was a small line-up, so I went to the other cash. "Can I help you?" I asked an elderly man standing in the queue.

The man sauntered up, smiled, and said, "I knew if I waited here long enough that someone would eventually help me."

There had been only one person ahead of him, and that person was only getting a coffee, so he hadn't been waiting long. I smiled noncommittally at him.

"Can I take your order?"

"I'd like a bowl of chili, and nothing else."

"I'm really sorry, sir, but we're out of chili at the moment. Is there something else I can get you?"

"What? You're out of chili? But you're always supposed to have some." He was still smiling.

"Unfortunately, the last batch was was burnt, so a new one was put on. I'll go find out how far along it is for you, though." So I went back to the kitchen where the reconstituted freeze-dried chili was only halfway liquefied.

"Sorry, sir, but it's not going to be ready for quite a while. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"No. I'm afraid I'm just going to have to take my business to the other Tim Horton's." He paused meaningfully. "Your competition."

My inner voice said, "Oh, fuck off. Do you think my hard-worked-for minimum wage lets me give a shit about where you eat your freeze-dried, reheated chili, you passive-aggressive old shit?"

But my outer voice said, "Sorry about that, sir. Have a nice day."

And you know what? I meant it. I hope he got his chili and liked it. Maybe it'll make that smile of his genuine, instead of camouflage for a nasty personality. But I sure as hell don't care if he ever buys so much as a Timbit from my store.

Oh yeah. I made one dollar and two cents in tips today. Woohoo!