Crazy people…Need I say more?
This is a strange topic that’s filled with both
frustration and hilarity—and sometimes even a little fear. These are our
favorite stories, our party anecdotes, ones we love to tell to those outside our
business. We use our Crazies for laughs, for drama. Because, after all, they
make it so, so easy for us.
I know for me, the moment I spot one, I’m doing two things
at once—I’m ducking behind something while at the same time letting my eyes
peek over or around the corner. I don’t want to be this person’s victim of the
day, but I also don’t want to miss what’s about to happen. This is only for the
one’s I know and…appreciate, I guess is the right word. They are harmless,
quirky, exhausting, maddening—and something we can all laugh about later.
If they’re the bad kind of crazy, that’s when I suddenly
find something else to do, grabbing anyone else I can along the way. We then go
somewhere far, far away. It’s a good thing we don’t encounter those types too
often because, in my experience, most times the store isn’t that supportive—or helpful.
So here’s one of my favorite crazy stories:
The day was dragging.
Bea had already wiped down her counter three times, even though no customers had
been around to make it dirty. She would rather be talking with the other girls,
but they’d already gotten in trouble for ‘clustering’.
Bea rolled her eyes.
Like there were any customers in here that would care. Like there were any
customers in here at all. She sprayed
another tissue with alcohol, rubbing the last of the fingerprints off her case.
“S’cuse me…”
Bea popped up, smile at the ready. It faltered a bit when she got a look at the woman in front of her. “Hi,
how can I help you?”
The first thing Bea
saw was hair. It was ratted, sticking up in every direction possible—and if she
wasn’t mistaken, there was something brown and crusted near the woman’s forehead.
Bea really hoped it was just a dry leaf.
“I need me some
color. Got a date later.” The large woman stared Bea down with large eyes,
bright with something more disturbing than just excitement. Her crooked smile
showed off a single, yellow tooth. Bea was sure there were others in there, but
that one tooth made such a spectacle, it was hard to look past it.
Only one thought
circled Bea’s mind: There is no way I’m
touching this lady. “Uh, sure. Here’s some brushes—you’re welcome to use
them.” Not really, she thought. But
it was better than the alternative.
“Damn, you got some
good colors here. Shoot.” She grabbed a large powder brush, brandishing it like
a club.
Bea was barely aware when the lady began stabbing it into a bright blue eye shadow. She was
busy trying really hard not to look
at the lady’s chest. There was something wrong with it. The woman wore a bright
orange top that plunged low, baring a great deal of her bosom. Yet the woman’s cleavage was somehow…wrong.
“You got blush here?”
The woman tossed out, causing Bea’s eyes to pop back up. The woman had smeared a thick layer of
blue all across her eyelids. There was a single, smudgy trail that actually hovered above the
woman’s wild eyebrows.
“Yeah—uh, it’s right
there.” Bea watched, horrified, as the woman dug the same brush—still dusted
with blue—into the deep, rich red-orange blush. Streaks of wild red painted the
woman’s cheeks in seconds. The look was beyond clownish. And the rapid movement
of the woman’s arm as she smeared even more color on caused strange, rippling
movements across the woman’s cleavage.
That was when Bea saw
it. Her brain had known what was wrong all along. It had tried to keep it from
her—wanting to stay in a blissful cloud of confusion. However, there was
no unseeing it now, no matter how much she wished she could.
The woman’s breast,
deflated and flat, rippling with saggy lines, was somehow twisted, bent up like a taco,
her dark nipple pointing up toward the ceiling outside the orange top. It also seemed to rise much higher than the other one.
Bea wanted to look
away. But like a horrific car accident, she was unable to point her eyes elsewhere. She could see the lady had moved on to her lipsticks, but Bea had lost the ability to protest.
“What you think?” the
woman asked. She gave Bea a blasting view of her yellow tooth.
“Looks great,” Bea
managed. She even got one side of her lip to lift.
“Cool. You have you a
great day now.”
And just like that,
she was gone.
Bea looked around,
wondering if anyone else had witnessed what just went down here. But all her
bay mates were busy at their own counters. She felt something rising in her
chest, and wasn’t surprised when a huge wave of laughter rolled out her.
Well, she thought, at least
now I’ve got something to clean.
If any of you want to share your crazy stories, I would love
to hear them!
Cheers, and happy selling!
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