It’s Monday, which means it’s time for a new Off The Clock with The Checkout Girl over at RVA News. This week, I discuss that ca-ray-zay John Hughes tribute during the Academy Awards and pose the question “What the hell happened to the Brat Pack?” Check it out.
She may be a hot gestating mess, but it turns out that Pregzilla is actually the most normal/sane/classy (no, really) person in her little universe. Aside from her living situation, which is sad and not blog fodder (she financially supports a lot of people), her baby daddy (whom we’ll call John Mayer, because he is a manchild) is one crazy shutyourmouth.
I’ve worked with her for over two years now and she’s always been with John Mayer, who has no redeeming qualities as far as I can see. He’s a drug addict (not in a fun way), he doesn’t have a job, he’s not terribly nice to her. Oh, and he’s absolutely insane.
A few days after I moved from checkout girl to flower girl, I got a call. A man was asking questions about flowers. Really specific, pointed questions. He wanted names and prices and colors and how long each would live. I didn’t know a lot, but I knew enough to answer most of them and fudge a little, where necessary. After a few minutes, I thought, “That’s weird, this really sounds like John Mayer”. But that didn’t make sense. After five minutes or so, he had exhausted all of his questions and there was a lull in conversation.
“Okay, um, is there anything else I can do for you?”
He started to repeat the information I had given him, making it obvious he had taken notes.
“Yep. That’s right.”
Another painful lull and I didn’t know what else to say.
“Okay, thank you for calling”
I just hung up. I was left disconcerted. That was John Mayer, right? He has a really distinctive voice and way of speaking. But why would John Mayer call with flower questions?
I approached Pregzilla.
“I think your boyfriend just called here.”
“Well, why didn’t you page me?”
“He didn’t want to talk to you.”
I told her what happened. She shrugged.
“Yeah, he does stuff like that sometimes.”
He does? I told her it was weird, and she just nodded.
About a week later, the same thing. Only this time he asked about other products. He went on and on with questions and even sounded like he might have been reading them from somewhere. Like a script. I couldn’t NOT ask.
“Um, John Mayer?”
“Excuse me?”
Oh my god, was I wrong? I finished the phone call, which approached the ten minute mark.
I talked to Pregzilla. She just shrugged.
“Dunno, I’ll ask him.”
No alarm, whatsoever.
The next time I saw her, she said she had talked to him.
“He says he didn’t call.”
No. NO! HE DID CALL!
Now, this has happened probably once a month for a two years. At first I would mention it to her every time. Sometimes she would confirm it was him, just blowing it off.
“He gets bored.”
Sometimes, she would deny it.
“He says you are imagining it.”
And, sometimes, she would try to pin it on me.
“He says he’s just joking and you don’t get his sense of humor.”
She’s right, I don’t. He never says anything funny, there’s no punchline, there’s nothing. Just a lot of questions and then he hangs up. I talked to my boss and she said just to answer his questions and be polite like I would to any customer. She said we couldn’t stop him from calling, and that maybe he really was interested in the things he was asking about. I felt like I was going crazy.
That is, until my new assistant started, and he decided to bug her. She mentioned it, offhandedly.
“I keep getting annoying calls from some guy.”
I told her the story and she just shook her head. Because she’s an awesome old lady, her bullshit threshold is low.
“Well, I am not playing that bastard’s games anymore.”
And, you know what? I’ll bet she won’t.
I finally caught the carrot that has been dangled in front of me for almost a year (though they might have had better luck using a Taco Supreme or a picture of Clive Owen, but whatever): I got a raise.
I was really excited when the boss told me. Mostly because of how excited she was. Really, she was giddy. She practically jumped up and down as she told me that since I was eleven months overdue, I was to get back pay for those months and wasn’t I so so SO psyched? Yes, yes, I’m psyched. How much?
Twenty-two cents per hour!
Try again…
$.22!
One more time…
22% of one dollar!
I called out today.
Book Pitch: The Madonna Diet. It will be nothing but pictures of Madonna's arms and, when hunger strikes, just open the book and that shit is instantly curbed. I'll make millions!
Boss: “Are you even listening to me?”
Me: “Oh, um, no. I’m actually up in my head, rewriting Madonna songs to include things found in the store.”
Boss: *sigh* “Really?”
Me: “Yes. Check it out.” *singing* “Hollandaise! Celebrate! If we took some hollandaise, poured it on our eggs…”
Boss: …
Me: “Wait! Where are you going? You haven’t heard ‘Like A Gherkin’!”
me, dispensing slightly uncomfortable moments. and fish for $.10, apparently.
Me: “Why are you mad?”
Male Coworker: “I’m not.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Male Coworker: “Yes.”
Me: “Are we still work married?”
Male Coworker: *sigh* “Yes.”
Me: “Do you still find me work attractive?”
Male Coworker: “You know I’m gay, right?”
Me: “Yes, but you aren’t WORK gay!”
