real conversations with real crazy people, thanks to the miracle of working retail at Christmas!
guy stomps in with an unravelling sleeping bag under one arm.
Goes next door, digs through a pile of books under my watchful eye.
Leaps to his feet suddenly, screeching "EVERYONE SHUT THE FUCK UP!" into the ether of the completely empty store.
Thankfully, he had enough awareness to stomp back out the door before I had to escort him.
Then there was the nut at the theater who thought he was Jesus Christ, and proclaimed that he had been "saved by Tiger Woods!", or that he was Tiger Woods, it wasn't entirely clear (query to the staff: "Am I white? Am I black? I can't tell!")
He wore out his welcome by screaming "YOU ARE GOING TO HELL!" at a bystanding old woman who reacted to his declaration "I am Jesus Christ" with "Well, I don't care!"
And I had a round gal in a bicycle helmet in yesterday who browsed the art books for a while, then came up and asked me "do you have any books that tell what it means when a man shows you a pair of socks in your house?", which took me a while to process.
"What, you mean like Emily Post or something?" I eventually responded.
"No, I just want to know what it means when a man is in your house and shows you a pair of socks. Because there was a man who came over to my house, and then he pulled a pair of socks out of his pocket and showed them to me, and then put them back in his pocket."
"Huh. Ya know, I don't think we have any books like that. You might want to try the reference desk at the library."
And, dear reader, I felt not one pang of guilt for passing the buck.