Shorty & Curly

I often work by myself, and have learned to be actively aware of thieves, be aware of my personal safety, and hold in pee for uncomfortable lengths of time while desperately clutching my groin and dancing on one foot.  This story involves the first thing.
I was talking to my friend Jule at the counter about all of the rude, uncomfortable, and generally bizarre behaviour some of my customers exhibit.  We were exchanging retail-based horror stories when two men wandered in, one short and one tall with curly hair, like Daniel Stern and Joe Peski in Home Alone.
Curly had been banned from the shop years before, after attempting to sell stolen CDs. I knew who he was, but decided to merely keep an eye on him and only approach him if he displayed any suspicious behavior.  I've learned to pick my battles.
I told my friend about how he had stolen CDs from the 4ZZZ library (Brisbane's premier community FM radio station) including an album by one of my workmates; and then tried to sell that very batch of CDs to said workmate.
We laughed over the sheer buffoonery of that situation, when suddenly the security doors went off, emitting a shrill beep.
''Scuse me,' I said, and walked briskly to the doorway.  It was Shorty, and and he was out of the shop doorway by the time I got there, so I ran onto the street, yelling 'excuse me, come back here please.' He pretended not to hear me for a while, but eventually came to a stop.
'I'm sorry, but you set off the security alarm when you left the shop, so I just have to have a look in your bag.'
He handed me his back pack, and as he did so, I noticed that he had four or five DVDs tucked conspicuously under his arm. With our price stickers attached.  And security tags inside.
'Those are our DVDs,' I said.
He handed them to me, saying, 'The doors beeped for no reason.'
'Um, no, they beeped because you just stole DVDs from me.  Which you just handed to me. Just this minute.'
He pulled the whole 'I didn't know I had them' line, but didn't put up much of a fight.  He even walked amiably with me back to the shop, where Curly was waiting.
'I'm going to have to look through your bag too,' I said.
He obliged, though not so willingly as Shorty.
'Look guys, I'm not going to call the police, but I'm going to have to ask that you not come back here.  We've dealt with *you* before (I directed this at Curly) and you know full well that you're not allowed in here.'
He said that he didn't know what Shorty had been up to, and I replied that regardless, he had a prior history.
The DVD thief left, and I waited for Curly to leave.
'Hey, are you selling tickets to the Misfits?' he asked.
'No, now I'm sorry but you need to leave.'
'Okay. How much is this poster?'
I blinked and said, 'I am actually not going to interact with you.  You need to leave. Now.'
He wandered out, unfazed, and I returned to the counter, where Jule was waiting for me.
'So, what were we talking about?'

Mildred Marzipan

‘My name is Mildred Marzipan,* and I've been waiting for FOUR WEEKS for my CD.’

                The woman was in her mid-to-late sixties, and spoke from the get-go with unbridled indignation.  She had ordered in a copy of the Deadwood soundtrack and it was taking longer than expected.  I looked up her account details, then checked the order’s status on our supplier.

                ‘I’m so sorry that it’s taken this long Mildred.  Unfortunately it isn’t here today.  What has happened is it has gone on to back order.  If you’re not familiar with what that means, basically the supplier indicated it was in stock when we originally processed your order, but since then, they have run out of stock.  They’re just waiting to get it back in their warehouse before they can ship it to us.’

                Mildred’s eyes narrowed and she hissed, ‘And when will it be here?’

                I replied that it was impossible to give an ETA as back-order by its nature means they don’t have or know when they can get it.  I told her that it wasn’t out of print, however, so if she was happy to wait, it would arrive.

                ‘I’ve been waiting for four weeks already!’

                I nodded sympathetically, and apologised.  ‘If you would prefer to cancel the order and get your deposit back in full, that is absolutely okay.’

                ‘I don’t want my deposit back, I want my CD! Can’t you ring your supplier and ask him when it will be here?’

                I told her that, no, I couldn’t, as the supplier was on the other side of the globe and would likely be asleep at this time, and that even if I could reach him he would tell me the same thing – ‘I don’t know, be patient.’

                ‘Well, can’t you look it up on the internet and see where it is?’

                Her tone was irate, and I expected that her tightly-clenched fists would soon begin dripping blood.

                Again, I emphatically told her no, it was out of my hands.  Entirely.

                ‘So what you’re telling me is that you can’t give me an answer.’

                I said that that was more or less the case, and reiterated that she had two options, either one of which was perfectly fine.  I was painfully polite, in spite of her ever-growing rancor.

                The phone began to ring as she continued voicing her outrage, and I said, ‘I’m sorry, but unfortunately there’s really nothing I can do.  I am happy to refund you, but otherwise you will just have to wait.  Now can you excuse me for just a moment while I grab this phone?’

                Mildred’s reply was furious, each word enunciated in short bursts of rage: ‘Don’t ever serve me again.  I don’t ever want to have to look at your face again.’

                I sighed and rolled my eyes, feigned politeness lost, and answered the phone. ‘Hello, can I help you?’

*Mildred Marzipan was not her real name.  But her real name was just as exciting an alliteration…

It's just noise!

‘Can you recommend a really good guitar player?’

The question came from an average looking bloke in his mid-thirties.

I asked him to be a bit more specific, with regards to the style of guitar he was after.  He seemed confused by this so I proffered, ‘Rock? Metal? Classical guitar?’

‘Just a good guitar player.’

I asked him if he wanted something classic, maybe Jimi Hendrix.  I assumed this suggestion was a bit obvious, but he confessed, ‘Never heard of ‘im.’

Are You Experienced seemed as good a starting point as any, and at this stage in his journey, I didn’t want to plunge him into anything too obscure or complex.

It’s always difficult recommending music to strangers.  Even if they tell you exactly what they want, genres can be limiting, and taste is subjective.  This guy gave me nothing to go on but ‘guitar,’ but Hendrix is usually a pretty safe bet, so I felt confident he wouldn’t be back for a refund.

He was back the next morning for a refund.

‘This is shit!’ he exclaimed vehemently.  ‘My two year-old daughter could play better than this.’

Taken aback, I asked him if there was something about it that he particularly disliked.

‘He just can’t play.  I listen to Triple M and they play normal music, and that’s what I wanted.’

Admittedly my knowledge about Triple M is limited, but given that they’re known for playing ‘classic rock,’ I was fairly confident Hendrix got the odd spin on-air.

I stayed mute on this subject and offered him an exchange.  After browsing the shelves briefly, he settled for ZZ Top.

‘Now this… this is music.’