I had been toying with this concept of a category titled "Fresh Fish" recognizing the Customer of the Day or the COD. Why refer to them as "Fresh Fish?" Well, obvious answer is the reference to the cod. BUT honestly, there are those CODs that need a good slap in the face with a freshly caught, dead, wet fish....preferably a huge marlin that knocks him/her out until your shift is over and you've gone home to a huge glass of wine. Anyone who has a job dealing with the public (and might I say, a large number in that public) knows exactly what I mean. We each have a COD that we go home to a loved one and bitch about. Hell, some of us may even kick said loved one just to release some of that pent up frustration.
I've got a few that are just fantastic. These are the people you brag about to your fourth and fifth cousins at family reunions. These are the people you wish you carried a camera to work just so you can have proof that we as a race of people need not worry. No need to worry about the immoral practice of gene selection. No need to worry about a "Super-race" being created by altering the gene pool with our advanced sciences, which filter out the deformities and non-choice characteristics. The CODs are here to remind us that there is beauty in variety....even if that means putting up with an angry, stupid, slow, picky, whining customer. BUT in honor of those idiots whose fathers' slow sperms finally won ONE race up the Fallopian Tubes, I present a new category here on Light and Darkness...Fresh Fish.
Today's Fresh Fish goes to the grossest of CODs....the teenager. This young man of approximately fifteen years approached my counter this afternoon. First thing I noticed was his Bubba shirt and hat. You know....the camouflage shirt that displays his love of hunting and the Old South that is only surpassed by the magnificently beautiful trucker hat on his unruly mop of teenage hair. Next things I noticed were two objects in his hands: the large cup and large popcorn tub, both refillable for free at our establishment. He tells me that he needs refills and that he is going to buy nachos as well. First comes the cup.
"Diet Coke," he tells me.
I look inside as I ask him if he needs more ice. The cup has only a teaspoon of clear liquid at the bottom. Has this been washed out, I ask myself. Is this a dumpster dive treasure? I looked closer and saw a minuscule ring of dirt at the bottom of the cup. O-K....Filled it up anyways.
I reached for the popcorn tub that looked battered. No sweat. People sometimes grip their concession delights tightly when munching away. "Butter on your popcorn?" I ask as I look in.
"Yes. And I'm going to get nachos too," he repeated while showing a twenty twisted in his hand; and my eyes moved in shock between him and the tub.
"Did you take this from the trash?" I questioned.
"Are you sure? Because there is a lot of hair and dirt in this," I spurted out rudely in disbelief. Images of the floor staff emptying their dustbins into the trash cans sitting right outside each theater door popped into my head. Next I saw this boy reaching into the trash for the most usable cup and tub and shaking out the leftover popcorn.
"Yes. It's my mother's," he exclaimed emphatically.
I know I grimaced. I know my lips stretched out into a ewwwwwww. "Whatever. OK. Do you want butter?"
"Yes. I'm getting nachos too," he repeated once more, I think more to prove that he honestly owned these recycled, discarded items.
People....I filled that dirty, nasty tub FULL of popcorn. It was beautifully overflowing with hot steaming popcorn and warm buttery topping layered throughout. And all I could think was.....God, what if the previous owner spit a loogey into this thing because he was choking on a kernel?