"S-T-A-R-I-N-G, I can't stop staring."

When you live in a small town and work with the public, you get to know certain customers very well. I couldn't even begin to count how many people come through where I work on a daily basis. You'd think that they would buy themselves a carton of cigs and save ten bucks and a lot of wasted time, but whatever.

Some customers you build a great rapport with.


"Oh hey Pat! I see you're stoned again. Here's two treats for your dog since he probably has the munchies, too!"

And other customers have the special ability to make you cringe from a mile away. One particular customer skeeves me out more than any other, and I do everything humanly possible to get her moving on as quickly as possible. It all started a few weeks ago when I noticed her staring at my boobs. That, in and of itself, wasn't particularly alarming. I have large boobs. Where it started to get creepy, though, is when she started looking rapid fire between the Marges (large and in charge) and my eyes. Did she think that if she looked at my eyes every couple of seconds I wouldn't notice she was copping a glance the rest of the time?

I really hate that word, but I couldn't resist. This is awesome.

After she left, I told my coworker what had happened and we laughed for a while over it. I partially excused it, because, like I said, I have large boobs. Maybe they just caught her off guard, and she couldn't help herself. The next time she came through I made a conscious effort to try to catch her doing it again, and let me tell you, Helen Keller (too soon?) would have caught her. She was doing the same rapid fire thing again, and there was nothing I could do about it. I wanted to be like "Take your freaking Basics and get the eff out of here!" but that would be bad for business, I'd probably get fired, and then I'd have absolutely no hope of ever buying another vehicle, or moving out of my parents' basement, for that matter. But I digress. Instead, I put on my best forced smile



and told her to have a great day.

Whenever she comes through, now, I do this weird "lock my arms in front of my boobs so she can't look" thing, but it doesn't matter. So, if you drive a very large teal and white van, smoke Basics, and notice me running away when you approach the drive-thru window, QUIT STARING AT MY BOOBS! You are a Creepy McCreeperson. I think I'll just make my coworkers wait on her from now on.