It's an awfully hot summer here. It's holiday season, and there are relatively little buyers for, well, anything. Could it be worse?

Oh yes! It definitely could, and it is. You see, in this summer heat, at the shop...the air conditioning decided that it doesn't want to work. Well, it does...for 30 minutes, then we've got to turn it off for another 30, because otherwise it so happens, that water drips from the ceiling.

Tell me it's not comical - imagine you're walking into a jewelry store to buy an engagement ring, and what adorns the diamond ring display is a red bucket, into which water drips right from a lamp casing. And there am I, peddling the goods, dressed to the nines and sweating like a pig. With the impeccable work attire, I sure make one hell of a classy steamed potato.

Recently, it's also been a nasty shortage of good customers. The time-wasting or downright boorish type is, alas, predominant. Can't tell if it's just a matter of the season, or am I - to quote Dirty Harry - shit outta luck.
The bad luck started with cows. Well, actually, two morbidly obese ladies who steamed into the shop, but somehow their manners precluded them as members of the species Homo sapiens, and indeed afflicted with unreasonable bursts of aggression so much so that they were what the Spaniards would refer to as vacas locas.
"SOME TRINKET FOR BAPTISM!" yelled the Younger Cow. Why, that's kind. Not even a "good afternoon" or a "fuck you." They just couldn't be bothered to be polite. And I couldn't tell if she and her mother were of the Jersey, Limousin or Friesian Holstein breed, not that it matters much.
"Would a chain do, mesdames?" I asked with my usual politesse, so horribly undeserved by such creatures.
"YES."
"Pray tell, what budget would you like to fit in? And will it be for a boy or a girl?"
"How's that any of your business... A boy, 700 PLN"
Achhhh, Christ on a bike! How's that not my business? Madame la Vache, unless you wanna buy a comb for a bald fellow, it is my business.
"Aaaalright. Well, let's see..." I replied and pulled out a handful of chains from the drawer. Unfortunately, it so happened that one of these chains was above the budget. Junior Jersey spotted that immediately.
"NOOOOO! I haven't the time for such stuff! WE ARE LEAVING!"
And the vacas locas left indeed, puffing like locomotives.
Mooo!

The next more than unpleasant fellow was a yob with a warranty claim. This was yer token douchebag, with a tombac chain, a wife and a screaming testament to a faulty condom in the pram. Seriously, such people shouldn't reproduce, they merely pollute the next generation with the genes of a basket case of innate debility. In his hand he held a ring as badly deformed as I've never before seen a ring so bloody mangled and bent.
The yob started growling about how that ring is shit, and how it's a manufacturing defect. Oh, so now you're an expert on gold, you bloody orangutan? By Jove, that guy could barely tell his elbow from his arse... Anyway, we did send that ring to the warranty claim department, so that we could see him being nicely and officially told to fuck off.
So he was told.
That was just the beginning.
Upon receiving his formal fuck off response, he came to the shop to yell some more at the manager and at me.
"You sell shit! You sell fucking shit! Hollow gold! My woman, all she does is take care of me baby, and she couldn't fucking bend it, no, she couldn't, my woman couldn't! You sell fucking shit!"
Frankly, the day was saved by two ladies, who although didn't buy a watch at our shop, asked my help with adjusting a bracelet. While I was helping them, we had a nice chat about working with people in general.
Both - mother and daughter, as it turned out - were really kind, and at some point the mother asked, "Pardon me asking it this way...but how is it, sir, that you can stand obnoxious fuckwits like that one shouting at the manager?"
"He'll come and he'll go, that's how. I just really don't give a damn, he's not the first one, and alas probably not the last. Handling wild apes, madame, comes with the job."
"Well, you've got my respect, sir."
We've finished adjusting the bracelet, and the lady decided to help a little bit.
She spoke loudly, "Thank you ever so much for your kindness and services, sir! Best of luck...and only NICE customers all the way!"
Upon that last part, she gave the Orangutan the sort of look that's filled with a nigh-lethal dose of contempt.
The bellowing orangutan turned red, and immediately put his voice down a few decibels.
It's rare that I feel so warmly about customers as I did that very moment about the two ladies. Sometimes, in the really bad moments, good folks come along.

Good sales that I've made were unfortunately few in number. Two Tissots, three Certinas, three Atlantics...including the most pricey one we had at the shop, a limited edition Unitas-powered Worldmaster from two years ago. Some fashion shitters as well, nothing of significance. Some gold, every now and then.

This week, however, things were really bad. We have a watch missing.

Upon arriving at work after one free day, I noticed the empty spot where a Tissot pocket watch used to stand. It was there for three years, not even the webshop dared take it from us. No one has ever wanted it, it wasn't asked for by any customer even once. No one ever cared to even look at it.
I was surprised to see the watch not being there, so I checked the sales records from the previous day. Nothing. Logistics reallocation documents from the other day. Not a trace. Me and the Saleslady counted the Tissots. One missing. Fuck.
We reported that immediately. Well...the watch has been stolen.
We've seen the CCTV footage - one of the ladies on shift the other day forgot to lock the display case door. Both were busy doing something else, when a guy just opened the case, put the watch in his pocket...and had a chat with one of the ladies on his way out! The guy likely won't be caught. Mask, because corona, and a baseball cap. No way of identifying him.
Well, that's going to cost them. Not me, hopefully, it'd be gross injustice if it would cost me so much as a penny. I wasn't even there that day.

I'll leave it at that. Mr. Bloke out.

An excellent read. Glad to hear of some good sales amongst the usual misery of dealing with the shit public.

“I sure make one hell of a classy steamed potato.” Made me snort!