Drive-By Pubing

I have to admit that I have been sitting on a story. A blog worthy story to be more specific. But the memory of this event causes me to gag the way toothpaste on the back of my tongue or the noises Drew makes while eating does, and for that reason I've been hesitant to relive it through blog entry form. Until tonight. The night I saw RENT in the movie theatres and realized that I could die from AIDS tomorrow and nobody would know my disgusting story. That can't and won't happen. This very short, very nasty story is dedicated to Angel, rest in peace.

So a few weeks ago I showed up to work my usual half hour late, drank my usual Red Bull, and fended off my usual sexual advances from Max, Pedro, and Hector. I set up the case, refilled the salsa, and was up in the front of the store (probably eating guacamole for breakfast) when a customer walked in. First of all let me say that I always hate the first customer of the day. They have officially ruined my life as soon as they interrupt my morning process. This day was no exception but I dutifully walked to the register, made myself smile, and took his order. Lucky for me he was taking it to go, and my hate for him subsided since I knew I'd only have to endure his presence for a few more minutes. After I had wrapped up his order I proceeded to ring him up at the register. He gave me his bills but wanted to get rid of some change so he started digging around in one of his pockets. I put my hand out waiting for the money, and what I got in return was so much more. As I look down at my hand with numerous coins in it, I see very distinctly, a pubic hair. Sitting right in the middle of all the coins . . . right in the middle of my palm (enter gag here). Now, I'm sure you're thinking 'Oh, it probably wasn't really a pube. It was just a short hair or something.' And to that I say "No. No it wasn't." Not that I'm a pube expert or anything, but I know 100% positively that this was a short, brown, kinky, pubic hair.

I didn't want to embarrass the guy by freaking out or anything so I had to calmly place each different type of coin in its respective slot in the register, one by one. All the while wanting to fling my hand in a million different directions, scream, and then grab some of the industrial strength bleach from the back of the restaurant and bath in it. I kept my cool until he left with his pubey change to drive - by - pube numerous other clerks and waitresses across the state. After that I did my disgusted shake/quiver/grimace and quickly washed my hands. The most disappointing thing about all of this was the fact that there was no one around for me to share my horror story with in the moment it happened. I turned around to Hector but I didn't know how to say "pubic" in Spanish and worried that if I tried, I would accidentally promise a return on his sexual advances. So I didn't. Instead I texted a couple of people, including my brother, and returned to my work. All day I couldn't stop trying to figure out why in the first place, that man had a pube in his pocket . . . I guess/ hope I will never know.

I have been known to end my posts and everything else I write with some sort of moral or lesson. I'm really not sure how to end this one except to tell you that right now I'm singing a song in my head that goes a little something like this "525,600 pubies. 525,000 pubies in my hand . . . "

Gag me,
Kina