Not my real job

I remember when I worked retail at the now defunct EBGames.  They’re all GameStops now, and they’re all glorified pawnshops.  But I’ll always have fond memories of store one seven six.

It was just about the raunchiest store ever.  And crazy things would happen.  The worst part about it was, I only worked one day a week on Saturday mornings.

There were just so many characters.  It was like a wacky sitcom just waiting to happen.  One guy was an artist.  We had a guy with a prosthetic leg because he lost one jumping trains as a kid.  There was a police officer.  The guy who always spoke in a falsetto high pitch voice when talking to customers.  Then of course, me, who was snarky all the time because I only worked one day a week and I wasn’t afraid of getting fired because it wasn’t my real job.

Case in point.  I am assisting a woman at the register.  She looks lost.

“I’m looking for a game.”  She asks.  ” I’m not sure of the title, but I think it has a robot in it.  Yes, I’m looking for a robot game.  Do you have any of those?”

I blink.  She’s going to have to be more specific.  “I’m sorry Ma’am, but can you maybe be a little more specific?”

She stops to think for a while.  “Well, I’m not sure, I think it has a robot and the word drive or. . .”

“Oh,” I say, interrupting.  “You mean the robot game.”  I yell to the back where my manager is unboxing copies of Robot Alchemic Drive.  “Rob!  Get met a copy of the robot game!”  The game comes sailing through the air and I catch it one handed and scan it in one motion.  “Fifty-two dollars and twenty-four cents.  Will that be all?”  I ask.

For some reason, she looks angry.