The customer I’m in love with walked into the shop today.
“Hello,” he said.
We’re in love. I know you could tell.
Why are we in love?
He’s not just gorgeous. Which he totally is. He has one of those smiles that’s all, “Hey girl, today seemed rough. I got you a poppy seed muffin.” He’s real cute. And he’s in the medical field, which means he could actually probably afford to buy me various Dunkin Donuts muffins! Maybe even a muffin assortment from Pavement if he’s feeling wild!
But really, I have totally legitimate reasons for wanting to adopt a dog or hedgehog with this man. Side note: did you know that it is totally legal to own a hedgehog in Massachusetts? You crazy kids. My cousin had one. So did my boss. RIP Alfalfa the hedgehog. I digress.
So this guy comes in like once every six months, but whenever he does, he’s one of the occasional customers who actually seem interested in the employees’ days.
In fact, the first time we locked eyes and began our torrid love affair, he said the following:
“Hi I’m Bob (not his name). What’s your name? I come in here somewhat often so I’m sure I’ll see you around.”
I’m sorry, what? You want to know my NAME? You’re acknowledging my identity?
Also, that interaction SCREAMS “I’d take a bullet for you,” right?
Just to give a snapshot into a more common circumstance: The other day, a different customer refused to speak actual words to me and instead just pointed at trash that the previous customer left behind, and then she motioned for me to remove it from her area. She seemed like a really cool, talkative chick. I really enjoyed playing charades with her, and I hope she comes back soon.
Back to the Brad to my wedding-dress-of-children-drawn wearin’ Angelina. He like, clearly wanted to get to know my goals, aspirations and preferred form of potato. It’s fried, by the way. But actually in any form.
And then I didn’t see him for eight months, but that’s totally beside the point.
In terms of actual relationships that legitimately exist, as opposed to my completely sane and not at all creepy affection for this medical professional, there’s a whole lot of ~love~ going on where I work.
Encounters range as follows:
I have the occasional couple that just straight makes out at the sneeze guard. Oh no rush guys, I’ll just stand here awkwardly as you clean each other’s teeth. Would you like any samples?
Then there are the couples that clearly traveled to this yogurt institution to take a break from a recent spat. This usually involves an eye roll and a “I GUESS chocolate chips are okay, Brian.” No Brian, they’re not okay, and she clearly wants you to stop having occasional brunches with your ex-girlfriend from college. Get it together. You’re 28. You should know this by now.
Most uncomfortable, by far, are those who have not yet defined their relationship. Let the good lord prevent me from EVER again mumbling the words, “Separate or together?” The shuffle…the silence…the glances…I got a line here y’all. I didn’t mean to start a conversation you guys aren’t ready to have, but I really need to know your decision so I can go wait on this 13-year-old who has a gold American Express card.
It’s also exponentially awkward when people who used to come in together now come in with their current slam pieces…and then run into their previous love-pals. At that point, I just go do dishes.
It must be nice to have someone want to pay for your yogurt, though. I kind of sort of dated a guy who bought me a blueberry doughnut once. That was the most helpful and spiritual thing I have ever received from the male gender. Thanks.
Anyway, I guess I have to work on stepping up my game and actually speaking to these customers I find attractive. I have a lot to bring to the table, if you consider a 50 percent yogurt discount, the inability to assemble Ikea furniture and a collection of lawn gnomes desirable.
In the mean time, I will deny having said any of this.
