I have a serious question, and be honest:
Is there something about my face that screams, “Share information about your bowel movements (BM’s) with me, Strangers!”?
There must be, because all summer I have had customers committing the horrific crime of over-sharing. Most often, it’s people telling me about the effects of cherries and corn on their intestinal tract. But sometimes people volunteer information like, “I have gout” or “I’m diabetic” as they purchase their fruit. Today’s gem was, “I’m going to go home and get my system moving by eating a bunch of corn and cherries”. Thanks for sharing.
What do they expect me to say to things like this? And why do people think it’s appropriate to share that info with a TOTAL STRANGER?
a) Gout is disgusting.
b) I don’t like to think about my own BM’s, let alone those of an overweight, sweaty Confederite.
One particularly depressing overshare was my own fault. I asked a guy if he could smell weed, and he opened his hand to show me a smoking joint. Naturally, I wanted to know why he could just walk around smoking weed in public, and it eventually came out that he has kidney disease and a medical marijuana license. But he’s a regular customer—AND I ASKED.
I barely like to give out my postal code in stores, so why are people so comfortable telling me how long cherries will take to get through their digestive system? I sell the fruit. I’m not a doctor; there is no situation in which telling the fruit stand girl about your shit is reasonable. Anyway people, it’s called FIBRE, and if you ate healthier all year, instead of binging on corn and cherries for two months, it wouldn’t affect you like that.
Another one of my favourite things about Confed, is watching for this van, riding low all over town. It carries no less than 1400 lbs of flesh, and no more than 4 people.
On this particular day, they were having tire issues, probably because I was doing this from inside the fruit stand:
Since none of them are able-bodied enough to pump up the tire at a gas station, they drove to Canadian Tire and made the (super NICE) Service Advisor come out and pump up the straining tire IN THE RAIN. I held my breath and watched, certain that if the van wasn’t so overloaded, the tires would be fine. And I was also sure I was about to witness Nik, the CT service advisor get an exploding tire in the face.
Luckily, he didn’t, and the morbidly obese van continues to cruise through the city, depressing and disgusting those that see it.
Only 21 days left until I’m back in school, and the Confed adventure is over…