Wheel Chair

So yesterday was a busy day. As usual, I don't have enough people scheduled to accomplish the tasks my boss is always up my ass about. "Have you done PFIs yet, Erin? Have you merchandised such and such, Erin? Are all of the customers taken care of, Erin? Have you counseled so and so about being late to work today, Erin?" (PFI stands for "pulled for inventory": merchandise that customers took loans out on but didn't come back for after 90 days.)

So one of my guys was at lunch, and the other one is a wanderer; I was all by myself. Over the intercom, I hear, "I need a layaway pick-up at register four." That would be my job.

On my way up to what we call "The Mansion," which is a total exaggeration of our storage facility, I looked at the layaway slip and realized it was an electric wheelchair. Great.

So it took me about ten minutes to find the damn thing, considering we have three electric wheelchairs and the location on the slip was wrong. Way wrong.

So I finally find the damn thing, sit down in it, and wheel myself back out to the main part of the store. Over the intercom I hear, "A customer needs assistance in electronics with radar detectors." I made a note that once I was done wheeling this thing around that I would get back up to my department and help that customer. But I was running into stuff with such frequency that I was getting irritated. But I finally got down the ramp and passed the gun department, as I nearly crashed into the jewelry counter. This new guy, who is the biggest redneck ever, says, "Hey, Erin. Someone needs help with radar detectors." At this point, I was so terribly annoyed that I just growled, "WELL, they will just have to WAIT." His face turned red (apparently, the customers-who were black- were standing right next to him, which I didn't realize) as I had my next accident at register four. I asked the guy picking it up if he would like help out, and of course he did. I had to drive that thing out in the parking lot to his pickup, which I swear had a ten foot lift. I told him that I would have to go get help picking it up (after I about dislocated both of my shoulders trying to get it up there myself).

So when I came back in, The Redneck introduced me to his father, who had just driven in from Kentucky to visit. He said to me, "I thought the only reason you could get away with talkin' like that is because you's crippled! And now look atcha - you're walkin'!" Hilarious.

And then later, I heard The Redneck telling the story to someone else. He said, "Yeah, them colored people weren't too happy when she screamed, 'WELL, they will just have to WAIT."

Ahh. The people I work with. Just another day in the life of a Pawn Broker.