So I go into Cumbies to pick up a Cow Tail. (For those of you who’ve led a sheltered life, that’s a caramel candy.) It was a reward for .…..well, I can’t remember what 
right now, but I know I deserved it at the time. I just love them things!
Anyhoo, behind the counter is this guy from away whose name is Guy. That’s what it says on his name tag. I’ve seen him there before, but don’t know hardly nothing about him. See, his demeanor doesn’t exactly invite conversation. He must be about my age, I’m guessing: glasses, gray hair and mustache. Big chain around his neck that must have had a gold finish at some point, but has long since given up the ghost. The fella never smiles.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” It’s the right sentiment, but Guy always delivers this automatically, in a monotone, like something he was taught in training. And take it from me: what that does is project the fact that he doesn’t give a you-know-what whether you found what you come in for or not.
Now, as a cashier down to the A&P, I’ve been in customer service my whole life, and this sort of thing is a pet peeve of mine. Granted, dealing with the public is not always easy. Let’s face it: being nice is exhausting, and sometimes you have your bad days. I get it. But I’ve been in Cumbies quite often (for gas, you understand, and okay, sometimes I’ll grab a mini-box of Junior Mints because it’s a fat free candy and they’re on the same rack as the Cow Tails, but not as filling). But as often as I’ve been in there, I’ve never witnessed Guy having a good day.
I suppose what bugs me most about Guy is his nails. They’re too long, kind of uneven, and always dirty. I mean, where is his manager? This is one of them deluxe Cumbies that serves slices of pizza and stuff. It grosses me out! I’m thankful they have one of them registers that makes change automatically. You know, where the coins slide down from the cash drawer and into a little cup. When I get back to my car, I whip out the Purell for good measure.
So last week, when I stop in to get my Cow Tail (the regular, of course, not the chocolate or the strawberry), Guy is standing there with a purple mustache. No kidding! His hair is still gray, but his mustache is purple! It didn’t look like a temporary thing, either. It was a permanent dye job, from what I could tell.
My first thought was, Bold choice, Guy. My second? I’ll bet his grandkids love it. But frankly, I didn’t want to think about Guy procreating, so I quickly moved on to, Did he lose a bet or something?
As I wait in line, I’m wondering if Guy is going to be perkier now he has a purple mustache. Maybe he’s turning over a new leaf. I step up to the counter kind of hopeful, a smile on my face. Guy mumbles, “Did you find everything you were looking for?”
You know what? That purple mustache hadn’t improved his disposition one iota. Guy was still the same old guy. Yup, I thought. He definitely lost a bet.
Now normally, I’d remark on something like that purple mustache. You know, engage the person in conversation and get to the scoop. I do this all the time with tattoos and fun hair color, snappy clothes. Why didn’t I do that with Guy?
I ponder that one while eating my Cow Tail, which was tasty. My niece Caitlin would probably say Guy’s projecting negative energy. Me? I think he seems all walled in which makes me feel kind of sorry for Guy, until I think of his nails. That’s just not okay!
That’s it for now. Catch you on the flip side!
Hear Ida Tell It: The Purple Mustache
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