A Squirrely Man

He was a squirrely man. The kind of man you always see riding the bus, but never see get on or off. He appeared in front of the convenience store I worked at for the third time this week. The storefront faced the setting sun that he almost seemed to materialize out of as he approached the door. His face was indistinguishable as he stood between me and the bright orange rays, but as he came in and stopped to wipe his forehead I saw the same expression he had as he entered each of the past two days. A look of bitterness. He approached me with something in his hand. I knew immediately what it was and I hid my smile behind the Maxim magazine I was reading. His third straight day in here and I was now sure why this miserable little man needed to come here every day. As he approached the counter I put my magazine face down in order to keep the page on "6 steps to flat abs".


Monday had been different. After his job (I wasn't sure what he did, but his repetitive sporting of solid ties, short sleeved dress shirts, and pleated khakis told me he was a city employee) he came in searching for something that he definitely needed. It turned out being a loaf of bread. He took the bread up to the register without giving it much examination. He had his money ready, so the transaction was a quick one. About 30 minutes later he came back, still wearing the solid tie, short sleeved dress shirt, and pleated khakis. He came to the counter and we caught eyes over the latest issue of Men's Health I was reading. "This bread is past expiration." he said. His tone was that of a Father telling his child for the last time he wasn't allowed to get a toy.

It was apparent he had either eaten or cleverly hidden one quarter of the loaf he was now angry about. I had every intention of letting him exchange it for a non-expired loaf, but I wanted to at least let him know I was aware of his ploy before I did so.
"It doesn't matter. You sold me bad food. You should be aware of that before I come in here to buy your products. This mistake needs to be rectified immediately." After this little tiff it was obvious he wasn't used to sticking up for himself, and it was even more obvious he had practiced this speech before confronting me.

I found his little rant oddly adorable. The smile on my face could easily be mistaken for a the sign of a good customer service attitude. To be truthful, I cared as much about generating good customer service as much as I did about arguing with squirrely, miserable men about stale bread. I kept the bread on the counter, and with a smile I put down my magazine, walked to the bread, grabbed a fresh loaf and handed it to him before returning back to the "employees only" side of the counter. He held it in the same hand he once held the 3/4ths of a stale loaf in and stared at me anticipating something. I apologized with my faux customer-service smile and told him it wouldn't happen again. He took a look at the new loaf, and then back at me. And then, without a single additional word, he walked out of the store.

Then there was yesterday. He came in differently. He wasn't necessarily rushing the first time, but today he was obviously taking his time. He paused after he walked in and looked at me. I nodded and continued reading the Popular Mechanics magazine I'd borrowed from the rack. I didn't wait for his response to my nod, because I'd assumed he wouldn't give one. For a moment it occurred to me that he might be coming back to apologize, and that he wasn't such a squirrely, miserable man after all. I adjusted my position on the stool I was sitting on and used the opportunity to covertly track his path. He did the same thing he did earlier today. With hands on his hips he visually scanned our meager attempt at groceries. He pulled the ID attached to his waistbelt with elastic string, and let it snap back to his hip, much the way a cowboy would boastfully spin his six-shooter.

An old Russian man came in and started asking me questions in a language I did not understand. I told him I didn't understand him, and when he continued speaking it I said it louder and slower. I immediately remembered he wasn't hard of hearing, just hard of English, so my yelling wasn't helping. This made me laugh, which made him angry. I apologized and he now began yelling. He pointed at the cigarettes and as I pointed at each brand hearing "niet's" and waiting for a "da", I gave squirrely man a look. He was headed to the freezer. I figured he was in the mood for dessert tonight.

"Da! Da!", my new Russian comrade shouted, as I pointed at a pack of Parliaments. I rang him up as he mumbled, and I continued to laugh. He shouted "Metchess!" and I looked over his shoulder at the squirrely man who was now pulling out multiple boxes of ice cream sandwiches -- inspecting them. Boris pounded his fist.

"Metchess!". His face was getting red, so I stopped laughing and put on my "customer service" smile. I made the universal sign for striking matches, assuming he was from our universe, and that he wanted matches. "Da! Da!" he shouted as he grabbed them from my hand and quickly exited the store. The squirrel-man was right behind him, hating everything.

He put two boxes of ice cream sandwiches on the counter and picked up a magazine to look through while I practiced my trade. It was obvious something was afoot, because the magazine he skimmed through was Bridal Monthly. If our angry little friend was ever fortunate enough to have found someone to marry him, I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have been the bride. He put it down after looking through a few pictures, glancing at the cover, and realizing what he was looking at. He paid for his ice cream sandwiches and turned down my offer to put them in a bag. In taking them out I realized one box had an expiration date which had recently passed. In the split second before he turned down my bag-offer, it occurred to me what this squirrely little man was doing. He's slowly becoming addicted to being right.

Our angry little friend is coming here after work, from being behind a desk surrounded by desks, with people whose only celebrated individuality is the name on their elastically fastened ID badge. His ego is shattered nine 'til five. He came in here yesterday night because he wanted to feel like something he said mattered. After buying the expired bread and getting what he demanded, he realized he liked the feeling. Now he's doing it right here in front of me on purpose.

Normally, I would have put the ice cream sandwiches aside and explained to the customer why, but he looked diligently at these boxes and he knew better than anyone what was wrong with them. I gave him the boxes in hopes to see if I was right. To see if he would come back with a box of ice cream sandwiches sans one ice cream sandwich and demand action.

No more than two hours later he was exiting the store with a box of unexpired ice cream sandwiches in his hand, and a victorious smirk on his face.

And, as it finally occurred to me what he was definitely doing and why, he approached me on this third day, after being in here earlier today to pick up some canned goods.

"I was really in the mood for Goya beans tonight. And your store's inability to maintain products in a proper manner has ruined that for me. I would like one can of unexpired Goya beans now. And if you keep this up I'll have you reported to the FDA."

"I apologize sir," I said through a smile. "this is a definite problem, and we're glad you brought it to our attention."

As I turned the corner approaching the Goya beans I gave him a passing glance. He was staring at the ground with a surprisingly wide smile and now I am too.