Would You Like Fr'eyes' With That Hot-Dog?

When Mark and I had our hot-dog stand, we had to endure many idiots in the name of good business. We had the lady from Jamaica who ordered a hot-dog and then complained because she saw Mark grab hot-dogs with his bare hands and throw them into the boiling water. I explained to her that Marks hands were clean (We were clean freaks) and anyway boiling water would kill anything that might have got by the hand soap. When it became clear nothing would calm her, I stepped aside and turned it over to Mark. He promptly opened the cash register, threw some money at her and told her to "Get the hell out of here". We’re still not sure if her refund was accurate. Then there was the crotchety old white man who was leaning in the window over the grill complaining about how our cook, John, made his sandwich. No matter what I offered the old fool, he didn’t care. All he wanted to do was bitch. So as I took the mans food away, Mark opened the cash drawer, grabbed a handful of money, threw it out of the window at the old bastard and told him to get lost. Again, we’re not sure his refund was accurate. All I could hear as he walked away sputtering, was the word ‘nigger’, I had to grab the knives from out of Mark’s hand.

I of course was much more calm with customers than Mark. After years of dealing with frustrated computer users in my previous career, I developed a knack for handling people. I believe my dad used to call it ‘bullshitting’. One drunk seemed intent on causing problems and wouldn’t leave the ordering window, so I took him aside to have a conversation. Half way through our conversation he did something that he thought would really get a rise out of me. He popped out his glass eye. My employees and customers all ran away screaming as if somehow the eye would come after them. It didn’t bother me at all and I finally convinced him to leave.

There is good reason it didn’t shock, scare, or upset me. When I was a kid my older sister had to have her eye removed and replaced with a glass eye. As kids we were all aware of this, to my sister it was like arming her with another weapon with which to terrorize her little brother. When ever I got to be too much of an asshole she’d pop that thing out and come at me, holding the eye out in her hand and showing me the space in her head where it should have been. This would result in me running horrified through the house, screaming for my mother. Of course that only worked so many times before I got used to it and after a while all I’d do is snitch, "Mom! Peggy’s got her eye out again!".

You learn a lot of things in life and never know where you can use them. So I guess I owe my sister thanks for preparing me to deal with one eyed drunks.