A man enters the shop wearing a haz-mat suit, blue rubber gloves and an anorak (I’d guess it was Asda George, but I couldn’t swear to it). He has a curly goatee which he’s bleached blonde and a thick northern accent.
I’m clearly the only one serving, but he addresses my male colleague who is away from the counter, talking about me as if I don’t have two ears stuck to the sides of my head.
Man: Oh yeah, she looks like trouble. I can tell, got trouble written all over her. *To me* sorry to interrupt your gossiping, love. *Back to my male colleague* So Matilda still busy it, still hard to get tickets?
*I answer him because who even is this fucker?*
Me: Yeah it’s still really busy, best to book in advance.
*He blanks me and continues addressing my male colleague*
Man: Notice I didn’t address her? Caught her gossiping, oh yeah I know the sort, haha. So it’s busy yeah? What about Lion King mate, what price is it for the best tickets on the busiest night?
Me: About £85
*He finally looks at me with an insane glint in his eye*
Man: Oh yeah? I’m better off just going to the theatre then. I’ll bung ‘um a few dates of when I want, and they’ll get me the seats, and I’ll just book through them yeah? Yeah, nice one. Sound. Alright. Get back to your gossiping.
Then he swings out of the shop like he’s a Gallagher brother in the 90s.
Poor fashion sense, sexist and operating on an emotional frequency that suggests he might snap and murder me at the drop of a hat – just your average customer.