Tales from the Twilight Zone

I can't say that I love my work. I really like the people that I work with, but during my shift we barely have any time to interact. I just ring up item after item after item. Not very intellectually stimulating. But there have been some bizarre occurrences, which is entirely fitting in a store of such a name.

1. The day after Peter Jennings died, my scary manager exulted: "At least he's a liberal. If the liberals keep dying like this we'll have killed them all off and we won't have to deal with them on our news anymore!" I couldn't believe my ears. Oh how I wanted to look up and say simply, "I am a liberal."

2. A young man asked me if there were any caffeinated drinks in the store. I told him no, BYU didn't sell anything caffeinated, and that the nearest source of caffeinated soda was J. Dawgz. He looked at me, slightly puzzled, and asked if this was a catholic school, or a mormon school or something. Was he abducted and dropped off on an unknown campus? I asked where he was from and what he was doing here. He said he was from California, and "just looking around". What did he think of BYU? There were a lot of people.

3. During Education Week, a notebook was left near my register. I did as Chris Clark would do and snooped inside. It was completely empty except for four steps written on the first page:
1) Listen actively. Oh, this could be about acting.
2) Be romantic. Hm, I guess not.
3) Kiss slowly. The moment when I started giggling.
4) Girls like the gentle touch. Well I happen to know several girls who dream about being handled roughly. With this last step, I cracked up and unashamedly showed it to all of my coworkers. I had been well rewarded for my snoopy ways.
What is more disturbing, that this guy felt the need to write these steps down for his future relationships, or that BYU was providing a class that taught these steps?

4. The bookstore sells the oh-so-popular undershirts which have lace on the bottom. They're long so that girls can wear them under the stylish shorter shirts of our day, and refrain from showing stomach and back. Cute and modest, perfect for the bookstore, yes? One of my managers, Phil, was accosted by an older woman who was hunting for the head manager of the bookstore. She held one of these undershirts on a hanger and thrust it into Phil's face, demanding to know "Do you know what this is?!" Phil, stating the obvious, replied, "It's an undershirt." "This is no undershirt. This is lingerie!" she exclaimed, her voice dripping with disgust. "I am ashamed that the bookstore would be selling such filth!" She marched on to interrogate the manager of the bookstore. Phil returned to the floor, only to run into one of the woman's friends who was holding a distressed jean jacket. Being distressed, this jacket had some 'dirty' spots on it. The second woman thrust the jacket into Phil's face, demanding to know "Do you know what this is?!" Phil, again stating the obvious, replied, "It's a jean jacket." "These spots represent manure, which came into style when that man threw manure at the Madonna, calling it art! This jacket represents manure on the Madonna! I need to see your manager!" A few days later, one of the bookstore employees was wearing one of those lacey undershirts, and was called a "dirty whore" by a customer. Crazy old conservative women.

At our staff meeting on Thursday, we girls had to get there early for a lecture on modesty. Carol, the scary manager, urged us to wear those wonderful undershirts with the cute lace at the bottom.