Wow.

I crossposted this to customers_suck, but I'll share with you lot. It happened this morning.

Me: Punk Rock Goddess of the Bookshop, Shaven-headed Deity of Dirty Magazines.
DB: Dodgy Bloke.

After a normal transaction, DB goes to the toilet and comes out with his shirt untucked and covering the front of his trousers. Commence suckiness.

DB: Has anyone ever exposed himself to you?
Me: Er, no.
DB: What?
Me: No, and I'd like to keep it that way.
DB: Why? You're fit enough.
Me: . . .

He kept trying to get me to look in the general direction of his Norty Soufbitz™, but I just pointed to the door whilst looking up at the ceiling. Some people need to be beaten. And not in that fun way.

And no, I'm not afraid of looking at penises; I just did not want to give him the satisfaction of having made me look. Although, I could have squinted really hard and apologised for not having seen anything. Damn. You always think of the good stuff when it's too late.

Oh, and I'm getting a new tattoo in an hour or so, when Peeled Banana gets here. Will take piccies this evening! I so cannot afford this.