Wherehouse is scheduled to shut down in two weeks. This is probably my last little note, guys.
We no longer have normal customers. Most of the Regulars from Jimmy to Hotmom, from Bucket to Mr. Duncan, have said their good-byes and not returned. Customers are now vultures and jackals. Looking for something cheap.
Since we're closing, they think everything is free. Most are total shits. Customer Service, they ain't getting.
What, they're going to quit shopping here? Dear me.
For those of you who haven't wandered in, the floor is spare and bare. Everything beyond the Listening Bar is empty and dark.
Anyway, the following happened with Ry. Proof: Sound Warehouse endures, even to the bitter end.
This guy had already badgered Mandy, then J D. He had to tinkle. "Too many beers for lunch," he boasted.
The bathroom was not an option. The store was roped off and that included the restroom. Normally, we directed leaking customers to Tom Thumb or Eckhard's.
This guy was in pain. No, he was a pain, a whining prima donna. Clenching his knees, bent over, demanding access to the forbidden room. He hobbled to the front counter, to Ry, and asked what he could do.
Humor is poorly received when you're about to wet your pants. So when Ry pointed outside, smiled nicely, and suggested, "Trash can," this was badly received.
Suddenly the gent didn't have to wee, he had to complain - to Ry, to J D, to Eric.
As usual with Eric, big mistake. This guy's from the Hurst store. Temp help. He gives a rat's ass about our customers. Maybe all customers, that's the true spirit.
Anyway, Eric was in no mood for angry whiners. He kicked him out the store. Well ... the customer had interrupted him while he was playing Asteroids on the kiosk.