Cancelling two hours late

It's morning and I'm drinking my coffee while checking messages online.  Seconds after logging on, I get one of those 'hey whatchu doing' kind of notes from L.  I say I'm having breakfast and will be going to work in a little bit.  From there, L starts to berate me for "putting unimportant things ahead of living life" kind of rants.  In short, L was horny.  I was irritated.

After a series of back-and-forths, we decide to meet on Sunday afternoon at 2 pm.  It wasn't easy, but I thought, I might as well see if going out with L is worth all of this head scratching.

Sunday afternoon comes around and I send L a text at 1 pm.  "Hey.  I'm going to pick up my coffee in the St. Lawrence Mkt area so let me know when you're around."  This would give L plenty of time to come down via subway (it would take about 10 minutes).

Times passes.  I know L flaked out.  No surprise since L's mental instability can seep through Skype with a few keystrokes.  It's more than two hours later and I get a text from L.

"LOL... Is that how you confirm a coffee date?  No thanks"

I could reply, but don't.  It's not worth my time.  L is insane and is already forgotten.  I send a text to a friend about what happened.

"You need to find a new outlet to meet [people]."

"Church?  There's lots of normals there."

"Perfect!  The Catholic Church is full of repressed perverts!"

"Too bad I can't meet them via work.  My industry is full of people I don't like or are so not my type."

"You and me both."

For some reason, I have a feeling that I'll be getting another Skype message from L asking what I'm doing (in the morning while I'm at work) asking if I want to hang out.  Only I won't bother to respond.

The stupidest fucking sales associate ever

There are some people who work in retail that are good at their jobs.  Then there are others who aren't.  This story falls in the second category.

**

After visiting D at work, I walk towards the subway and take the underground walkway.  It's under construction and shops are being renovated.  There's one I don't recognize; an accessory store.  It's not a mass market chain.  Peaking my interest, I take a chance and go inside.

There are things in silver that sparkle under the HD spotlights; a lot of jewellery as well as a trove of Pandora charms.  I'm not a fan of the brand, but I know a few people who are.  I walk towards the back of the store where there's a counter.  There's a tall girl standing behind it; young, dark hair pulled in a ponytail, wearing all black.

"Hi.  Do you have a card with your contact info on it?"

She looks at me and takes a second to reply.  "No."  She sounded like the guidance counselor, Mr. Ummm, drugs are bad, mmm-k? Mackey, from South Park.

"Ok, do you have a website or Facebook page or something...?"

Another pause.  "No, we don't have any of those."

"Um, ok.  Can you write down your number down, please?"

"Ummm..."

"Just on on a post-it, or piece of paper?" I mime writing something on the palm of my hand with my fingers acting as if they're holding a pen.

"Why do you want that?"

"So I can give it to a friend who should visit the store."

"Are you going to buy something?"

"Why would I want to buy something?"  Was I not clear?  Am I speaking gibberish?

"Why are you asking for our info?"

"So I can give it to my friend."

"Is your friend buying something?"  Is this bitch for real?

"My friend hasn't been in the store.  That's why I need the store info, like the address and phone number."  Pause.  "So, she can come to the store."  I say the second part slower.

"Oh," she looks down at the keyboard.  "We have this," she shows me a laminated piece of paper with the store's name, address and phone number.

"Yes, yes!" I'm elated.  She's finally understanding.  "That's all I need."

"Do I do a 400?" she asks the associate who's standing behind the other counter.

"Yeah, a 400," the other girl says.

She begins to click away at the keyboard.

"Can I have your name?"

"What?"

"For the hold."  Her voice is flat.

"I'm not buying anything."

With her mouth slightly agape, she asks again.  "Ummm, can I have your name?"  Same monotone voice.

I'm a little flabbergasted by this point.  "Why do you need my name to give me your store's phone number?  I'm not giving you my name."

She looks at me as if she was trying to inhale every ounce of intelligence out of the room (and patience out of me).  She succeeded.

"You know what?"  I wave my right hand in the air while my voice raises an octave, "forget it."

I turn around on my heel, storm out of the store.  "Merry Christmas and have a nice day."  I raise my right arm and wave my hand in the air in a goodbye motion.

She was probably the stupidest fucking sales associate I've ever dealt with.