Hell Heck : the Mall Sucks (pt. 2)
Once upon a time, Jedi were the bringers of peace, and, like, love to the galaxy.
These days, venerable dead Jedi, who, like, died for the cause, work as indentured servants peddling snacks that should bring good vibes to the masses, but instead are gobbed by a bunch of heavy bread-heads, man.
We are mid-week and nothing could have prepared me for that. Nothing. Not years of Jedi training, not the gruelling tour schedule that Dooks and I kept. Not even dying.
Me and JJ had this nice little plan, right? Smooth sailing.
See, our 14,400 brownies? Gone in about two hours. That was nothing. So, like, suddenly, I had to deal with griping, impatient jerks, while baking more. I think our last count yesterday was like 73,000 sold. Something like that, or 730,000. There was a 7 and a 3 in there. I think.
Let's start on day two, minute one.
First customer. A female Twi-lek.
"Good morning, ma'am. What can I..." She cut in.
"I need 24 dozen brownies."
Well, friends, that was a humdinger. 24 dozen. Scoob marathon? Early Wookie Life Day shopping? Weight-Gain *beefcake* 4000?
I pointed to the sign, "ONE DOZEN BROWNIES PER TRANSACTION."
"Then ring me up 24 times."
JJ had been listening to her between his flow of irate narcs.
"You, like, don't understand. Like, I can only sell you one dozen."
She looked indignant and scoffed, ala trophy wife, spoilt, evil, malicious, devil woman. "It says, 'per transaction.' Not 'per customer.' So sell me the brownies." She pointed to the sign.
JJ saved the day. Well, more like his permanent marker did. Suddenly, it said "ONE DOZEN BROWNIES PER TRANSACTION PER CUSTOMER PER VISIT PER DAY PER SITUATION PER MANAGEMENT."
I rang her up for one dozen. She glared and paid, not putting the money near me, but, like, way out on the counter near her, so I, like, had to reach to get it, which was seriously petty.
Clincher was, once she got the dozen, she got right back in line to order more. Sith witch.
* * *
There was, like, the most disturbing Commtech conversation I'd ever heard. This Snivvian, young, ugly-as-sin (as most Snivvians are), was on his Commtech. Not a big shocker, as most of the idiots in the queue were on their bleeping, chiming, chirping, ringing, squawking Commtechs.
It wasn't the sound of his stupid machine, it was choice in conversation topics.
Talking overly loud, I could hear him over the roar of the crowd.
"...so there I was in the middle of the operation, when I woke up. I open my eyes and see that my bowel was there on my chest. Needless to say, I was terrified. But when I went to scream, I inhaled and... Long story short, I ended up with a mouth full of my own colon. And wouldn't you know it, that's just when the laxative kicked in. So I..."
Things had quieted down, as I guess, everyone was just in, like, total shock at what sphincter boy was laying down. Several people left the line, one covered their mouth and looked like they were going to melf, man.
Lucky for me, and the grossed-out customers, there was my knight in shining military garb, Oneida, several places back from this guy. She stepped up and tapped him on the shoulder.
He waved her off.
She tapped harder.
And, like, he seriously said in his Commtech, "Sorry about that, some stupid Hutt is bothering me."
And that was it. Oneida's eyes got all wide while she pulled out her blaster. She clicked a button on the side and aimed.
Everyone was, like, totally quiet. No, they weren't, as the idiots were still ordering, but I was enthralled, so I didn't hear, like, anything.
She fired and it sounded just like a smack. It was set on b!^@#-slap. The stupid Snivvian dropped his Commtech and turned toward her, holding his face. He opened his mouth to talk.
She held up her finger and sheathed her smoking blaster. "Don't you dare. If you don't want me to call in the clones and make this a real messy issue, you will just shut your face. We are here to by brownies, not to get treated to medical mishap stories. You will pick up your Commtech..."
He did so.
"You will close it and we will never again hear about your guts. Do you understand?"
He stood still, shaking.
"I said, 'Do you understand?!" Everyone turned to look at her.
"Eep." He nodded, gathered up his phone and rushed off.
There was a smattering of applause, but soon, it went right back to the grind, sans the stories.
She made me feel a little better, though. Oneida's a doll, man. When she came up, it was all smiles and no threats of violence or calling the supervisor to beat me with rubber hoses.
* * *
"Cut it down the middle." In front of me, there was the most snobby, stuck-up, scowling, made-up, glaring, evil Kaminoian being demanding.
I shook my head. "Wow, we, like, don't cut the brownies, man. They are squares."
She folded her long arms and sneered. "Cut mine down the middle. Didn't you hear me the first time? Should I inquire to your higher-ups why you should make your wages if you refuse to co-operate?"
"I'm, like, not getting paid."
She scoffed. "Well, if you were, it would be too much. Now cut my brownie."
Obviously this woman had never worked in retail or the mall before. Perhaps she'd never worked a day in her life. Her job was to torment the hard working blokes at the local stores, needling up and asserting her dominance, as she was superior because of her status.
Did I ever say I didn't like retail?
I put it on a plate and cut it down the middle, top to bottom.
She scoffed again. "You've ruined it. I wanted it cut horizontally cut and you've botched it by cutting it vertically. Give me another one, and cut it right."
I turned the plate, making the cut horizontal. "There, like, look. Horizontal, just like you asked."
Her big black eyes flared. "How dare you! Where is your supervisor?"
Mr. S'Naus Ages was there, with a placating smile. "What can we help you with, Ma'am?"
"It's Madam," she snapped. "And your bumbling oaf of an employee cut this brownie improperly. I demand proper service and a refund!"
Funny. She hadn't paid yet. When I went to, like, give ol' S'Nausy the FYI, he waved me off, gave her a new brownie, which he cut himself, and the money she didn't spend back.
For that, he denied me my second 15 minute break.
* * *
I was turned around, moving some brownies around, sorting and stuff.
Whew, man, there is nothing like a guy who's nearly two metres tall and sporting a full beard and moustache getting mistaken for a woman, man. Now, I was turned around, but it wasn't the first time people had wrong, man. My hair was up in buns in a hair-net, but seriously... Mildly offensive.
Mom and a kid. Man, the little guy was really pale and frail for being a Duros. He had these giant rimmed glasses and a book tucked under his arm. Looked about 7 or 8.
"Yes, sir, can I help you?" Huh huh, I called her sir.
"My son is allergic to wheat, rye, barley, oats, soy, eggs, milk, lactose, Sodium Caseinate, whey, butter, peanuts, all forms of tree nuts, cocoa and spice. What can he have here?"
She had listed every ingredient that my brownies included (except one, can you guess what it is?). He looked totally bummed though, you know? I mean this poor guy can't feel normal because if he eats that way it might, like, kill him. Seriously sympathising with his plight. So, I went for something else I could whip up.
"Is he allergic to gelatine?"
The mother shook her head. "No, he is not."
"Hey, bud, do you, like, like strawberry?"
His mother looked miffed. "He can't have strawberries."
"Well, can he, like, have amyl acetate, amyl butyrate, amyl valerate, anethol, anisyl formate, benzyl acetate, benzyl isobutyrate, butyric acid, cinnamyl isobutyrate, cognac essential oil, diacetyl, dipropyl ketone, ethyl acetate, ethyl amyl ketone, ethyl butyrate, ethyl cinnamate, ethyl heptanoate, ethyl heptylate, ethyl lactate, ethyl methylphenylglycidate, ethyl nitrate, ethyl propionate, ethyl valerate, heliotropin, hydroxyphenyl-2-butanone, a-ionone, isobutyl anthranilate, isobutyl butyrate, lemon essential oil, maltol, 4-methylacetophenone, methyl anthranilate, methyl benzoate, methyl cinnamate, methyl heptine carbonate, methyl naphthyl ketone, methyl salicylate, mint essential oil, neroli essential oil, nerolin, neryl isobutyrate, orris butter, phenethyl alcohol, rose, rum ether, g-undercalactone, and vanillin?"
She was dumbfounded. He son was smiling. "I, I don't like the sound of that butter in what ever it is."
"It's artificial Strawberry flavouring. Has he had it before?"
She nodded. "Yes, he likes that added to his water."
"I've got just the thing." I started my makings, letting S'Nausy take over ringing.
"Change your gloves," she said. "You'll contaminate the mix."
I did so. But you know something, man, I'm dead. I can't contaminate anything. There is no part of me that carries contaminants since I can't, like, sport my poncho at work, and all.
Going through, doing my mixing.
"Change them again. You brushed against that knife."
I twitched while doing so, and glared into the mixing bowl, but, fine, whatever.
In about the span of 3 minutes, it was done, and with a touch of the Force, I set it and moulded it. I cleaned a plate, and my hands, and the plate again. Viola, he looked so stoked. Strawberry Jell-O Lego blocks.
She gave me a almost smile, but as she was mean and demanding, I'd written her off. Her little dude was diggin' the Jellegos.
That didn't suck.
* * *
All right, the past few nights, I'd been up baking, all night, man. 27/4, man. I'm needing some me time, man. The little tastes of brownies and the 7 seconds of good times I get a day are not working.
Suck thing is, man. Like, I have to do it again.
I've got to go make the brownies...
...I made the brownies.