It was Wednesday afternoon, and I was at Petco picking up some stuff for our guinea pig. There was a line of several people, and one cashier. I was second in line, and a very attractive woman was ahead of me. The cashier, a slightly nerdy looking guy, called for the next person, and the attractive woman went to the cash register.
He began flirting with her immediately, commenting on the things she was buying (dog toys: "Some four-legged friend is going to have a great Christmas!"). He asked if she had a Petco preferred customer card, and when she said she didn't he extolled the virtues of it, then produced an application and began filling it out for her. Meanwhile, the line of people waiting to check out grew longer, and some began shifting impatiently on the feet back and forth.
Meanwhile, Mr. I've Got A Shot At This Good Looking Woman Because I Work At Petco was commenting on her address ("I've heard that's a nice neighborhood. I've always wanted to see what some of those houses look like on the inside."), her total expenditure ("You must be a very generous person.") and her outfit ("Did you make that scarf?") Finally he finished with her, and paused for a moment with a cheery look as she left. Then he looked up and saw me.
"Next person in line," he barked. "Leave the Timothy Hay in the cart," he commanded. "I'm highly allergic." (And you work in a pet store?)
My brief transaction was nothing like the preceding one:
"Do you have a Petco card?" "No." "Okay."
No offer to fill out an application for me, no comments about my merchandise or my outfit, no hinting about wanting to visit my neighborhood (he'd checked my ID when I used a charge card).
As I left the store I glanced back at him. No dreamy, wistful look at my departure, either.
At least our guinea pig was appreciative.
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