The Woman With No Voice Returns

"Beeeee-booooooop"

Swing shift. The door bell we use to announce the arrival or departure of a customer through the front door sounds. There she is, like a boil on the anus of society. The woman with no voice has made her nightly pilgrimage to my humble shop, the holy Mecca of snack foods and sundries, the corner Plaid Pantry.

She's wearing a new hat today, and unlike the rest of her clothing it's not faded or caked in filth yet. This, unfortunately, fools me into greeting her with my customary and energetic "Goooood evening!" I even smiled! All that effort wasted on a madwoman. She waved an old pepsi (I think) can at me, as if to both say "LOOK AT ME," and "I'm going to turn this in for a nickle," in one deft movement. As she passed by the front counter, cutting off several customers, walking between couples and generally making a nuicance of herself, I heard her attempt to echo the noises she's heard real people make when they practice what they call talking. As usual and as assumed, she enjoyed little success, and the only word I could manage to comprehend was "Matches".

She placed a single can in the recepticle and made an immediate about face and headed back the way she came, barging right through people in a repeat performance of ass-hattery. She held her hand out, and since it's just a pack of matches, I went ahead and gave her one and began to ask for the other five cents a matchbook costs, but she was already near the front door.

As if the attention she had demanded from literally everyone in the shop, (and I assure you, literally everyone in the store was staring at her silently at this point), she picked up a job application, making sure I saw it. She then waved it about, as if to say "I'm taking this and there's nothing you can do about it! HAH!" as well as "LOOK AT ME HOLY FUCK LOOK AT ME", and left... but instead of just leaving, she made and abrupt right turn and set the job application down on top of a news stand, also making sure I saw this.

She looked me dead in the eye, smiled a mischevious smile, and patted the job application.

I nodded, and she walked off into the night.

The application was still on top of the news stand.

Not even ten paces from the store, she made yet another abrupt about face and returned to the news stand to carefully tear off the front of the matchbook, and ritualisticly placed the Plaid Pantry logo emblazoned cover on the application. I couldn't help it by this point. My jaw was hanging and I was staring at her in disbelief and confusion as she walked away one final time.

I turned to the other customers who were, apparently, just as confused as I and in exasperation cried out.

"WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT!? WHY!?"

THE VOICE (Presumibly that of God?)

Graveyard again.

You have encountered A Rather Large, Smiling Black Man!
What do you do?
>Greet customer and ring him up

I do not understand this "ring him up"

>greet customer

"Hey how ya doin' boy?" he asks you.

"I'm still breathing somehow, how are you?" you reply.

"I'm doin' just great, boy," he starts, pointing to a button on his shirt. This button features a painting of a young lady with long black hair. "I've got my sister with me - that's her on this pin, I keep her close to my heart - see she died two months ago..."

The man tells you a story of how through God's will and God's will alone he just so happened to visit his sister the weekend before she suddenly died without warning.

>say "I'm so sorry about your sister"

You tell the man "I'm so sorry about your sister," and continue ringing up his purchases. The man goes on to tell you about how this has prompted him to start singing.

>I thought you didn't understand this "ring him up" >:(

I do not understand this "I thought you didn't understand this "ring him up" >:(."

>ask about singing

You ask the man about his singing, and he identifies himself as "THE VOICE." THE VOICE wants to sing for you.

>let him sing

You don't have any other customers in the store and your friend is fronting and facing product to stave off boredom. You let him go ahead and sing. The man informs you that he'll just sing about twenty seconds of a song he wrote a week or two ago, and proceeds to start singing gospel. Twenty seconds in, he sounds absolutely awful. What do you do?

>Smile and let him continue

The man appeared to only have a frog in his throat, or perhaps he should have warmed up a little beforehand, because now he sounds great! But now he's staring you straight in the eye and grinning a maniacal grin as he sings what amounts to a dirge. What do you do?

>Smile and let him continue

The mans eyes are now wild like those of a rabid dogs, and you notice just how long and yellow his teeth are. He still stares you directly in the eye, but you can't help but look away every few seconds, trying to make it look like you're just trying to concentrate on his singing. The stare is starting to terrify you and it chills to the bone. what do you do?

>Smile and let him continue

The man sings another couple verses and, without warning, stops and turns for the door looking insulted and angry. What do you do?

>snap fingers and tell him he's good

You snap your fingers repeatedly like a beatnik and complement him on his skills. The man thanks you, promises you a demo CD that he will bring by sometime in the next week, and leaves. Your friend returns from fronting and facing and looks at you standing there. No one is quite sure just what happened. What do you do?

>die a little inside

You die a little inside.

The Woman With No Voice

Another graveyard shift. No matter how clearly I lay my schedule out in front of my manager, (And it's not particularly complicated, unless you think 9-5 mon-fri is complicated), he just doesn't seem to understand what I ask of him.

Brilliant.

An friend who doesn't seem to sleep swung by for the last four hours of the shift. He had the distinguished privilege of witnessing The Woman With No Voice and her daily routine of wandering into the plaid, demanding everyone's attention literally all the time, moving things around and waiting for someone else to take the clerks attention so she can steal as much as she can. She likes to bring us clerks presents, though she doesn't seem to understand that returning stolen matchbooks doesn't count.

I saw her walking up to the store this time and had a moment to prepare. I moved the key to the beer coolers out of reach and behind the counter, and moved to a spot where I could see all the mirrors in the store.

GUNG-GUNG-GUNG. She was rapping the window with the tattered remains of a small cardboard box, waved it at me as if to say "Hey I have this and I'm going to leave it here so you don't think I stole it," and set it down on top of a news stand.

Then she came in, talking the whole way. I swear to god, she didn't shut up for a single second the entire time she was there.

"hhhaannnhnhnnnhhhhnnnn-HA HA HA HA HA!" she would say.

"Cans to return? OK. I'll be right over, gimme just a sec," I said, moving over to keep a better eye on her. Another customer came in. A young lady, the kind of girl who eminates an aura of impatience.

"nnHHhHheeehhhrnrnkcchhhs," she growled in a wasted attempt to make words. Her voice sounds a little like rocks in a grinder with a leaking air hose. Without vocal cords there's no way to understand this woman, and she's too far gone to understand anyone asking her to slow down her speach. This is the same woman another homeless woman said she was glad wasn't there. The one who she wanted to make jealous by claiming she, with her whole four teeth, could eat pussy better than. Even the other bums around here regard her as insane. Honestly, I like the male bums around here more. At least they aren't quite as foul.

"I need to take care of someone at the register, I'll be just a second," I told her. The young lady came up to the counter and was already giving me the evil eye. She looked rich, like the kind of girl who's pissed that Bush is out of office. Ugh.

I got my friends attention, pointed with one hand at my eyes and then at The Woman With No Voice, hoping he would watch her and make sure she didn't shove something into any of her myriad pockets.

I imagine he thought I wanted him to watch for something funny, 'coz within five seconds he was checking out some jerky. Dammit, man. Yeah, I know you're reading this. Haven't you ever played paintball or anything like that?

The young lady left, and shortly after the woman with no voice came up to the register and got a whole quarter for bottles that we could accept. She was apparently deterred from theft this time, but she always comes back. I'm unsure as to whether she sleeps at all.

She left the half cardboard box. I walked outside and lit a cigarette.

I tossed the box in the trash.