Tales of Idiocy #62

Every time I open my mouth, all of nature braces itself for what may be the end. The destructive power of my stupidity is one of the mysteries modern science has yet to crack. It’s not always at such a dangerous level. When the waiter invites me to enjoy my meal and I quip “You too!,” this is a minor tremor. When I spend forty minutes ransacking my apartment looking for a remote control that is in my shirt pocket, the damage is minimal. There are episodes of my life, however, when my ghastly ignorance has posed a threat to global peace beyond anything Lex Luthor could ever dream of.

As a cautionary action, and in cooperation with the U.N., I’ll recount one such occasion. The following events took place when I was in high school. Ultimately, I may find that it’s cheaper and more efficient to just consider my entire high school experience to be one complete incident, but I’ll proceed now with this isolated story. 

I was on duty as a greeter at a major film-studio-related retail store. It should be noted here that any establishment willing to position me as their public face, even for a few hours on a summer evening, is asking for problems. I was just ever so slightly less able than I was willing, and I was about as willing as you’d imagine a high school senior would be. The gestapo-esque guidelines given to the store greeter added a level of anxiety and pain to an already tedious event. 

Every “guest” (so called because referring to them as “customers” would have put us, the staff, in dangerous proximity to reality) was to be met with a bright greeting and a personalized product recommendation. This guaranteed maximum guest annoyance. I generally played it safe, presuming that everyone who walked in would be best matched with the product that happened to be on the shelf nearest to me. This created some interesting scenes, such as the time I successfully sold a tank top featuring a popular duck character to a seventy-year-old man.

Our story begins during such a shift, with me standing in the entranceway of that fortress of merchandising, doing my best imitation of a friendly person. A woman walked in who could only be described as morbidly obese. Well, that’s not fair. The word “morbidly” sounds like a judgment. Let’s say she was “ultra,” or “maxi” obese. 

I greeted her as I would anyone else, with apathy and thinly veiled contempt. After we established that she did not care to purchase a keyring featuring a buoyant stuffed tiger, she asked if we were hiring.

“We are hiring on a seasonal basis” I replied, reciting the rehearsed words without hesitation. 

“Can I apply now?”

“Why, certainly. I’ll get you an application.” I seized the opportunity to head into the back room to get an application. Perhaps a shelf full of snow globes would fall on me, ending my shift early.

“Wait – before you do, I have a question…” She became uncomfortable, and I continued to be uncomfortable.

“Alright. What is it?” 

“Do I need to wear the shorts?”

She was referring to the tan shorts donned by all female employees of this retailer. 

“I believe so, yes,” I answered. She became somewhat dejected.

“Oh, I see. It’s just that… I prefer not to wear things that…”

My stress level began to rise. She was wandering from the script. At no point in my training was I prepared for such an interaction. Add to that the fact that I began to feel pangs of sympathy, which at that age were so foreign I quickly chalked them off to gas.

My resources drained and left with only my “wits” to get by, I grabbed for the first complete thought I could configure. And I swear on all that is right this is what I said:

“Well, ma’am, they’re really big shorts!”

Apparently in the recesses of my cobweb-draped mind, there is a pocket of data suggesting that “big” is a suitable substitute for “modest.” The shorts are modest, I meant to tell her. Modest. But even as she walked away, her eyes swelling with tears, I couldn’t imagine what on earth I’d said to offend her so.

I should probably turn myself in to some office of law enforcement. Perhaps it would be enough to simply write an apology to each individual member of the human race. Whatever the punishment, it probably won’t fit the crimes against intelligence I’ve committed.

KIDS: Join us next time for more amazing Tales of Idiocy!