ALBINO UNAPOOPER

it was a little over two weeks ago, and i'm sitting at my remedial joke-of-a-job at an overpriced boutique when in walks a middle-aged-red-headed pale-as-a-ghost-white lady. she's elaborately decorated from head to toe. starting at the head- she's wearing a ghetto ass do-rag. i'm talking a sally beauty supply clearance rack black do-rag, tied in the back, flapping down the back of her neck. she is also wearing a turtle neck and a christmas sweater- nothing short of kissing geese and real jingle bells sewn on (note: this is april). and so her outfit goes... MC Hammer pants, big white leathery tennis shoes, the whole 9 yards. not to mention, her teeth looked as though she had just gargled with piss then chewed on a metal fence for eight or so hours. so i look at this lady, and i ask her if i can help her with anything, knowing damn well (and not being rude) that her style isn't exactly what we're carrying. she just glares at me and barks "WHERE 'DA PANTS". i tell her that it's a clothing store and not all the pants are in one place. she doesn't understand. "WHERE 'DA PANTS AT?" "ma'am it depends what kind of pants you want, you're gonna have to let me know." "JUST PANTS" "There's hot pink ones on clearance to your left." All the while I am helping a lady try on $30 lip gloss and wondering why her breath smells so foul, or if I accidentally didn't wash my shirt after a night of burping up jager bombs and $1 mexican beers while passed out fully-clothed. Albino stands there, glaring at me with an over-bite, pink pants, and $40 in her hand. I tell her if she wants to buy the pants, she's going to have to step toward the register. She won't move. I ask her what's wrong. She says she doesn't want to get near me. I know this lady pooped herself. Something horrible and twisted inside of me wants her to admit that she pooped herself. I ask her why she won't come near me. She says she's too embarrassed. Like an asshole, I ask why. She says "you know". I know, but I don't want her to know that I know. The overpowering smell of dookie funk and her shaking hands tell all. I look her in the eye and say "oh, wow." I hand her back $36 in change for a $40. The pants were $28. I can't wait to tell this story! She looks at me and says, "I guess my next question is, where is the bathroom?" I hand her a bag to put her soiled MC
Hammer drawers in and reply, "not here. public restroom is out the door, to the left, and two doors down" and i follow her out the door with a can of Lysol. My only regret is not seeing her in that oufit + hot pink pants.