March 5, 2006
"I didn't say she was crazy..."
The first customer came into the department about an hour before the store closed. She was young and very attractive, in that North Dallas sort of way. She had blonde hair with highlights, a tan that was not even remotely natural, and perfectly perfect breasts for which I am pretty sure she had a receipt. Still, a hot woman is a hot woman, especially when she talks to you intensely and flirtatiously, which she was.
We got to talking, and she looked into my eyes the whole time, and when she asked about my tattoo, she took my arm to look at it and held it a little longer than necessary. I'm not usually a person who knows when I'm being flirted with, but it was pretty clear this time. I was having one of those, "Who, me? You talking to me?" moments. Then, after we'd talked a little about heath care (she apparently noticed my gimp tag, which is always quite the draw for the ladies, as you can probably imagine), she said, "Rob, I want to give you my phone number and my email address. There's something I want to show you."
Yeah, she really said that. In my head, I was composing a letter to Penthouse. "I never thought those letters were real, until the day a pretty blonde with big fake titties walked into my store..."
So for what reason do you think she wanted to share her personal contact info with me? She wanted to show me more about a personal healthy living philosophy that she subscribed to, one that changed her life and which would, if I tried it, heal me forever.
There's no easy way to say this.
She drinks pee.
She believes that urine is the purest form of our blood and contains nutrients and healing properties that can even help people with cancer. She drinks it, and she takes little pills that I gather are a concentrated form of, well, pee. If you prefer your pee powdered, there's a product for you, although I suspect it's not waiting for you at your local Whole Foods Market. (God help us all, I'm probably wrong about that.)
Now, I'm no scientist, and I haven't written to her to get more information, but as far as I understand, urine is a waste product. It's the stuff your body doesn't need or want. Pee is not, I truly believe, a beverage.
When she left, she wanted to give me a hug, and when she did, it was an unusually personal one, all close and tight and slightly longer than expected. And yet as male and doggish as I am, I still couldn't help thinking to myself, "God, I hope she doesn't try to kiss me with her pee-drinking mouth..."
(How much do you want to bet that at some point in the future, I get an upset email or comment from a pee drinker out there?)
The second customer wasn't so involved or so scary, just startling. She came in inquiring about a certain artist, but when she started to ask, she drew a blank.
"I'm really sorry," she said. "I'm sort of distracted. I just had back surgery and it still feels really weird."
And without skipping a beat, she turned around and hiked up her shirt and SHOWED ME HER SCAR. It was all fresh and bloody and Frankensteinian. I have to confess, I was so startled that I almost forgot to be grossed out. Almost.
So yeah. I'm going to miss retail a little. Just a little.