Five Leaves Left (1969)
Downtown Record Store Early Weekday Afternoon Customer Archetype # 52: The Crack Whore.
The Crack Whore can almost always be instantly recognized by her stringy hair, parchment like skin, extremely low body weight, shifty eyes and trembling hands. Further signs are that she usually will be trying to sell you product that looks like it has been ripped out of the used, $4.99 bin at Blockbuster and then stashed in a dumpster until ‘the heat dies down’, roughly two to three weeks later. While participating in the transaction, she will haggle with the payment price relentlessly. She will then insist that she called ahead and that she was given a price quote over the phone that is higher than what you are offering (which your store DOES NOT DO). She will then insist that she spoke with whoever else happens to be working (even when there is NO ONE ELSE working at that moment in the day) and that they always give her a better price (which they NEVER do). Finally, she will accept what you offer and try to sell it without proper identification (which is illegal) and then claim she does it all the time at your store (which she does not). Following that, she will try to sell it through ‘her boyfriend’s’ account (which is also illegal, and probably worse). Often, she will leave empty handed, and you will be left to deal with the migraine her obvious attempts at double dealings always inspire.
You will get to know the Crack Whore very well. She doesn’t seem to ever remember you, even when you’ve dealt with her for years, and so never realizes that the scam she tries to pull has never and will never work. As such, she comes in almost every day and tries again.
On some days though, the Crack Whore is wildly entertaining and can be the highlight to your entire day.
Case in point, last Tuesday.
It is mid afternoon on a beautiful, sunny, warm day. The door to the shop is open, inviting customers to browse for the perfect tune to suit their mood as they walk down the street. There is a lovely breeze circulating the air. Suddenly a vague trace of scent wafts into the store. Stale urine and the saltiness of week old sweat, signaling the arrival of someone who spends more time than not out on the streets without showering. Today, it is the Crack Whore, looking as shifty as ever and carrying a plastic bag.
This bag is that semi-opaque milky white, and is made of a low quality plastic (you can tell by all the scratches and creases it has endured). You recognize it as one of the small bags pharmacy’s will give you when you purchase things like toothpaste, and you suspect that this bag has been stuffed in a drawer months ago and was only recently rediscovered and recycled.
This bag is full of water, and the Crack Whore is handling it carefully as she comes up to the counter. She stares at you and holds it out, seemingly implying that you should accept it. Confused, you do so and wait for her explanation.
“Can I leave this on the counter?” she asks, voice vaguely scratchy with dehydration “It’s a shark and it needs to stay upright.”
This is a true story. That wackjob brought a fucking SHARK into my store and wanted to leave it on the counter while she shopped.
Somehow, we came to the conclusion that it was a black market shark that had been raised in a bathtub and been fed kittens. We then tried to feed it aluminum cans, as apparently, sharks eat medieval armor.
The Crack Whore can almost always be instantly recognized by her stringy hair, parchment like skin, extremely low body weight, shifty eyes and trembling hands. Further signs are that she usually will be trying to sell you product that looks like it has been ripped out of the used, $4.99 bin at Blockbuster and then stashed in a dumpster until ‘the heat dies down’, roughly two to three weeks later. While participating in the transaction, she will haggle with the payment price relentlessly. She will then insist that she called ahead and that she was given a price quote over the phone that is higher than what you are offering (which your store DOES NOT DO). She will then insist that she spoke with whoever else happens to be working (even when there is NO ONE ELSE working at that moment in the day) and that they always give her a better price (which they NEVER do). Finally, she will accept what you offer and try to sell it without proper identification (which is illegal) and then claim she does it all the time at your store (which she does not). Following that, she will try to sell it through ‘her boyfriend’s’ account (which is also illegal, and probably worse). Often, she will leave empty handed, and you will be left to deal with the migraine her obvious attempts at double dealings always inspire.
You will get to know the Crack Whore very well. She doesn’t seem to ever remember you, even when you’ve dealt with her for years, and so never realizes that the scam she tries to pull has never and will never work. As such, she comes in almost every day and tries again.
On some days though, the Crack Whore is wildly entertaining and can be the highlight to your entire day.
Case in point, last Tuesday.
It is mid afternoon on a beautiful, sunny, warm day. The door to the shop is open, inviting customers to browse for the perfect tune to suit their mood as they walk down the street. There is a lovely breeze circulating the air. Suddenly a vague trace of scent wafts into the store. Stale urine and the saltiness of week old sweat, signaling the arrival of someone who spends more time than not out on the streets without showering. Today, it is the Crack Whore, looking as shifty as ever and carrying a plastic bag.
This bag is that semi-opaque milky white, and is made of a low quality plastic (you can tell by all the scratches and creases it has endured). You recognize it as one of the small bags pharmacy’s will give you when you purchase things like toothpaste, and you suspect that this bag has been stuffed in a drawer months ago and was only recently rediscovered and recycled.
This bag is full of water, and the Crack Whore is handling it carefully as she comes up to the counter. She stares at you and holds it out, seemingly implying that you should accept it. Confused, you do so and wait for her explanation.
“Can I leave this on the counter?” she asks, voice vaguely scratchy with dehydration “It’s a shark and it needs to stay upright.”
This is a true story. That wackjob brought a fucking SHARK into my store and wanted to leave it on the counter while she shopped.
Somehow, we came to the conclusion that it was a black market shark that had been raised in a bathtub and been fed kittens. We then tried to feed it aluminum cans, as apparently, sharks eat medieval armor.