Crackhead Laura

This is another instance where I'm loathe to post about job, customers, etc. But it's not like I'm using a last name or posting pictures of the crackhead, right?

A couple months ago, this woman came into the store. She looked haggard, seemed jumpy, and dressed like a day shift stripper at Rhonda's on Page (really classy joint). After interacting with her for about ten seconds, it became obvious that she was on something, whether it's crack or meth, I know not.

How she found my store, I know not.

How she continues to find my store, I know not, because woman is always tweeking out of her mind. Perhaps I call to her, like a homing signal like what bats and whales have.

This broad is a fucking mess, and this is me calling somebody a mess here, so that means she must really be a mess. I don't know if she has a car, but Crackhead Laura has been sitting in my lobby, charging her phone, for about an hour now. She's using our courtesy phone to call a friend to pick her up, and I just heard her yell to her friend, "But I don't want to sit in here and wait for you all day!" Guess what, lady? We're not holding you hostage, and there's a bus stop about 100 yards away.

I can't fucking deal with this anymore, I'm going home. Fuck this.