Another customer to be wary of: The Clucking Hens

First of all, I spologize for the delay in updates, if anyone was concerned...
Work has been, well, work, and nothing really interesting has been happening. Customer-wise anyway. I'm sure my boss is sick of my emotional mini breakdowns by now. But enough of that.

The other night I was inspired to write about another customer type: the type I call the "Clucking Hens."

Now, imagine if you will, a chicken coop. Dozens of hens are clustered together in a small space, walking around, bobbing their heads, and having seemingly interesting conversations with one another. They only ever see each other, so that is all they know. They're loud, often white, with over-sized breasts, and they are ALWAYS making noise. Imagine them to be middle-aged carrying Prada knock off handbags.
Now open the door of this hypothetical chicken coop, and instead of dispersing, the chickens continue to cluster themselves into groups. After a few drinks and many, many appetizers, one chicken in one group decides, "Hey, let's go to a sex shop, just for kicks." and the other chickens cluck together in delightful agreement.
This isn't your normal clucking.
This is "I'm about to lay an egg, IS THAT A WOLF?! Hey, look at that sexy cock" clucking.
They come into my store to "look" (ie, not buy anything). They start out by the Bachelorette novelty stuff.
Oh, fuck.
They huddle around a few items together, and you can hear faint whispers, as if they're too embarrassed to figure out what it is. But watch out, because once they find out, the CLUCKING begins. "psst psst psst...CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK CLUCK!!!!!" Shut. Up.
One time, it startled me so much I fell off my chair.
Seriously.
Maybe that's why we're not supposed to sit down with customers in the store...
They make their way around to the Lingerie, grabbing items and expressing "HOW CUUUUTE" everything is.
They literally have NO other adjective to use when looking at clothing.
"Well, that's so CUTE!"
"My, how CUTE!!!"
"Cute!"
"Cute!"
CLUCK
CLUCK
CLUCK!!!!!!!!!

I always dread the moment they reach the phallic vibrators.
I have no idea why, but it always elicits hoards of CACKLING CLUCKING LAUGHTER. The kind that can only be emitted by a group of overweight middle aged hens who have had one too many martinis.
"Oh, too funny!" is what they tend to say.

Normally, there is nothing I can do about it.
If they want to act like children and cover up their insecurities with laughter, whatever.

Now, sometimes, a few cocks will join a group of clucking hens.
This is what I dread most of all, because the cocks only encourage the hens to keep clucking away.
"Hey, ladies, look at this!!!" one cock will say while proudly displaying one of our many pussy-ass sets. Yes, they're real molds of real women's fun bits for men to play with. Pathetic enough as they are, now it's even worse when rubbed into the faces of mortified middle-aged hens.
Of course their embarrassment is always covered up with more cackling clucking.

Last week, this very thing happened to me.
I had other customers in the store, and in order to keep from losing sales or making people uncomfortable, I HAD to tell them to settle down.
I never thought I'd see the say when I'd have to tell a group of adults that could be my parents to settle down.
But it's happened.
Too many times to keep track of.
I pulled one clucker aside and informed her that they needed to keep the noise level down and the clucking, er, laughing to a minimum.
She relayed the message to the other cluckers and cluck-enablers, and after that I had 10 minutes of nice quiet so I could help people who actually had questions.
10 minutes.
Soon enough the clucking started up again.
It escalated to the point where I couldn't even hear myself speak anymore.
Now I was pissed.
I walked over to where the majority of them were clucking, and I said, "I've told you once already to keep it down. If I have to ask again, you'll be asked to leave."
You could see the shame in their faces.
They looked like little puppies who had just gotten caught drinking out of the toilet.
Moments later, the filed silently out the door, the way hens do on their way to slaughter...
wow that was morbid.

Once they were gone, I was able to sigh deeply and plop back into my chair.

That night, I actually sold a pussy-ass set.


Keep your batteries charged! ~Alice