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Customers I Have Known

Before embarking on a career in librarianship, I spent several years working in retail. That provided an opportunity to serve customers of every type. Since I like people, I enjoyed for the most part –  assisting folks of all stripes to get what they wanted, whether I was working at Dave’s Deli, B. Dalton Bookseller or a Winn Dixie grocery store.

Everyone in retail learns that a small percentage of customers are going to be difficult, and we learn techniques for handling such individuals.  Looking back, I recall that most interactions were pleasant, routine and mundane. Certainly nothing memorable.  

There are a few customer encounters that are cemented in my mind, though.  It’s been four decades since these three incidents took place, and they still feel recent.  Each was unforgettable in its own way, and I am glad to share them with you.

A Concealed Weapon in the Delicatessen

Dave’s Deli catered to its regulars, who would pay premium prices for sliced corned beef, lox, other smoked fish, salads, rye bread and bagels. The customers returned on a weekly basis, some more frequently. So, I came to feel that I somewhat knew them, their quirks and how to make encounters with them as smooth as possible.

One fellow, maybe in his fifties, came in always dressed in a suit but looking a bit rumpled. Let’s call him Benny.  He was a character, meaning that he always had a story or joke to tell. It got to the point where I felt that I knew him beyond a simple retail relationship.  Benny owned a furniture store in an impoverished area of North Philadelphia that had a surging crime rate.  This fascinated me, as Northeast Philly, where I lived and where Dave’s was located, was considered to be a safe part of the city. I wondered if Benny felt any fear at his place.

So, I asked him, “What would you do if robbers came into your store?”

The smile left his face, and his right hand flew under his suit jacket. A second later, there was a small pistol pointed at me.

“Here’s what I would do! I’d shoot the bastards!” he stated in agitation, and held the pistol pointed at my chest for a few seconds.

As he put the pistol away, the smile returned to his face.  My knees were shaking. I then handed him his bag of bagels, and he left to pay at the register.

I never made small talk with Benny again.

Will that be Parmesan or Romano, Sir?

In contrast with Benny, I met this next customer only once.  It was while I was employed at a Winn Dixie supermarket in Palm Bay, Florida.  A young man came into the store, appearing somewhat frantic. He had long, stringy blond hair, which was somewhat the fashion for many in the population back then.

I was stocking shelves, and he found me, then asked the question that has remained with me for these decades.

“Where you got the little cheeses that go on the sketties?”

I did not laugh, although that temptation existed.  He had adequately described what he wanted.  I led him to the Kraft grated cheese.

Pig Squeals from the Information Desk

In 1978, Doubleday published The Hog Book, by William Hedgepeth.  It was non-fiction – all about pigs – and became, somewhat surprisingly to me, very popular.  The Atlantic’s review said, in part, “There is more to hogs than any but hog specialists know, and some of it is quite amazing. Mr. Hedgepeth tells it all, enthusiastically, and ornaments his information with rural comedy and deliberately incongruous purple prose.”

I was surprised about its popularity but admittedly knew nothing about pigs or about any farm animal for that matter.  The closest I had ever been to a farm was watching Green Acres on television. So, yes, I found it odd that customers were coming into B. Dalton Bookseller in Center City Philadelphia asking for the book, which was shelved on the Third Floor, in the Science section.

The store was located at 15th and Chestnut, just around the corner from City Hall.  Law offices abounded in the area, and employees of those establishments made up a sizable portion of our clientele.  So, it was not unusual for me to look up at the First Floor Information Desk one day and see a gentleman approach who I took to be an attorney. He was in a three-piece conservative suit, with a classy tie and wingtip shoes.  His hair was slicked back, and he wore horn rim glasses. He was a lawyer straight out of central casting and the Atticus Finch mode.

He asked for The Hog Book, and I told him it was on the Third Floor and pointed toward the elevator. While shaking his head no, he asked that I have someone bring it down. I called upstairs and asked that someone bring down a copy.  The response was that they were busy but would bring it down as soon as they could.

I conveyed that information to the customer. He then began to squeal … like a hog. And he kept squealing intermittently until the book arrived about five minutes later.

In some ways, it was endearing to see such an individual acting in that manner. But it was also disorienting to have judged him by his cover and to have had his behavior deviate from my pre-conceived expectations. I never thought about lawyers in the same way again.