Tonight at work, I was called a name that I have never heard come out of someone's mouth any where other than a trashy television show on MTV or some Jerry Springer-esk program.

I was stationed at cash register # 2 this evening, and after a solid 4 hours of service with a smile, the line of liquor thirsty kids began to die down, and I only had a few customers to go before my 12:30am "lunch break".

I was approached by two gargantuan black women, in their late 20's I presumed, my last customers before break.  One, had some terribly unnatural platinum blond hair and sported a horrendous leper print bustier a number of sizes too small. The other in some sort of plaid denim jump suit, accessorized with different forms of gaudy gold jewelry,  but hey..'to each their own', right?

They brought up their 2 liter of  Hawaiian Punch along with arm loads of candy bars and 99 cent chips and tossed them onto my counter.

"Will that be all for you ladies this evening?"

"Shit no. Don't be rushin' hur whilez she'z tryin ta chooze hur drank. goddamn. I want dat fif of E & J n sum Newport Kings in uh box"

I politely ask to see both of their ID's, our store policy which is posted in several locations around the store.  Leper tits, presents her identification, while Denim Djwana stares at me blankly.  I asked again to see her's as well, since she is in the party of people purchasing Tobacco and Alcohol.  Denim claimed she left it at home, but she was a "grown ass woman" and some "little girl" didn't need to be checking her ID.

"Unfortunately ladies, no ID, no purchase. I'm sorry.  I can set your things aside if you'd like to go home for that ID, other wise you're out of luck"

This is what began what I am going to call A black woman bitch fit. There was yelling, swearing, arms flailing, I honestly thought she was reaching to take out her hoops at one point, ready to attack me with her long plastic nails, with fake diamonds strategically placed in the center.

I was ready for my break and done with these fucking bitches, so I apologized again, and began to walk away.

This is when leper tits says to me:

"Are you walking away from me? You fucking bitch ass cunt".

Then Djwana Denim spat on my counter. (Thank you, DD,  I really wanted to be exposed to whatever germs or infections were in your bodily fluids.) My manager finally intervened, and they reluctantly exited as loud and obnoxiously as they entered.

If I didn't have rent and bills to pay monthly, I would have followed them to what I imagine was a rusted out 1986 Cadilliac that only runs half the time, and I would have smashed every window in with a baseball bat.  But, noooo, I have to be responsible and keep a good work ethic. Instead, I walked straight out to my car and lit up a fat joint that waiting for me. 

Seriously, fuck 87.4% of all people, and not in a fun way.