In early 1994 I was still low man on the totem pole. That being said there were only two people on the totem but I was still it's power bottom. Therefore I would get stuck dealing with the less then desirable situations. I get asked a lot if I have a Captain Sweatpants because of the hit sitcom Big Bang Theory with people not knowing about my arch nemesis and focus of my purest hatred...sweatpants. Here is the story of my first encounter with this subhuman, degenerate, maladroit, white trash, cheetoh bearded gomorrahite (yes, how he rolls is worse than what they did in Sodom).
     We were back at the old smaller location with myself and about three other people if memory serves. I had my back to the front window with everybody else faces out into the parking lot. Dirty jokes and favorite stories from the newest comics were being shared and much joy was raining down on us like a winter's first snow. All of a sudden they stopped smiling and their faces turned ashen white. They all sprinted to the back of the store behind a make shift dividing wall that had been constructed to create a storage and processing room but ultimately ended up being where all the drinking and truly fun stupidity occurred. Seeing this I turned around to figure out what caused the lemming run to safety. What I first saw was a rusted mini van shaking back and forth trying to steady itself after a giant fat leviathan of a human oozed himself out of it. He stood well over six feet tall with a beard like a hermit manifesto writing serial killer. His 500 plus pound frame draped in a faded torn apart Incredible Hulk t shirt and ill fitting sweat pants. Over the next minute I stood frozen knowing that he was going to come into the store.
     As he entered the door he bellowed out that he needed the new issue of the Hulk. Seizing the chance to make a sale I motioned for him to follow me and said "Sure thing, right over here sir." This was the last time I would call him sir. After a one sided conversation which I cannot recall as we walked to the register I rang him up. Upon telling him how much he owed the store he proceeded to reach into his sweat pants fishing in and around his crotchal region for what I feared his wallet. Something strange and unexpected happened next. A wad of little kid style bills fell on the floor between his legs. I couldn't figure out how that happened but soon would have this question answered. He mumbles some swear words to himself and waddles two steps backwards, turns around bends over at the waist. As he strains against his massive gut the whole in the crotch of his sweat pants that allowed his money to fall to the floor opens wide and the back of his hairy man batter bag flops out saying hi to me. Picture a nut sack framed by dark grey sweat pants material just there and daring you not to stare at it in horror. After a seeming eternity he stands back up, faces me, wheezes, leans against the counter to catch his breath and hands me a wadded up moist $20 bill. In case you were thinking why was the floor wet it wasn't. After presenting me his nuts he hands me a bill soaked with his junk sweat. Completely demoralized I hand him his change and he leaves. Hysterical laughter explodes from behind the wall and I begin to cry on the inside. This is when my hatred for sweatpants was birthed.