Thanks FPH.  You guys made me shitlord a customer by accident. So I'm crouched down, putting away stock.  All is well.  Outside, the sun is shining.  Inside, the same flaccid rock song comes on the radio for the 12th time.  And I only have a few hours to go, before my shift is over. Suddenly, all of the lights go out.  At least, I think they do, until I realise that something gargantuan, nay, mammoth-like has managed to eclipse all of the store lights in the vicinity, and I am trapped in its shadow.  Well, probably its FUPA's shadow, but I'd rather not think about that. It waits a few seconds to catch its breath, then manages to spit out (literally.  I felt a few drops on the back of my shirt.  Priority one, at that point, was getting to the employee bathroom as quick as possible, getting a new work shirt, throwing my old one in the garbage, and setting it on fire.) "Where are your tarps?" Now, at this moment, I'm thinking back to some FPH posts that made me giggle, and I am remembering the one posted yesterday, by a shitlady "modeling" a 4xl shirt, and, well, I respond with "Sorry ma'am, but our tops only go up to a 1XL" Realizing what I said, I am about to get up, and turn around so I can try to bullshit my way out of this when the beast oozes out "What? Is English not your first language or something? ...I said tarps.  TARPS! You know? Tarps.  Those big things you use to cover shit with."  ...I want to say "so, we are talking about the same thing", but decide not to push my luck, and go right into Bullshit Customer Servicetm mode. "Oh! I apologize for misunderstanding you ma'am.  In my native language, a tarp is, indeed, an article of clothing.  It's sort of a combo poncho and sarong." I say, whilst grinning the biggest shit eating, customer service grin I can muster.  The FUPAr Eclipse seems to doubt me at first, but eventually, my customer service grin wins her over, and she asks "and what language is that?" I keep smiling my smile, and, just to see how far I can take this charade, I say "It's Hindi, ma'am". Just for clarification, I am the whitest motherfucker you'll ever see, and while English actually isn't my first language, you would never know it, since I came to this country as a child, and never developed an accent.  If anything, I speak my native tongue with a bit of an accent.  I am literally whiter than mayo.  It's ok tho, 'cause I'm low fat. Surprisingly, planet FUPAter seems satisfied with this explanation.  I tell her where the tarps are (hopefully, she needed to cover something smaller than her, 'cause we don't sell tarps that big), and go back to slinging the last of the kitty litter into the bottom baskets.  It takes a few seconds of waddling, but eventually, I am out of FUPAtron's event horizion, and on my way to change out of my beetus infested work shirt.  All is well again.  Outside, the sun is shining,  Inside, the same flaccid rock song comes on the radio for the 13th time.  And I only have a few hours to go, before my shift is over. I make a resolve to stop at the gym and pick some heavy things up and put them back down again.