“Ya mon?”
“Hey man. I bought this shit here and I want my money back.”
“Sorry mon, we can’t return your money for dat.”
“But it doesn’t work.”
“I’m sorry mon but we are not responsible for dat. We just sell it.”
“But Jesus Christ look at me.”
“You look a little red mon. Like jerk chicken.”
“A little red? Holy shit. I’m burning. It feels like my ass is on fire. I’m redder than North Korea!”
“I think you look good, mon. Red suits you. Yeah mon.”
“Quit jerking with me Rasta man and none of this ‘Arie’ bullshit. I bought this sun lotion from your stand and now I’m ten sheds of red and I want my money back.”
“I’m sorry mon. No refunds on sun lotion.”
“Where’s the manager?”
“She’s under dat tree, mon. Do you want me to get her for you?”
“Yes. I want to speak with her.”
“No worries. Rita?”
“Ya baby?”
“This mon would like to speak with you.”
“Yes sir. How can I help you?”
“I bough this sun tan lotion this morning and look at me.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve got third degree burns. I want my money back. I spent enough on this stuff that I should be able to take a dump on the sun without so much as a blister on my ass!”
“I’m sorry sir. We don’t manufacture the lotion we just sell it so I can’t refund you your money. But sir, maybe even with sun block on you shouldn’t spend so long in the sun. Too much rum maybe?”
“Hey, listen. I paid three grand to be here and if I want to spend my day drinking in the sun then goddammit
it’s my business.”
“Ya mon. Perhaps you should buy a stronger sun screen with a higher UV rating. Please show me the bottle.”
“It’s this stuff.”
“Sir, this is not even sun block. It’s olive oil.”
“What?”
“Ya mon. It’s olive oil.”
“Yeah? Well, still. The bottle’s poorly marked.”
“But it says OLIVE OIL right here on the label.”
“Why are you giving me such a hard time. You’d never get away with this hustle back where I come from.”
“Where is that, mon?”
“Bangus County. I’m never coming back to this place again.”
“That’s a shame mon because you smell delicious"
Posts
