And never stop.
On occasion I used to work in the cigarette kiosk at a supermarket. I was pretty good at it, all told, bar a few nasty experiences. Three come to mind, specifically, but I'm only going to talk about one of them today.
I was serving three women(early 20s - I'd say "girls" but that seems misogynistic) one evening. It was a friday, and they were loading up on fags(cigarettes, for the American audience) for a night out. They were hot stuff(although I'd never in a million years do the sex with them - smoker rule) and knew it, wearing the self-satisfied I'm-attractive-and-having-fun-you're-ugly-and-working-at-Somerfield smile that I'd seen so many other chicks(and I don't say 'chicks') wear.
James Hewitson brushed past me to re-fill the drinks. I used to think that I was hilarious at work(nope) and would often try various fake-mean jokes to make people laugh. This night, I decided to go with "Don't touch me!", aimed at the self-same stock monkey that had done just that a few seconds ago.
I wasn't too confident with it, though, or couldn't be arsed with joking around. I'm not sure, but for some reason I muttered, instead of spoke. Kept my head down, instead of turning and addressing James directly. And as I scanned a pack of Marlboro's for the red-head in front of me, all she heard was "... touch me..."
Her eyes went wide. She turned to the two girls she was with. They hadn't heard it, so she kept quiet - not wanting to make a scene, I guess. They left, and it took me a few minutes of pondering the sudden look of fear on her face before I realised - and my face burned scarlet.
She was a regular customer, and often came in with her boyfriend. I don't think she told him about it, because he never had a problem buying things at my till, though she would always find an excuse to wander off- not wanting to spend any time near the sex-predator, I guess.
I couldn't think of a way to explain things - anything I could say would just make things more creepy, probably. Eventually, it had gone so long that saying something would make it even more weird. She even came in on my last day at the market, and I contemplated speaking to her, straightening the whole thing out - but I couldn't do it. Too chicken.
The only thing I can console myself with is that I was only young, and it was just an innocent mistake. Well, that and the fact that there's gotta be at least a good 45 second story for the stand-up set in there.