So, I've been reading notalwaysright.com lately, and remembering how I once imagined writing down all my cashier experiences for posterity. I really don't want to forget all the hilarious, horrible, and wonderful things that happened to me. Here's a rundown of some of my "favorite" experiences.
When I was working in the electronics department, this woman came up to me and asked me if I could help her find a certain type of battery. She held up a AA battery and asked me if we had any "Ay-Ay minus 2010" batteries. I thought maybe she was joking, only she looked like such a normal baby boomer type woman. She was looking at the expiration date and the polarity and assumed that was part of the type of battery! I decided that I would explain a little about batteries to her, because I guess we all have to learn sometime. I walked her over to the batteries and showed her the four and eight packs, and she was so confused. She was so certain that she needed a AA2010, but the only number she could see was the 4 and the 8; she couldn't see the date on any of the batteries we had. I finally convinced her it didn't matter. She also told me that it came from her electric beater and she wasn't sure how to put the batteries back inside. I explained to her how most electronics have a little diagram showing which direction to put them in. She eventually left with some batteries after thanking me for taking the time to explain it to her. She was nice, but skeptical the whole time I talked to her. I told her we all have to learn sometime.
While I was working at the electronics department, I didn't really know everything that was going on there, because it was widely known that I wasn't going to be working there for more than a few months, and I never worked there more than 20 hours a week, usually less. Everything I learned was sort of on the fly. I of course asked a lot of questions and tried to learn as much as I could, but not being a big techy, I got asked a lot of questions I didn't know the answer to. My uncertainty was more a problem than my lack of knowledge. It always has been. That problem was compounded by the fact that the customers treated electronics customers like a virtual database of all things that run on electricity. In many ways it was nicer to work in electronics because the customers treated us with some respect because they assumed we knew something they didn't. People were often frustrated with me, and complained to my manager (who was awesome about it--really a nice guy who just wanted his employees to be happy and productive) a lot. But the worst was when people would ask me if they could talk to a male employee when they felt their needs weren't being met. Sometimes I really didn't know the answer, in which case it makes sense that they would ask if anyone else knew they answer, but the fact that they would say OUT LOUD that they wanted to talk to a male is just horrifying. How could anyone think that it's okay to say such a misogynist thing out loud to another human being? Even if men traditionally or statistically know more about electronics than women, shouldn't the question be "is there someone else who knows?" instead of "can I talk to one of the guys?" Not even "ask" one of the guys. They didn't even want to talk to me. I even had one woman (yes, even women did this) who wanted to know if we had a video in stock. When I told her we didn't, she asked to talk to a guy. What on earth would a guy know about our inventory that I didn't find on the computer? One time towards the end of my time there, when I was increasingly unwilling to grin and bear it when customers were horrible, a woman on the phone asked if she could talk to a boy, and I called her on it.
"Why do you need to talk to a boy? What can they tell you that I can't?"
She just stuttered at me. I eventually transferred her to my manager, who is male.
Not everybody was horrible. There was a homeless man who used to come in to the store pretty regularly and mostly just return bottles for money, sometimes buying a bit of food or something. He was always nice, although odd. One day while I was cashiering in the home department he came through my line with more things than he usually got, and less practical: I believe he had some beer and cookies. He explained to me that it was his birthday so he was buying himself a treat. I wished him a happy birthday and rang him up. He pulled out a little plastic bag full of coins and counted them out carefully. Then, when I gave him his receipt, he pushed the little bag with the rest of his coins toward me.
"Here's a tip for your service," he said. "You're a good girl."
I was stunned.
"Thank you, but I can't accept that."
But he insisted I take it, saying he appreciated me. So I did, with another "thank you." When he left, I wasn't sure what to do with it. I looked down at the little bag, with maybe $5.00 in it. The beer and cookies had been worth less than that. It was probably literally all the money he had, and he wanted to give it to me, on his birthday, because he appreciated me. I felt a little like crying as I finally dropped the money into the little box at the end of the checkstand that collects change people leave for a local kids' charity. It just didn't seem like that five dollars in change would mean as much to anyone else that got it as it did to me.
I still think about him sometimes when I feel overwhelmed by all the evil in the world. Even Fred Meyer had its good moments.
No comments:
Post a Comment