I know working retail sucks because
I've done it. They pay is lousy and goes up very, very slowly. Your
hours are at the mercy of the manager, who can make sure you get the
worst ones if you displease him, or just because he gave his
girlfriend the best shift plus the first shot at overtime. You're on
your feet all day. Customers are demanding and sometimes unpleasant.
Too often there's more work than all of you together could possibly
do, even if everybody worked hard--and there are always some who
coast. And corporate, those greedy bastards in their offices with
ergonomic desk chairs, demands that you greet every customer with
some perky store catchphrase. Ugh, just ugh.
So I get why store employees seem
exhausted, act they they could give a rat's ass about my shopping
experience, and are clearly just marking the hours until they can get
the hell out of there. (Which makes a store where they're not like
that all the more amazing.)
This is why, for most of my adult life,
I've tried hard to personalize every transaction. It doesn't take any
longer to ring up my stuff if I say, "How's your day going?"
then listen and respond to the answer. I keep it light and attempt to
be mildly funny, the general idea being that I'd like to be a
customer the employee doesn't mind, maybe even enjoys. Do it long
enough at the same store, and you get small bits of favoritism--they
take your word on the shelf price of an unmarked item, remember that
you like double bags, like that, nothing unfair to other shoppers.
Today my friendly question met with
silence. Everybody has bad days; who knows what else she's got going
on in her life? I would respect her preference for just doing her
job. The woman rang up my purchases, a total of five items. I handed
her my store membership card, which got me a discount on some of the
items, and three coupons. Two went through without a problem,
reducing my total. The third did not.
"It says you didn't buy the
product."
"I did, though." I dug into
the bag and pulled it out.
"Oh, right." She reread the
coupon. "That qualifies."
"Can you override the computer
saying I didn't buy it, then?"
She didn't answer, just punched
buttons. After what seemed like several minutes but was probably less
than three, it turned out she could not. "I have to get the
manager, I guess."
"Okay." I shrugged my
helplessness to the short line behind me.
"Where's Steve?" she called
to the cashier closest to her.
"Lunch, I think. He's late."
"Figures." To me, she said,
"It's only three dollars."
It was hard not to snap at her. I had a
coupon that applied to the product I bought. Why should I have to
wait for Steve the Manager, and inconvenience other shoppers, because
she either didn't know how to override the computer based on what
she'd seen with her own eyes, or because she didn't have the
authority to do that?
Just then Steve arrived--laughing his
apology for being late again!--and he did the override without
any trouble, deducting the three dollars. In a dead voice, the
employee thanked me for shopping there.
But Steve and the greedy bastards at
corporate should know that because they either did not adequately
train or did not trust their employee, I'll think twice about
shopping there again.
It was only three dollars, but those
were my three dollars. I wish she'd pretended that mattered.
