After 2 Years Away...

So I've been promoted.

Should be a good thing, right?

Not so much.

The pay is better, and I don't have to do some of the regular chores.  That's always nice.  But I work directly with an incompetent person who, through a combination of well-placed ass-kissing and well-timed/well-hidden tantrums at lower staff, has managed to convince corporate that she deserves certain titles and accolades.  It takes a lot of work to do my own job, let alone hers.

If you're asking if this is you, it's probably you.

But for the most part, that's all coming from one douchenozzle of a person.  This person, we'll call her Eliza, spends all day chattering on the phones and openly admits to ignoring work, even going as far as throwing a screaming fit when forced to wait on a customer.
 

You had to help how many people today?  Poor baby.

 Then there's the customers themselves.  When people come to customer service, typically, they're already angry or just want some lotto.  Lotto is easy, and for the most part, I can solve the anger issues pretty quickly and smoothly as well.  I guess that's why I got the job.  But some things are out of my control.

Please understand that when I can't solve your problems, or give you a massive discount because you misread the sign, it's not because I hate you.  That's only a sidenote.  It's typically because I simply can't.  Don't like it?  Call corporate.  Or even my manager.  They'll side with me.

If you don't like the price of an item, I do care to hear your complaints.  It's what I'm here for.  But I cannot, no matter how hard you demand, walk over and mark it down myself.  If you tell me that another big chain *cough* Wal-Mart *cough* is cheaper, I'm going to suggest the best route there.

You have plenty of options!

On that note, don't hand me fake checks and/or fake money.  We are trained to spot this, and even if we weren't, we touch and see more bills every single day than you will see in your entire lifetime unless your last name is Hilton.  I know what's fake and what's real at a glance.  For some of the poorer examples I've come across, I could do it blindfolded based on how it feels.  Fake coupons suck too, and all three could cost me my job just because you don't want to pay full price for Febreeze.

Sweet, sweet Febreeze.

My new job entails bossing around and rearranging cashiers.  Some are slower than others, so if I tell you that a line with two people will be faster than the line with one, trust me on that.  I know how my people operate and I truly am trying to get rid of you as fast as possible.


For the record, I rotate the sucky job (I can think of one in particular).  We do this so as not to pick on anyone, despite speed.  

I try not to let it be me.  -.-;

If you ask me if something is in the back....probably not.  If I think there's a legitimate chance of it being there, I'll check for you 9 out of 10 times.  If I tell you there's nothing there and you insist, or if you ask rudely, I'm going to just go stand around and joke with the staff in the breakroom til I think you're done being an asshole.  We don't stock a lot of major things ourselves, so I can tell you immediately if we have them.

If I get a call for help while I already have 5 customers in line, I try to make time to get the person that called me too.  It might not be immediate, and will probably put the person in line on hold for two minutes.  Thus far, I have been fortunate with sweet people willing to wait a moment for their tickets.  These rare gems of people will forever have my gratitude and always receive a warm welcome when they come in.  Those that get angry that I'm not AT THE DESK ready to serve their demands when they first walk in the door get their patience tested.  I can make the wait much longer than it ever needs to be.

The new job is hard work, as it requires a lot of general tolerance and patience. 

MORAL OF THE STORY:  Treat me like a goddamn human being.  I might just respond in kind.

My Hair is Not a Toy.

One of my favorite horror stories actually involves my hair...

Usually at work, I wear a ponytail.  My hair is fairly long, and I actually move around so much that it gets too hot to leave it down for work. 

Leave it alone, asshole.

Doing some cleaning, a, ahem, gentleman comes into the store and starts talking to my manager near where I'm working.

He begins to pet my hair.

Right.

Wrong.

I freeze out of the weirdness of being touched by a stranger and the sheer awkwardness of the situation, hoping he'll stop fairly soon.

Of course he doesn't!  He keeps chatting with my boss, continuing to pet my hair as I try to move away from him.  My oh-so-wonderful manager found the situation to be endearing and slightly amusing, commenting on how nice my hair is while he keeps trying to touch me as I move out of reach.

His reach was almost as if he had Pixar-grade superpowers.

 

 

Snapping at the customer would have cost me my job, cause that's the kind of manager I had.  I just gave up on the task at hand and bailed after a minute and a half of avoiding this guy's reach.

MORAL OF THE STORY:  Don't pet my hair.  As a matter of fact, don't touch your cashiers at all.  Thank you.

Introduction

Hello, World.  This is your lowly cashier speaking.

I keep your world running and keep you in stock of your supplies, but I still get considered an intro/no-skills job.  I am the punching bag for problems I can't solve.  I am patient while you put your attention to your phone and hand me two dollars too little.

Am I disgruntled?  Perhaps slightly, but I believe that everyone has done their "time" in the awful job that is cashiering, unless they happen to be one of the lucky few that are rich enough to get by without.  Maybe it is a first job, maybe it became a career.  Either way, everyone can relate but no one seems to remember.

This is a blog dedicated to the horror stories of my job, and the hundreds of thousands of jobs just like mine.  I will not reveal the location of my workplace, because I like my job slightly more than being homeless.  Readers, feel free to comment with stories of your own.  It's nice to know we're not alone.