More Tales of Pathetica

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There's a Store Man checking at his till
He'd like to ring your purchase
But he likely never will
There's a Store Man, customers complain
He's told them off, you know it
Cause he thinks they are insane

Quantum Of So What

From now on, I refer to a non-sucky customer as RC, or "regular customer". This will not save a lot of time as I am likely to have to mention this a lot, if only to remind me.

RC: Are you open?
Me:

Oh, that's right, I will refer to myself as "Me", or "Middle-aged Entity". I will not mention this again. In fact, I didn't mention it here either.

Me: Maybe.
RC: Eh?
Me: This is Schrödinger's Register. We may or may not be open.
RC: OK. (hands over Patheticard and Me starts checking anyway)
Me: (holding a box of Frosted Flakes) Oh, I guess the cat isn't dead.

Oh, The Scans You'll Do!

Me: Do you have your Patheticard?
SC: No.
Me: OK, my bagger A. will scan the store card. (She leaves.)
SC: I don't want to wait...
Me: Well, it's $1.19, and you should save ten cents.
SC: No, don't bother.
Me: OK, but she's already gone off with the scanner, and by the time you pay it'll be cheaper.
SC: Don't do it, I'll just pay $1.19.
Me: It's $1.08 now.
SC: Damn it.

It's The Time Of Some Other Season For Loving

We have signs on our register number lights that say "Get Hopping!" and "Get Festive!"

Yup, we still have store signs up that are advertising the start of spring. We can't actually sell the season, just its products (and not even that anymore, as it's late summer now), so these signs are useless (and even more so today).

Good News Everybody!

The store caught a shoplifter today!

I had noticed this guy with what looked like a cellphone walking around and in front of my register a few times. I guess he's the new security guy-- though I didn't know we had one again!

Suddenly, a woman comes out of left field* and takes a cart with a couple of our Patheticlothbags (which I assumed must have been hers) filled with stuff, and as she starts turning the cart around the garbage can to align with the exit corridor, the security guy intercepts her and starts telling her what to do:

"No, you're going to the back room. We have to talk with you. It's about the stuff you didn't pay for," etc. etc.

Astoundingly, she is very quiet and polite and complies with everything the man is telling her, and she follows him, cart and all, down the front aisle and into the back room.

Never to be seen again.

Seriously. No police showed up, and she was not seen leaving the place (which she only could have done at the front). She must have still been there when I got off work, some five hours later.

But man, was she polite! If that's a shoplifter, I'd rather we had a store full of them and we did systematic bag checks.

*For UK readers, I'm sure they also have fields on the left.

The Terror Of Dihydrogen Monoxide

Suddenly I went to ring up an Ice Mountain 24-pack and it came back "RECALLED ITEM - NOT FOR SALE".

How the bloody hell do you recall WATER? Unless it was tainted or something.

I called to verify this was really the case, but the man in charge of this sort of thing had no idea what I was talking about.

They spent a couple of hours trying to find out from corporate what was going on.

On the way back from my second break, I passed the Ice Mountain display. It was still up and people were still loading their carts with them.

Lots of rumors abounded as to the cause of this mess, but they still hadn't figured it out. Meanwhile, there were some ten cases of the stuff clogging the unused registers.

By the end of my shift, B. Desk had had enough and she ordered the cases removed-- but where? They would just find their way back here eventually if they were put back on display.

I bet I don't find out what the problem was, either-- Wednesday I'll come to work and everything is fine. And the last day of the sale too.

The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From The Cart

Three small kids playing around the 2 motorized carts and 1 wheelchair. They were told off by the SCO woman F., "Don't play around there", but were plainly ignoring her as she told them three times.

Then I spoke up and said, "If you want to ride the handicapped carts, we have to break your legs."

I always say that. It usually gets the kids to stop.

Not this time! They continue playing in the carts, although they're not doing any damage.

Then about five minutes later, their mother shows up...

...in her motorized cart.

Oh.

Actually, I recognized her; she's a great customer and I ring her up all the time. I didn't recognize her kids though.

Now she is yelling at them to get away from the carts, even though they don't really seem to be causing that much trouble to deserve that volume of bellow.

Then she issues one final warning, and screeches out of the store at about 20 MPH. (Our carts are lucky if they can do 5 MPH.)

I guess the kids were emulating mom. No wonder!

[AccountingDrone]

[i]
Then she issues one final warning, and screeches out of the store at about 20 MPH. (Our carts are lucky if they can do 5 MPH.)
!

Bounder makes a power chair that will do 11 MPH. Did I ever mention I really want one of them [they run around $8000. I haven't paid that much for most of the cars I have purchased ]

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Worst Week Ever, Part One

Strange Tales Scribbled On A Uniform

Monday the uniforms came in, much to my surprise since it wasn't supposed to start until the 25th, the signs on the walls said the 12th, and I had predicted it would be delayed like the new registers were.

Last time the uniforms changed, I asked if I had to wear the vest, and was told it was optional. I've been very happy not wearing it, even though I looked like a bagger the whole time.

Now, however, I had been told the vest was mandatory, along with a long-sleeved white shirt (which we have to provide).

Instead of 2 shirts and 2 vests, they gave me... 3 shirts and 1 vest.

Why is this important? Because that means I have to wear the vest the whole damn week, because I'm not going to use a washer and dryer for only 2 articles of clothing. Also, washing by hand is out, since it still needs more than 12 hours to dry.

Which means it's going to have to be left at work except on Fridays, and it'll be very dirty.

And they required us to bring in the old work shirts, but to cut the buttons off of them first. Eh? What? If this is a recycling deal, why can't they recycle the buttons? I mean, the new shirts (which are nicer polyester) use the same buttons.

Maybe the old cotton shirts had plutonium threads and they have to dispose of them safely.

So, today I turn in the shirts and ask B. Desk the burning question, namely "When do we have to start wearing the longsleeve shirts? After all, it's hot in here even with the AC on."

B: What longsleeve shirts?
Me: (pulls it out of the other bag) This white one.
B: You're not supposed to wear a white one.
Me: Eh?
B: It's not required. When it gets cold, you can wear a longsleeve shirt underneath, but it has to be black, not white.
Me: Oh. Thank you.

I turn to walk away, and suddenly realize I've been made to look like a fool in front of a bunch of people in line behind me.

I swear by all that is full of holes, that I was told we needed a WHITE longsleeve shirt.

Upstairs in the break room before I change, I see the large sign (with pictures) shows two people with white longsleeve shirts on... but they're managers.

I think they changed signs at the last minute; there was a smaller one about two weeks ago with different pictures.

It was weird wearing the black vest. I kept thinking my lower body was missing. And I kept seeing orange stickers on the vest where none lay.

Some co-workers were saying their departments were not supposed to have the uniforms yet, and in fact were told to not give them out until further notice. This despite the fact that at least 3 departments had already started giving them out.

Anyway, the shirt being cooler polyester, I didn't feel hotter with the vest on, and I don't really mind the shift in routine. Perhaps I felt subconsciously I needed something to rant about.

Or maybe it's the plutonium.

[wolfie]

Strange Tales Scribbled On A UniformAnd they required us to bring in the old work shirts, but to cut the buttons off of them first. Eh? What? If this is a recycling deal, why can't they recycle the buttons? I mean, the new shirts (which are nicer polyester) use the same buttons.

Maybe the old cotton shirts had plutonium threads and they have to dispose of them safely.

Or maybe they're selling the old shirts to a company that recycles them into rags (cotton makes the best rags), and they can get a better price if the buttons are removed first. Occam's razor at work - if the boss can get more money by having the peons do more work, it'll be mandated.

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Worst Week Ever, Part Two

Ambush!

Thursday I waltz into hellhole as usual and things seem right as rain, little knowing the torrential downpour that is my certain doom about to descend onto me.

The only clue I had that things were not going to be completely all right was the fact that I only had ten hours inbetween two six-hour shifts to get home, sleep, eat and return to work. The law says we're entitled to eight, but anything less than twelve and I usually miss sleep.

I can live with that anyway. I'm used to work on little or even no sleep.

"Go ahead and take #4," said L. Desk*. I got the bags-- oh, they're the last ones, how nice-- set them up** and clean the counter preparatory to a regular shift.

But within five minutes, I was asked to relieve the self-checkout attendant for a break. OK, fine-- but why not tell me five minutes ago?

SCO register 95 had a strange problem I've never seen before-- the screen wasn't refreshing the background, so whenever it drew buttons on the screen, everything else was still there. Very annoying because buttons you could no longer press remained, and it was hard to tell which menu page you were on.

Oh, and they were low on bags on two registers. (Why don't the regular attendants fill the bag holders? I always have to do it or else people complain.) I suddenly remember we're out, but surely by now someone in authority knows we need them and has sent a bagger.

But just to make sure, I go in there and-- yup-- no more bags.*** I tell Specs Desk (I honestly forgot what I've been calling her, and right now I'm so angry I've forgotten her name) and she sends a bagger.

No, wait. What she really does is tell a bagger to give me his bags. Which is stupid. I mean, hasn't he already earmarked them for some other use? Even if SCO has priority, I wasn't demanding MORE BAGS NOW, I only mentioned we were out of bags.

Anyway, the mischief ends and the other guy gets back from his break, so, back to R4 and certain doom.

No sooner have I been back for five minutes, then some girl (You can tell I'm bad at names, right? She's the one who always has some song going on in her head that she asks me if I know the title. Usually I-- no, wait, that wasn't her, this is some new hire I don't know much about at all. (Not only am I bad at names today, but I can't even get the wrong names right.)) tells me, "You need to go to One, I'm relieving you."

Me: What? I just got back here! Oh all right. *finishes up customer*

Then, just as I'm running a check through the printer, the phone rings.(4)

Phone: Close up now.
Me: Um, (forgot her name) is here and--
Phone: CLICK.
Me: (to her) Well, you're out of luck, they want me to close instead and go on one.
She: (All right, SHE and not "her"): No, I said you need to go to Juan. He's at the desk.

I arrive at the desk, L. Desk says, "He's behind the door, you need to talk with him." I go behind the door, and Juan is there. One of our competent managers, or at least I thought so until Thursday.

"You had a WIC missing for $46.17, so this is a verbal warning."

Me: Eh? What?
Him: This happened Wednesday. You really need to take better care of your register, bla bla bla.
Me: Um, I put all the WICs in the correct place under the drawer.
Him: Well, it happened on your shift, so you are responsible.
Me: Wait a minute. I left my shift with all the WICs in the correct place; if one is missing, someone else must have taken it.
Him: But it was your drawer, and therefore, you are b--
Me: No. It was not only MY drawer. I was relieved for a break, and someone else relieved me at the end of my shift.
Him: Yes, but the WIC was tended during your shift.
Me: How can you possibly know it was me then? All that proves is that I tended the WIC.

I look at the "verbal warning" which is a piece of paper. Yes, it's a write-up, and I cannot stand them lying about the very nature of the corrective action. If they can't even get that right, what hope do they have of being correct in their correction?

What's more annoying about it, is that it says "IMPROPER CHECKING PROCEDURE, NEGLECT" and that "THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE".(5)

Usually, when someone accuses me of doing something "unacceptable", then THEY are the ones who are justifying doing something that is unacceptable to me. And here it is.

Me: So you're saying that I, who did everything correctly, should have stayed after my shift to MAKE SURE the WIC never left the drawer?(6)
Him: Um, I'm not saying anything of the sort. You know, you don't have to sign that if you don't want to.
Me: I'm not going to accept an accusation of being neglectful. I tended the WIC and it did not leave the drawer during my shift.

So Juan got another, Mrs. Palmer Desk to act as notary witness to indicate I refused to sign. I told her exactly what this was about. She shrugged her shoulders and signed it. Obviously she wasn't interested in dirtying her hands over this perceived injustice.

Me: I mean, did everyone on that drawer yesterday get this "verbal warning"?
Him: I'm not allowed to comment on other coworkers. Confidentiality agreement.
Me: I understand.

So, back to fucking hellhole #4. I am peeved. I will clear my name somehow.(7) Mostly, I am fuming and about to blow. Calmly, I slow burn my way through the numerous customers in a manner that would have made Edgar Kennedy proud.

*"How are you gentleman!"
**"Somebody set up us the bags!"
***"All your bags are belong to us."
(4)"We get signal."
(5)"You have no chance to survive make your time."
(6)"Take off every WIC."
(7)"For great justice."

Inspiration and Vindication

Suddenly I had an idea! What if the WIC had gotten trapped behind the drawer?

My mind raced to an episode of Are You Being Served?, in which one of the employees was going to be let go because the drawer was under by £150, but the custodian Mr. Harmon looked and found "a whole bunch of bills stuck in the back".

Could this be the problem? Could management be THAT lazy and stupid? And do I have any more rhetorical questions?

Also, I forgot which register I was on Wednesday.

So I look in the back of R4* and sure enough, there's $1.00 and no "Where's George" or anything. My spirits lift a little bit. It only goes to show that I was right when we installed the new registers, that they were liable to eat stuff.

Maybe I was on R3 yesterday, in which case I should wait until there's no customers (a shift until midnight will provide that handily) and open it... but wait a minute, there's a blank screen on 3! How am I supposed to get it to open? The CrapgistersTM no longer have key locks, so the only way to open it is through the keyboard while signed on.

Ugh. But maybe, just maybe R3 was down Wednesday. One can only hope.

I look at R1 and there's that bearded guy running it. He seems to be a new hire, although I had heard he came from a different department (even though I've never seen him before last month). I start wondering if he took the WIC when he relieved me at end of shift Wednesday. But then, what would he have done with it?

Finally my salvation arrives. I am told to close and relieve Beardo at 11:00. As soon as I do, I rip open the drawer, pulling it out of the socket and nearly losing $12.79 in coins, and lo! and behold-- there's something lodged in there but I can't make out what it is.

We all know what it is though.

I reach in there and carefully pull it out-- it had gotten stuck and might have ripped-- and as my "notary" was doing something by the overstock carts, I yell in her direction, "Well, looky here! Whatever did I find?"

She didn't even lift her head from her monotonous task at hand.

I had to wait until a customer lull (again, late nights are great for that sometimes) when I plopped the WIC right in front of her and said, "So, can I have my write-up rescinded?"

She said she would leave a note for BossholeTM to rectify this.

I felt elated and pleased. A phrase from the first Pathetica thread sprung unbidden to mind-- "Rejoice at the death of your enemies!" But this wasn't anyone's fault, not even Sam Andreas's. I was a little perturbed that everyone whom I could have made apologize had gone home.

But in my sugary unipolarity, something bad happened. I forgot there was one more day left to the week.

TO BE CONTINUED

*He's Obi-Wan's red robot, right?

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Worst Week Ever, Part Three

Victimtorious

No sooner had I not gotten enough sleep and gone in for Friday's "shift" (the F is silent), than I was told I would be on my own drawer.

OK...

R5 this time. Probably for the best I was far away from the desk, just in case I should get angry about yesterday's treatment of me.

Bruce Desk (he's got a small scraggly beard, not luxurious like Beardo) led me to the register, which meant I couldn't sidetrack and get bags. It turned out to be OK, though, since there were some.

At the register, he started counting the coins in the dispenser, which really unnerved me. He asked me to verify the slip in the drawer matched all the money amounts in the slots, which they did, but he came to $140+ for the coins when it said $67+ on the slip. He got a bit angry, but when he got back to the desk he called me and said he made a mistake.

I haven't had to count the money in my drawer in something like 15 years. It was a mainstay of my routine in White Hen Pantry, where it usually kept me at work 15 minutes past closing, and the first few years at Pathetica. But never before did I have to count at the beginning! (Of course, that actually makes sense to do, but the old regime of long ago had a very confusing way of doing everything.)

After a slightly uneventful start, I was called by Bosshole.
BH: There's a reason you're on your own drawer today.
Me: (I'm sure you will tell me what it is, and I won't like it.)
BH: Yesterday you were on your own drawer, and it was $100 short.
Me: Eh? What?
BH: I'm not saying you're responsible, but...
Me: But I wasn't on my own drawer, I relieved Beardo.
BH: No, the other one. That's why we told you to close instead of letting (still don't remember her name) relieve you.
Me: B-but I--! I mean, I didn't count the drawer down or anything. I just closed when I went to relieve Beardo, and Mrs. Palmer Desk took it in. (She's the one whom I confronted with the WIC.)

Now my anger has returned twofold. I don't see myself getting a chance to go to R4 and check it for missing $100s. And now I must be extra careful. I have to let my no-nonsense persona take charge and do things more slowly.

Another phone call. They tell me that since I'm on my own drawer, I must close to go on break without relief, which means a longer wait and I cannot expect help from them. So if there's a long line, I have to handle the people. And if there's one thing I don't like, it's telling someone in line that I'm closed. But I can't prevent them getting in line before I can tell them!

They also tell me I have to close down 15 minutes before the shift ends to count down the drawer. (So they're serious about this!)

They also tell me that "there were about three other things" besides the $100 and the missing WIC.
Me: The WIC doesn't count.
Desk: Even though we found the WIC, we--
Me: What do you mean, WE found it?
Desk: Even though you found it, we still have the other incidents.
Me: You mean the ones I was never told about?
Desk: They still happened, and we have to keep you on your own drawer for a month.

I am pissed off now. 1. If I wasn't told about them, how can they suddenly be important now? Docs or it didn't happen. And 2. If the WIC (or the $100) was the last straw, surely the WIC being removed from the list because it was found should nullify the whole process.

The ringing up continues. Every customer makes my mood decline. Every single one of the orders seemed to have something bad happen-- from a long price check to a Link card not going through to the SC not having a Patheticard and therefore not getting the soda savings.

Right before I go on break, P. tells me, "If you hear a noise later, it's just the fire alarm going off. Don't pay attention to it, we're just testing it."

Brain Dispepsia

The break was uneventful, but it went by like lightning while I tried to rest after over 4 hours of work. I tried desperately to write notes for my next PC game (I had released my last one over the previous weekend, and needed to get away from the hideous prospects of a pleasant work experience), but it was still mostly gibberish at this point.

It was still crowded (Friday always is) when I got back, and the relentless pressures of the job actually increased. It's actually a good thing that I don't remember every single sucky instance of teh ebil, because it means my mind is healing, shutting out some of the worse experiences.

But it continued being hectic and painful.

The WORST Sucky Customer Of All Time!

I start ringing her up-- short, blue-haired lady of late middle age and apparent nice temperament.

Almost at the same time, she says "Oh, and this is a delivery", the bagger leaves for another register, and I run out of places to put something fragile. (WHY put all your fragile stuff first??? And now I can't even bag that shit because I'm out of paper bags!)

I have to stop the order and a) fill out the delivery slip, and b) go find some paper bags, which makes her quiz me upon my return:

SC: Where were you?
Me: I was just--
SC: I need to know the price on XXX.
Me: OK, I'll just look and--
SC: And I need to know if the price on YYY is--
Me: (If you tell me about YYY, at this stage I'm liable to forget about XXX. I ignore her and look up XXX.) It's three dollars and n-
SC: I don't care about that now. Tell me about YYY.
Me: It's in a can. Allow me to look it up.
SC: Do it now! (not yelling though)
Me: OK, the can is--
SC: There's a coupon on (item).
Me: (looks) Yes, there is.
SC: Are you going to scan it?
Me: Maybe. I'll get to it at the end of the order.
SC: Oh, and here's some bags for the delivery.

Um, what? Those deluxe bags (from some other store, too) aren't needed, or even wanted. The delivery guys insist on double-paper-bagging. They also insist on NO ICE CREAM, but I see the SC has a couple of cold (not frozen) items. Shouldn't be too tou--

SC: Now, if you run out of my bags, you can put a paper in plastic for the rest.
Me: Um, no, the delivery guys won't t--
SC: I have a bunch of frozen items...
Me: (No, you don't, they're just refrigerated, and will last the hour or so until the delivery.)
SC: ...and you can put the cart in the cooler.
Me: Um...
SC: They do this all the time.
Me: (Except I have been told, in no uncertain terms, to NOT allow this. Co-workers are tripping over these carts with regularity and can't get their work done.)
Me: Well, I'll tell my bagger, when I get one, to put the cart in, but whether she does or not is--
SC: She better.

Now the piles are getting pretty high in the outbox. I have to bag something. I can't even find her bags, so I assemble a double paper bag and start shoveling things in, with an eye towards clearing enough space to find her "special" bags.

SC: Oh, bags. Now, did you get the plastic bags?
Me: I have paper bags, for when--
SC: No, you must provide plastic bags.
Me: The delivery guy won't allo--
SC: Because paper isn't good enough. I need handles.
Me: Oh, you mean the bags like yours? I'll get some. How many do you think we'll need?
SC: Beats me. You're supposed to just get some and use them when we run out of *MY* bags.
Me: Yeah, but they cost money and--
SC: Oh, all right, THREE of them. (Somehow she used boldface and all caps still without yelling. How does she do that?)

As I go to get the bags, I notice she is just standing there with an unfilled out delivery slip. Way to not tell me where you live.

I come back with three bags similar to hers (except they're red) and proceed to ring them up, but SC interrupts (what else?):
SC: Those aren't the bags, you idiot.
Me: They're as close to yours as I--
SC: No, I want the plastic ones with handles.
Me: OK, I'll just take these off and--
SC: Get me the bags now!
Me: Please let me take the other ones off first, otherwise I'll forget.
SC: NOW! (Still not yelling.)

Fortunately I got the other bags off the order, since it's easier to take items off an order with the new system. About the only good thing about it.

Now SC seems to be talking to someone else, even though nobody is making eye contact, and I'm going to the bagroom to get the white plastic bags with handles.

I bring back three bags, and proceed to ring them up.

SC: Now, are you going to take my groceries out of the double paper bag and put them in there?
Me: No, I think I'll ring up some more.
SC: Just remember I've got a coupon for the--
Me: Yes, I remember.

Not once does she complain about my not having a bagger, or about how "lousy" my service has been. If only she would complain, I could feel more comfortable about her presence! As it is, I don't know what she's going to say next out of her random mouth.

Eventually I run out of room again, and must proceed to the next bag. I start to put the paper bag in the grocery bag, and she starts on me. I expect she's going to complain about that, somehow, but instead I get:
SC: You should put the double bag in plastic.
Me: (exasperated) OK. (I throw everything down, grab the double bag and stuff it violently into the plastic bag.
SC: No, I meant just take it and put it in the grocery bag.
Me: It's a double bag, it won't fit.

I take the bag's contents and start loading them into the assembled grocery bag. I shut her blabbing out of my mind so I can accomplish this. I notice she is still standing right in front of the unfinished delivery slip. Oh, if I could only give her the slip.

Now I have to start on another bag since I'm still out of room, and fortunately I've found one of her bags, which gets paper stuffed right into it.

SC: You should only use MY bags until you're out of room, THEN switch to the new ones.
Me: I will.
SC: But you--
Me: You told me to do it.
SC: Look, I bought 3 bags, and I don't want to use them unless I have to! Usually when I get a delivery, the delivery man takes me for a ride, but I don't want that this time, so make sure you mark on ALL the bags where they're going.
Me: (under my breath) Oh, how I wish I could take you for a ride.
Me: I'll mark on the bags, don't worry.
SC: How long before the delivery man gets here?
Me: Probably--
SC: Oh, and don't forget my coupon. And is this coffee $X.XX? It says it in the paper.
Me: (looks in the paper) Oh, it says "selected varieties". And it's from 25-32 oz., but you have the 23 oz. one.
SC: Yes, but it's in the paper. (starts staring at me)
Me: I'll call. (picks up phone) Grocery please call 305.
SC: Oh never mind, get back to finishing the order.
Me: (phone again) Cancel. (to her) Do you want me to take these off?
SC: No, I'll get them. It's just that I want them at $X.XX.
Me: Well, if you'd let me do the price check you might.
SC: No, I have to be somewhere.

What? You don't mind taking the time to do your micro-managing...!

Finally the last item. Now I will tally the subtotal so I can calculate the delivery charge (I forgot what it came to), and just as I'm about to put it on the slip, SHE has grabbed the slip and started writing-- very slowly-- on it.

Thanks. Thank you very much for waiting until the last possible moment to start writing your name and address. I sincerely hope you were trying to remember it the entire time.

SC: (while writing) Now, you will remember to put everything in the cooler, right?
Me: I have Total Recall on DVD.
SC: (confused) As long as you remember, that's all.
Me: (gets the slip and adds the amounts in) Your total comes to $XXX.XX.
SC: Is that with the coupon?
Me: Yes.
SC: I just want to know, is that with the coupon???
Me: Yes.

Then she proceeds to take out a check--! Let me guess the speed at which she will write the amounts on it.

But no, she just signs it and has us process the check. That's one small sucky for a man, one giant (Bleep) for mankind.

SC: I want it for $30 over.
Me: OK. (puts it in the printer)
SC: While we're waiting, how about bagging my order?
Me: I'll get to that.
SC: I mean, if you've got nothing else to do but stand around waiting, you can bag my order.
Me: (getting angry) I have to look at the screen to see if-- Oh, all right.

I get as far as putting the paper bag in the grocery bag and pick up 1 item, when it stops.

Me: (I see the check was declined by the third party check acceptor) It seems to have been declined.
SC: Try it again, but just for $25 over.
Me: That won't work. If they don't accept it because it's over the amount, you can't get any cash back.
SC: Just do it!
Me: (puts it through)
SC: Now bag.
Me: Not much is going to get done this w-- (sees the check has gone through somehow) Huh.
SC: SEE? I told you!!
Me: That shouldn't have happened, unless it didn't read the check numbers right the first time.
SC: While you're telling me, how about bagging my order?
Me: You don't have to worry, I'll bag your order and we'll get the delivery guy to take it. (hands over the receipt) Have a good day.
SC: (still standing there)
Me: You're done now. What, you're going to micro-manage me after the order? I thought you were in a hurry.
SC: I have to make sure you bag my order the way I want it. The delivery man once broke my order because he was lifting a bunch of double bags and dropped one.
Me: OK, so you mean you don't want ANY double paper bags?
SC: Yes.
Me: (bagging, trying not to notice her STARING at me) That means we'll need another grocery bag.
SC: I TOLD you to get as many as you would need!!! (Still not yelling despite 3 exclamation marks)
Me: Um, no, you told me to get three.
SC: Well, just get another one.

I go to get another one. This is ludicrous (except it's not at ludicrous speed). I get back and make to ring it up.

Me: That'll be 42 cents.
SC: (seems to be complaining to ghosts)
Me: Hello? The extra bag will cost 42 cents.
SC: Are you going to actually bag my order?
Me: I need the 42 cents.
SC: Why won't you bag my order?
Me: I'm busy seething.
SC: But I--
Me: You. Money. Now.
SC: (hands over a dollar)
Me: Thank you. Now back to bagging. Starring John Wayne.

The rest of the random monster encounter was like that, with her staring right through me as I averted my eyes and said "Please stop staring while I'm trying to do my job", finishing filling the bags. Then:
SC: Now, are you going to write the name on the bags?
Me: Oh, I wanted to ask you. Do you want me to write your name and address on your deluxe bags? Because they--
SC: NO! Just write the name! He knows who I am.
Me: How do you know which one's delivering?
SC: It's always the same one.
Me: Regardless, I am told I must put the name and address on each bag.

As I do so (fortunately she didn't protest any further), she is busy looking around trying to find a bagger.
Me: I don't need a bagger, I'm almost done.
SC: The bagger needs to put this in the cooler. I KNEW you'd forget.
Me: I didn't forget, but I was going to tell the desk to--
SC: (spies a bagger) Here, you look like a bagger.
A.: What's all this going on?
Me: She wants you to put the delivery in the cooler. Yes, I know, but I'll leave that decision up to you.

I even managed to remember to print out the duplicate receipt and stick it with the order, and am astonished the order actually ended. I start on the next customer, a gentleman who also shows an expression of astonishment, and at the end of the order:
Me: That'll be--
SC Lady: Hey. Just a second.
Me: What's wrong?
SC Lady: How come my order's over here? It needs to go in the cooler.
Me: Well, A. did it, she's over there talking with one of the Desk clan.

Sure enough, I try to motion A. over, but end up having to talk loudly in their direction, saying "She's complaining that her delivery's not in the cooler."
Desk: I told her to not put it there.

SC then spent a few more minutes having a conversation with Mrs. Desk about things. Meanwhile, I could concentrate on ringing people up and getting the lines down so I could close on time.

One customer said, "After what I saw you go through, you should get Employee of the Year."

Nope. Not gonna happen.

The Ear-Splitting Conclusion

About five minutes later, I am trying to concentrate on the exact time to put up the closed sign, but gauging how many customers are in line, etc. when suddenly I hear:

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

Oh, damn, that's the fire alarm going off and it's REALLY LOUD.

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

Strangely, my ears don't actually hurt, but the noise is so unpleasant it makes me want to leave. (That figures. At this point anything, even breathing, makes me want to leave.)

It's a big grocery store, so of course it's got a high level of background volume. (Yes, we deal in volume.) Which means these war drums have to match that, decibel by fucking decibel.

But now, since it's only a drill (Oh, how I wish it were as quiet as a drill), everyone is staying and getting rung up, and also trying to speak LOUDER SO AS TO BE HEARD OVER THE

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

THAT IS GOING ON!

My poor shattered nerves have given up, and I am about to commit murder or suicide or both. I yell furiously, "STOP TESTING THE ALARM!" but nothing happens, so I yell the same thing over the intercom.

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

Somehow the last order has been finished and I am bringing the drawer in. Somehow Mrs. Desk brought in the coin dispenser.

At the desk, there is another fire alarm going

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

even louder, and I am struggling to get past that to the back room to count the money.

Finally someone opens the door and

BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP BRAAP

Oh, SHIT, there's one in there too and it's right next to me.

I spent five minutes just holding my ears with my head down on the counter. Finally I am pulled out of there by Mrs. Desk who tells me to go outside and calm down.

Which I do.

Within a minute, the alarm stops, and I even get back inside, count the drawer and finish with seven minutes left in my shift (The F is still silent. Wish the alarm had been.)

Bosshole nearly rips me a new one by saying I should "exercise more self-control". Fucking bitch.

The last seven minutes were spent bagging, and telling my story to S. at R1.

Right away she looks behind the drawer and finds a WIC lodged back there.

Great. Looks like the beatings will continue. But at least my week is over.

The End

[Zoom]

New Circular Wishing Wells

So apparently during the however long it is I will be on my own drawer, I can't go $5 below the expected amount.

However, I also can't go $5 over the amount, which is strange given that we are told to put unwanted change in the drawer.

Today I explained to Bruce that I may in future be forced to throw out money to keep the drawer balanced.

Well I certainly can't pocket it!

Softened Criminal

This whole own-drawer thing is a strange kind of punishment for an innocent man. It just seems to create work for everyone else, while having me do less-- if there is a line, someone else must open so I can close, which I get to do early.

Today I had a relief, but she had to wait for Bruce to bring out the counted-down drawer and coinbox so she could check.

I usually finish counting a few minutes before shift ends, so I just bag at the end. Frequently there isn't a need for one more bagger, so I double up with someone else.

Unabridged Printing

Yesterday Mrs. Palmer Desk couldn't print the count information as there wasn't a Print button. I looked all over that app and couldn't find anything.

I suggested the Help button, which she pressed, and the Help document came up.

Before I could suggest doing a search for "print", she saw the Help file's Print command and tried to use that.

"Um, that only prints the help page," I said.

She then closed the file, proclaiming it worthless.

Today Bruce showed me how it was done-- a shortcut via the Start button.

Honestly, that's the last place I would have looked too.

And it prints a screenshot instead of just the document data-- what a huge inefficiency.

[Dreamstalker]

[size=5][b]So apparently during the however long it is I will be on my own drawer, I can't go $5 below the expected amount.

However, I also can't go $5 over the amount, which is strange given that we are told to put unwanted change in the drawer.

We're also told to put unwanted change in the drawer, yet a few MOD's will yell at cashiers whose drawer is ANY amount over...so what do we do with it? Nobody's answered that yet I just leave it on top of the printer and let said MOD deal with it...

[Zoom]

Thursday Face Palm(er)

Now Palmer can print the screenshots with the rest of them, and she is glad for the knowledge though it will not conceivably help her with anything else in life.

However, her efforts from Tuesday backfired and came back to bite her on Thursday.

Since she couldn't print then, she thought she was on the wrong page, and changed pages at one point. She'd entered the drawer's closing data on the incorrect page!

Thursday she couldn't figure the whole thing out. Now she was on the right page, but no matter what she tried, the drawer was $1000 off. She didn't say if it was over or short, but if there's missing data then it should be over. Or maybe she entered it twice-- who knows?

Anyway, she was upset because she was going to close the front end by herself, and she didn't have time to mess around with Tom, Dick and Harryfoolery.

We both signed the screenshot, alongside Palmer's apologetic note that she couldn't figure out what was wrong.

Saturday Night Fewer

My schedule availability was suddenly found to be wrong last week-- they had me working Saturday night, which was not a problem, but 8pm-midnight, which was.

I have only rarely been available before 8:30pm on Saturdays. The last time was in April, and coincidentally they had me "accidentally" scheduled that time.

Now they had done it again, and I was able to manage shuffling of activities to make an 8pm start this weekend.

But I was damned if I was going to let this happen again. Last Sunday, when I got the schedule, I asked Mrs. Desk what the deal was about the availability, and she said it was marked for 8pm-midnight.

Really? I never authorized that.

Yes, I understand that, since the store closes at midnight, and by union rules our shifts must be at least four hours, that pretty much means I can't be scheduled Saturday night if I can't work until 8:30.

I was really worried that she was going to have me talk to BossholeTM, since it was the last Bosshole whom I suspect of nearly singlehandedly ruining my life, and I wouldn't be surprised if HE was responsible for the unauthorized availability change.

But Mrs. Desk went behind the door for a second, and emerged with a strange document for requesting availability changes.

What is this? I'm not making a request! I just want it changed back to where it was in 2009.

Anyway, I grit my teeth and filled it out. "I should like my hours, which I did not change, to return to the availability that I had for over fifteen years. Thanks!"

Then I noticed it said in the form the changes were temporary and the request has to be made every February. "Oh, that's all right," said Mrs. Desk, "nobody enforces that."

In the midst of the Worst Week Ever, Bosshole actually did me a kindness. She removed ALL my Saturday hours because she didn't see what the point was.

I was sure there was a hidden catch, like my Friday availability would be tampered with, but nothing has come up so far.

And it only took nineteen years for them to get it perfect!

So this Saturday was shaping up to be the LAST one. And what a day of finality!

Price Ho, Silver Box, Away!

She came in, perfectly sane, sober and kindly, except for one thing: She wanted booze.

For whatever reason, her choice was unusual in that they were very small, almost energy-drink-sized box containers of alcoholic potage. One was silvery and three were yellow.

She seemed unconcerned by everything else that whizzed by my scanner. However, when I got to the four tiny monoliths, she piped up.

SC: Oh, I talked with your liquor department, and since there aren't any more silvery ones, they agreed to substitute the yellow ones which are otherwise a dollar more.
Me: OK, phone fingers activate!
Me: (picks up the phone, hesitates) Only, it's 10:30, nobody is there to be called.
SC: Seriously?
Me: They close up early at our sister associated store. (We're Pathe-Tica; most of the nonfood is Tica where the grocery stuff is Pathe.) I just called them fifteen minutes ago for a propane exchange and the last one there had trouble getting the key.
SC: I'm not getting propane, obviously.
Me: Right. Well there is one I could call. (calls Mrs. Desk) Hi, is it even allowed to substitute liquor? The Tica man isn't here to confirm.
MD: Hmmm. An interesting question. Well, seeing as it might go against state law, and I wouldn't allow it without Tica's approval, I would say don't do it.
Me: Right. (Click.) It looks like she says no. Allow me to scan them though, in case they were already marked down.
Scanner: Beep Beep.
Me: Yeah, the yellow one is $5.97 whereas the silver one is $4.97.
SC: So there's nothing you can do?
Me: Sorry.
SC: OK, I don't want them at that price.
Scanner: .peeB peeB
Me: That'll be $34.XX.

She goes her merry way, and I can only assume that she is content to quaff some other, possibly nonalcoholic, beverage. But I couldn't help but wonder at why she said she had talked to someone in liquor-- there wasn't anyone there! Had she been lying?

Cut to the very end of the shift. I am now at self checkout, having given up the registral ghost (which was on R5 anyway, way the hell away from the unlocked exit so as to annoy everyone).

It has been really busy, with long lines and custys unfamiliar with the premise of holding the ass end of a bag of chips up to close laser scrutiny. And of course everyone forgot their Patheticard.

About fifteen minutes from the chop, I am accosted by someone bearing the familiar totems of alcoholic price inexactitude.

SC: Remember me?
Me: (Which Me are you talking about?) Yes.
SC: I paid for these, and didn't get them.
Me: Huh?
SC: I couldn't find them in my bags.
Me: Well that's because I took them off since you didn't want them.
SC: No, I remember paying for them.
Me: Oh, then maybe you paid for them later on. Can I see the receipt?
SC: I didn't bring it.
Me: It's just that I remember taking them off.
SC: I did want them; I even said, "I don't want them at that price, but I'll take them anyway."

Somehow she has become that elusive of creatures, an Anti-Editor. Like the Anti-Monitor, she will one day mean the death of all time, space and Earth-Prime continuity. However, with her Anti-Editor powers, she is content merely to retro-add to her dialogue.

Now, remember while all this is going on, I have to constantly look at the SCO screen and push the occasional yellow (Old enough to buy alcohol) button, the occasional red (Item not bagged) button, and make an announcement about how we're closing in ten minutes, the latter of which I can't do because I'm busy chatting with a middle-aged bat.

Me: My point is that if you want them, without any evidence that you actually paid for them, there's nothing I can do.
SC: I must have paid for them! The order was over $30!
Me: That only covered everything else you bought.
SC: Get a manager!
Me: (picks up phone) Hello Mrs. Desk? I know you're busy finishing counting my drawer, but the customer is back with the beer and...
MD: I'll be right out.

She comes out, clutching the coinbox and the slip of paper stating I was only 98 cents off. Both of us tell her our "side" of the story.
MD: I can try to look it up, to see if that beer is rung up in our records. (goes back to the countroom)

At this point, there are ten minutes left, so I give the announcement. Meanwhile, SC has taken to standing there at the SCO register, staring at me. She reiterates her position, as though that was supposed to help somehow.

Another customer had a problem with an item not scanning-- but before I can call for a price check, Mrs. Desk calls asking for information about the order. We narrow it down to "over $34" and she provides the last 4 digits of her debit card which she used.

Then I immediately get a customer with a problem with her Link card not sliding. I have to suspend the order and ring it through the SCO register, which is a problem because the SC is still standing there staring at me! (Apparently she thinks she belongs in any place with SC as the first initials.)

I manage to get the regular customer's Link order tended, which was a huge worry for me as I might be breaking some regulation for someone on Drawer Parole.

Then I suddenly remembered the customer with the nonscanning bacon. I just pulled the price of $1.99 out of my ass and entered it at their register, because she'd been waiting too long already. (This should, in theory, be acceptable to do. It might have been worth more, but at this late stage it would be difficult to get a price check anyway.)

Finally, with five minutes to go, Mrs. Desk comes back with a printout showing SC's order; surprise, surprise, no booze.

At this point, a sane person would give up and buy the stuff while there was still time available. Amazingly, she wouldn't give up! She argued up and down with Mrs. Desk about how she wants to be reimbursed for the gas from driving all the way back here, and thinks how being charged the lower price is a good way to do this.

I, for my part, have given up caring, for there are still many things for an SCO attendant to do at the end of the shift, even though the real attendant has materialized (she had been told to do the burgeoning overstock) and is starting to close registers.

Finally Mrs. Desk gets my attention. "Zoom, ring these up for her."

Incredibly, it is ten seconds to midnight!

Somehow she has resolved all arguments and convinced the customer to capitulate. And somehow I got the items scanned in record time, even though these are SCO registers, the slowest gizmos this side of the Pecos.

Then it needed to be explained to her that she needed to pay and GET OUT.

Afterwards, Me, Mrs. Desk and Real SCO discussed the matter, and how my thoughts on her being a scammer had doubled when she pulled the whole hide-the-receipt trick. I didn't even feel like going home, because we were busy gawking at the crime scene.

The things we have to do to get a customer to pay regular price!

[Zoom]

Double Secret Probation!

Thursday I was doing quite well; in fact, I had gotten used to the new routine. The day went really well.

But the newest Mrs. Desk (to whom I shall refer as NMD) was being a pain when it came time to count down the drawer.

She was the only one up front at that exact moment, and that meant if a customer came to the desk, she had to stop everything and help them.

Which meant that, though I had arrived with the money early, I was probably going to leave late.

Right away she came out and closed the door before I could go in there. "I don't want you in there," she said. I know why; there's money in there I could conceivably take, so someone has to be there to watch me at all times.

I filled the time by standing there, but it was awkward, so I took out the coupons and put them in the two trays that are there for that purpose.

Finally NMD was done serving the customers, and time to count things.

I tally the checks, the WICs and the coins, but when I start on the bills NMD won't let me concentrate. She insists on counting things herself even though I know how to use the money scale.

"No fives?" she asks, and I answer in the negative.

Suddenly another Desk person knocks on the door. "You're needed out here."

NMD halts everything, makes me leave the money on the desk unfinished, and we leave the countroom while she takes care of business and I take care of my impatience.

Finally we get back in, and despite all the meddling, it is finished.

Then she runs it through the machine and... "Um, did you check to see there wasn't any money behind the till?"

"Yes."

"Well, check again, because it's coming $100 short."

Ugh.

I trudge there. Nothing behind the drawer tray. Nothing on the floor, or in the coupon area. I trudge back.

"Nothing," I reply dejectedly.

At this point I am sure that leaving the money lying around unable to keep track of it is somehow responsible for this, and perhaps closing the door blew some notes around.

Anyway, she forces me to stay there while she counts everything again and again, as though that would change the values.

Finally, something like fifteen minutes late, she announces, "Well, I can't find it. Guess you'll have to be written up."

By now I am completely devastated and desperate. I no longer want to go on living. I've had it with all the shit I've had to go through, and to be made responsible for something that has been mostly beyond my control.

As I leave I look around the register to make absolutely sure there is nothing there-- the wastebasket, under the footmat, even in the catch tray under the conveyor belt.

Not a sausage.

I couldn't sleep that night, and I dreaded the next day (wherein I had to come in early) and its ramifications.

For the first time in this ongoing saga, I actually told another family member about this. I figured if I was going to be shot dead by cops or something, I should at least explain what drove me to extreme measures.

Finally I decided that I would go to work and not complain about anything. I would sign whatever they told me to sign, without a single word of comment. It was my drawer and I was responsible for the $100 and it was not there. I would be meek and humble even if it killed me.

About two hours into Friday's shift, NMD came over to my register and said, "Did they tell you yet?"

"Tell me what?" Why not just tell me yourself? Or are you afraid to hear the words "I know"?

"We found the money, it was a bunch of fives in with the coupons."

WTF?? But the drawer HAD no fives! I remember it well! I'd run out of fives, and thought, "I'm going to close anyway so I don't need to ask for any."

So apparently I somehow had gotten fives after that, and somehow took the fives out with the coupons to put with the coupons. Even though I had to separate the coupons and would have noticed a bunch of greenbacks mixed in.

I think my brain was severely dyspeptic.

But at least I was happy the rest of the day. No more threat of double secret probation. Now it was back to just plain old SINGLE probation.

I Hate Mondays

"Every day, in every way, I'm getting worse and worse."

Today I showed up to witness the conveyor belts had been replaced with rubbery advertising! A bunch of red rectangles with the new company catch phrase about loving low prices.

Problems? Of course! First, it is very slippery, so it's only a matter of time before a customer slides something on it and it slides straight off the scale and smashes onto the floor.

Also, the customers were saying it was sticky, when it wasn't, which means they'll be even MORE surprised when the slipperiness cuts in.

Also, those rectangles play havoc with my senses. I keep thinking magazines are being lost down the belt.

But wait! There's more! In addition to the belt I would rather use on some executive's secondary cheeks, the register is now ordering me around.

After I scan the older Patheticard, the one where they didn't get the new one to save a measly 5 cents off of expensive gas at Expensive Gas Station, an item or so later I get this message:

CUSTOMER NOT ENROLLED IN REWARDS. ENCOURAGE UPGRADE TODAY!

Since the customers know better than to give their info to yet another company, there have been few takers of the new cards, and because of low participation, Pathetica is now resorting to telling us to get them to switch. Almost on every order. It messes up my timing. Sometimes I have to press a button twice, and this button is also sometimes the CASH button, which if you press twice it assumes the customer is paying cash and keys out the order. Not the button you want to press twice if customer is writing a check.

So, lots of going slower, lots of swearing under my breath at the advancing Army of the Red Rectangles, and there is NO BLOODY WAY I will encourage anything from customers. I believe in their freedom of choice and do not wish to do anything to influence that.

Also, I didn't get a memo saying:

DO IT OR DIE. ALSO, I DON'T EXIST.

The Job That's All The (Mi)Rage

New baggers! We hired a bunch of them on Friday and they've been very helpful.

Every time we hire new baggers, we actually have some for about a week or two. Then it's back to not having more than one at a time to handle three registers.

A typical new bagger will say "sweetheart" when talking to anybody, and will ask if the customer wants the milk or water jug in a bag. Even though it has been our stated policy for the last 10+ years to NOT ask, so we can save bags.

I was really pleased with them this time though. They're polite, courteous-- in short, they don't exist either.

Old!

Woman and kids came through the line, which is usual for people who buy stuff.

Besides the usual items, I saw...

...a bunch of Cadbury Creme Eggs.

Were they left over from Easter? (Blecch.) Or are they out early for Halloween?

They weren't orange and black, so I dubbed them Labor Day Eggs and moved on.

J. Desk Mind Trick

J. Desk stopped by with his usual malarkey.

"I need a turn in from you, soon as you've finished the next order."

"Okay," I respond, and get to ring things up much faster because now HE shall be made to help the new bagger who doesn't exist. Which he does, uncomplainingly.

Then the order ends and, after I make sure the whole order was bagged, turn to J. and ask him, "So, you say you want money from my drawer which I'm on by myself?"

J. blinked. "You're right, I don't." He walked away.

Not much of a mind trick though-- he had merely realized he wasn't supposed to do turn-ins to single-manned drawers.

The Crying Customer Game

The man in charge of the whole store, whom I will call Gaul, has been nothing but kind and polite the whole time he's been there.

But, with Bosshole not being very bossholey, he has had to step in and help her with that department. Today being the case in point.

A woman was buying breakfast sausages. The peel-off coupons were missing, and I saw what was coming.

She handed them to me.

"I'm sorry, but I can't take the coupons," I said.

"What?" she asked, very politely.

"Well, if you look over here, the coupon says

DIANE, THIS COUPON IS NOT VALID UNLESS DETACHED BY CASHIER.

."

She: Oh!

Me: Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I don't know why they have it that way.

She: Well, then, I guess I don't want it. Sorry.

Me: No, that's all right. Have a good day. (Takes sausages and puts them, including the torn-out FBI agents, on the next reggie as overstock)

I noticed Banana Fana taking the sausages (perhaps he should be called Mr. Punch instead?) but he left the coupons.

Are they even sellable anymore, with the coupons removed? Anyway I tore them up, ensuring that nobody uses them.

About ten minutes later, J. Desk approached, and I didn't have the drawbridge controls ready, so I had to make the moat of it.

"I'm relieving you. Gaul wants to talk to you."

"So, you say you want to relieve me from the drawer I'm on by myself?"

"Your mind tricks won't work on me now. Go see Gaul."

Trudge up the steps to the office. Wherein Gaul and his assistant (have I been calling him Hernandez?) are there, ready to guilt me into confessing to something.

Let's see, either it was the $100 missing that was found, and somehow they don't know about it, or...

"Zoom, we had a customer who complained about you. Do you remember? She bought sausages, and..."

"Yes, I remember her."

"After you said you wouldn't take the coupons, you then said 'Can't you READ?', grabbed the sausages and refused to let her have them, saying 'I'm not serving you.'"

"WHAT?!? Um, no. I was polite and everything!"

"And after she left, she went to the service desk and started crying. She said she was never going to shop here ever again. I tried to get her to accept the sausages for free, and even consoled her with a gift card, but she just kept crying and wouldn't take them."

"This is strange. I only took the sausages when she said she didn't want them. I never said anything about her ability to read."

I said some further comments about my great aunt just recently came down with dementia, and that's what this sounds like. He went on and on about how we have to do almost ANYTHING to keep a customer, including letting them rip off the coupons themselves even though it says not to.

Which would have been fine! If she had said ONE WORD to me, I would have called the desk to verify it was OK to give her the savings. But she was very polite and kind and left straight to the desk where her crying jag commenced and her lies flowed.

How dare she! If she had a problem with something I had said, she should have confronted ME about it.

Anyway, Gaul had the gall to state that there would be no punishment, that he was only going to write down that he had told me. He also added that her actions were caused by her perceptions of what I said, even if wrong. He let me go back to my reggie.

Now I was at my own drawer that had two people on it; with a customer crying over something I did not do, who acted like a scammer but refused a $25 gift card...

The whole thing is crazy.

At my break, Gaul was there again. "Oh, can I see you after your break?"

I go to the office again and NOW he has a "verbal warning" writeup!

I think for a second that maybe it's somehow about the $100, but NO! He has the entire crying customer thing written up, with her statement verbatim according to what he already said. He doesn't have a single word of what I said just half an hour ago at this very boutique. (The parrot ate the sausages and is DEAD.)

"So you're saying that you're taking the customer's demented word over mine?"

"What?" (not detecting the mind trick)

"Well, I noticed here I only see her side of the story here."

"OK, look, here's what I'll do. I'll rip this up, and you just make sure you don't do anything she was saying you did."

I bolted out of the room.

Phew! Back to single probation. If I have any more close calls, I'll reverse the charges.

A Scammer In The Works

Called by SCO. "Uh, there's a man in a black shirt in your line. Make sure he pays for those flowers."

"OK."

Man of African descent in line with a black shirt. Also a nice pair of spectacles. All his items are on the conveyor belt-- and NO FLOWERS.

Is he hiding them behind his back or something?

"Hi there," I say.

"Hi. Can you scan the store card please?"

I keep looking behind me as I go to get the store card, in case I see flowers sticking out of his back.

Finally, since clearly he has no flowers, I ring him up and let him proceed.

I call SCO. "Um, he didn't have any flowers."

Suddenly she starts panicking, running over to the window to see what happened.

I think about five minutes beforehand, someone else had gone by carrying flowers, but he wasn't wearing black, and he carried a receipt.

So what the hell was all that about? It's probably one of those things that we'll never know. Perhaps a smart scammer who is adept at the art of misdirection.

Or maybe HE doesn't exist either.

Fin

[Dreamstalker]

Almost at the same time, she says "Oh, and this is a delivery", the bagger leaves for another register, and I run out of places to put something fragile. (WHY put all your fragile stuff first??? And now I can't even bag that shit because I'm out of paper bags!)

SC: Oh, and here's some bags for the delivery.

Um, what? Those deluxe bags (from some other store, too) aren't needed, or even wanted.

I don't quite understand the customers who bring bags but insist on a delivery. Our delivery guy hates customer bags because we can't write the number on them; also, many of them are already ripped/stained/otherwise damaged and the SC will try to blame him.

For some reason, a lot of the baggers at my store will make themselves scarce when a delivery comes up (and the ones that do stick around aren't skilled enough or fast enough to keep up).

After I scan the older Patheticard, the one where they didn't get the new one to save a measly 5 cents off of expensive gas at Expensive Gas Station, an item or so later I get this message:

About 1/4 of my customers on a given day have older cards that do not have the gas points. I seriously hope nobody at Corporate gets the idea to 'encourage upgrade today'...not all states with our stores even do the gas program (I'm not asking someone who lives in one of those states to 'upgrade' to something they will never be able to use).

[lachesis]

Whew! I just got through reading the whole thread and I think that either the people you work for are just plain morons, or they are out to get you. You say you have been working there for over 15 years? What's happened to make them single you out like that?

[Dreamstalker]

Probably because he knows what he's doing, which to some bosses translates as: "He does his job too well, so we need to cut him down a bit."

[Zoom]

I don't think it's because of any boss. Rather that a) their hands are tied following a strict corporate policy, and b) said policy is flawed in favor of punishing the innocent. And in the corporation's hive mind, why should they change it? The shareholders aren't complaining about it. (BTW, our stock has really plummeted in the last few years, virtually wiping out my 401k. I even had to tell them to stop investing any more of MY money.)

Quick Takes

Strange things that happened today, now 35% condensed for easier reading!

I got to work early so I would have a spare few minutes to look over my notes for the AI in my new game I'm coding. However, I had to spend some of them waiting for the desk to give me the stamps I bought the previous evening but the idiot checker forgot to give me. (I forgot what I called him last time I mentioned him here, but it doesn't matter right now. He's the one who admitted to doing drugs and went on handicapped cart races.) I asked the desk if there were any extra stamps left in R1 at shift's end, but they couldn't tell by now. However, at the end of today's shift, when counting down the drawer I saw a note taped to the wall that said to write up said idiot checker at earliest opportunity. Wonder what that was for!

I had a woman who wasn't very good with English, came in with some WICs. She didn't get everything on the list, which is permissible, but I had no bagger to send to get anything, in case she didn't know it was missing. Worse, she signed the WICs with tons of missing stuff not got, and only complained after the WICs had gone through the system. She was confused and upset, but as I attempted to point out, she had to make sure she understood the whole WIC thing at the WIC store, and should have asked them for an interpreter in her language. It was a really sad moment, because she'd tried very hard to get the right stuff, except most of it wasn't on the slips. For example, she took canned pears instead of canned beans. I thought the pears were on the fruit/vegetable WIC, which had a strict $6 limit so she couldn't get them there either. Like I said, really sad.

A few minutes later, I screwed up an order irrevocably, and the only way to give the customer the $5 discount in the paper was if she bought two more items. She only needed to buy ten, but no amount of dickering with the items was giving her the savings, until I rang up two additional items. We couldn't figure out which two were no good, as the removal of two suspects erased the discount. We both gave up and she took two more fruit rolls.

The Suckiest Customer Ever (see last page)? She's now coming in regularly and getting delivery every time. A. was my bagger again this time, but now A. was being sucky towards her and winding her up about the delivery guy not being here yet, causing the whole order to slow down immensely. It was 12 minutes to the 5pm delivery shutoff. Also, as usual, she demanded the white bags with handles, and for some reason A. was refusing to use them in the delivery. Those two should just do a cage match and be done with it.

Because I've had a couple coupon audits (though I think everyone gets those, not just the checkers on parole) I've decided to write the amount on the ones with FREE printed on them. But for the new 5%-10% off anything store coupons, the amount does not show up on the screens! I have to wait until the receipt prints, then look at it carefully until I can decipher the gibberish enough to find the discount amount. The whole thing takes five seconds that the customer has generally missed, audibly. Worse, I can't tell them exactly how much they saved until the order is tended. I can't even void the coupons anymore on our new system!

Today's end of shift was a surprise. I was sure my shift ended at 8:30, but at 8pm sharp I was informed I was a half-hour off, and I had a mad dash to close the register and get everything counted down. I left only ten minutes late, so it went quite well. THIS is the reason why a person should never be scheduled times with similar numbers on adjacent days. Especially when one's mind is preoccupied with getting everything exactly right so as to not be reprimanded.

[Zoom]

Observation

It's always the people with iPods who buy Q-Tips.

Never Look A Gift Card In The Wallet

I actually taught NMD (Newest Mrs. Desk) something today.

I had a lot of overrides today. One of them was because a possible scam artist was trying to buy a $200 gift card with "her" credit card, it didn't go through (surprise), and she wanted it changed to $100.

Price Change button doesn't work on gift cards. Remove Item button doesn't work on gift cards.

I had to press the dreaded VOID button.

We never do voids for anything, since Remove Item works on almost everything, but after several mistakes, I found the button that actually allowed me to void the damned gift card!

NMD was really surprised as she keyed the override ignition. "Yesterday I was trying to take a gift card off, and I couldn't figure out how to void it."

Well, until right that very minute, neither could I.

NMD hung around because the scam artist tried to run her card through for $100 instead, but still no dice and it had to be voided again. She didn't seem to have the slightest clue that this person had a 75% chance of being a scammer.

NMD seems totally clueless about some aspects of our new system, too, though she was supposed to have taken the same training as everyone else. Once she asked me how to remove tax on a WIC order that had already been started. I simply removed all the items very quickly and cashed out. "Wow, I didn't think that would work."

In Search Of... The Missing Link

Not much of an anecdote here. Three ladies came to buy stuff. A had most of the items, B and C had 1 each.

A took her time looking for her Patheticard, during which her friends B and C both became impatient and announced I should ring them up too. A said it was all right, since she had almost gotten the card out, so I rang up B's item on A's order and took the dollar.

Then I got A's card, but upon ringing up C's item she gave the dollar to A. (Sorry, that's not going to confuse me, I'm paid to do this you know.)

Next came A's rummaging through her enormous purse, looking for her Link card. "It's in here somewhere, I know that."

After about ten seconds, she said "Sorry about this," but I replied, "It's all right, nobody's in line anyway."

Immediately a small family gets in line, and A tells them, "Sorry, it's going to be a while until I can find my Link card."

How could she know how long it's going to take to find something that she's not sure where it is?

Anyway, after another minute, B and C had sat down.

It was a really slow day today, with lots of long pauses like this. I had a few multiple-WIC orders that just dragged on and on. I like it, because I don't have to check like the Flash, and also because there are fewer opportunities for the register to gang aft agley.

Still looking.

Now B has come back to the line to ask what's going on. A repeats her dilemma, and I ask, "Have you checked your pockets?" She checks the pockets, and gives B the task of looking through the change purse and wallet. Lots of sundry cards and slips of paper, but no Link card.

The food stamp total came to $14.00, and I've had plenty of overrides as it is by now, so I decide to wait and see.

More minutes tick by. A is still frantically searching through her pockets. B has checked the change purse and wallet thoroughly, and proclaims, "Maybe it's hidden in the papers." I start looking in the papers, while A switches to the bag again. There are dozens of loose pages, slips and all kinds of paper in her bag.

Now C has come back and asked what's up. B starts grabbing the pages and flinging them all over the conveyor belt. A is still searching the bag's nooks and crannies. I have stopped helping them look, because I am busy resisting the sudden urge to laugh.

If this had gone on another five minutes, there would have been ten or more people, looking through a pile of paper that would have done in Robert DeNiro in Brazil. I am bursting a lung trying not to scream laughing.

I think A actually forgot what she was looking for, she was so intent on perusing her endless tree shavings; but C actually suggested I suspend the order, which I was glad to do at this point.

Well. Another override. At least they have all been necessary ones today.

The override wouldn't go through unless I returned the $1.08 to B, either.

Meanwhile, it took another five minutes for all three to remove the paper from the conveyor belt so I could ring up the next order. Also, they went to the Subway to get their lives sorted out, and haven't come back yet, which means even that was a failure, and they'll be buried in a simple ceremony, with their Link card and plenty of paperwork.

Another case closed!