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Wow. That's all I can say. Just, wow. Long, long night at the c-store tonight, lots of suck. Okay, so more minor annoyances than actual suck, but enough to make me get the f*ck out of there as quickly as humanly possible when my shift ended. Now that I'm home, having a nice snack of peanut butter toast and choclate milk and relaxing, I shall regale you all with some of the highlights of my evening.
Press the damn button!
You, the neanderthal in the red sleeveless shirt and jeans, standing at pump 8: Congratulations, you've figured out steps one and two of operating our pumps by placing the nozzle in your tank and lifting the lever it sits on. However, you have failed to press the button on the screen at the top left of the pump that will send the message into the store to me to authorize the pump for you. Staring at the pump will not make it magically turn on. Neither will putting the lever down and lifting it back up. Great. I suppose I'll have to go help you--Oh, look, you figured it out. Wonderful. Now pay for your gas and leave me alone. Oh, you want some foodstuffs too? Okay, fine, yes, we accept EBT. Your EBT card says you're from that lovely state where people have to show you things. Explains so much. I've said it a million times and I'll say it again: DO NOT OPERATE THE GAS PUMPS IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW!
How in the...?
Pump 5 has been beeping at me for quite some time, telling me the person who pumped the gas needs to pay. Where is said person? Outside, with the hood of his car up, trying to figure out what's wrong with it. He comes in, grabs a quart of oil from the shelf, and asks if he can bring it back in and pay for it with his gas. Sure, fine. So, he goes out, and comes back for oil twice more. The third time, he exclaimed "Oh God I needed oil, ma'am!" Yes, yes you did, my quirky Hispanic customer. Three quarts. Aside from the fact that I'm probably exceedingly lucky that you paid for them (and your gas, and we'll let the fact that you paid for your $29.00 purchase with a $100 bill slide, for now), I would love to know just how you let your oil get that low, and how your car was still running halfway decently! Honestly--Checking the oil isn't rocket science! Some people, I swear!
A Fair Warning To All
The next person that tells me they could've gotten their item and/or items for a cheaper price elsewhere will be told where the door is, to go to the place where it's cheaper, and have a fan-firggin-tastic day. I do not set the prices, and no, saying "Jeebus Cripes (edited) it's 2 for $1.00 across the street!" will not garner any sympathy from me toward you. That is all.
Nice try, scammer!
A gentleman (I use the term loosely) came to pick up and pay for a pizza that he'd ordered. It was a pepperoni with two extra toppings, done as half this, half that, just generally picky. I ring him up as he should be--a single topping pizza with two extra toppings. He gets upset (joy of joys) and says "Isn't it $13.99 for a specialty?" and I politely explain that a specialty is a supreme, taco, meat galore, etc. He claims the pizza maker, K (who happens to be my cousin as well) told him that it could be a specialty because it had so many toppings. I ask K, and K says that no he didn't tell him that. This guy tried this with me in the past, and I let it go, thinking maybe our kitychen workers were telling customers the wrong thing. This time, I recognized it as a scam, rang him up the proper way, and sent him on his way. No discount for you, scammer! I left the manager a note about it as well, attached to the pizza slip, so I'm covered if he should complain. Go me!
Mother (and aunt? grandmother? whatever?) Of The Year
Two women came in, with a boy of 7 to 10 years of age and a girl of 3 to 5 years of age. One of them was leading the little girl along, not by the hand, but by the arm, quite roughly. I kept waiting for the girl's shoulder to come out of its socket. They both hollered and fussed at the kids the entire time, and finally purchased their $4.00 kids drinks and $1.50 fountain pops on EBT (shock of shocks). As they finish, the little girl decides she wants a toy. Mother of the year takes the toy away to put it back on the shelf, and the little girl immediately lets out the most high-pitched, ear-splitting "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ee" I've ever heard, which dissolved into crying, which dissolved into squeaks. Thank you, Banshee Girl, for damaging what's left of my already compromised hearing. I lost a bit of hearing in my right ear due to an ear drum rupture when I was 11. I'm sure this girl damaged the other ear, too!
Thankfully, the rest of the evening was rather uneventful, though busy. I'm left to wonder just one thing though: Why me, and why all in one night? I'll be so glad to find a better job with better pay and get the hell out of that place!!
Press the damn button!
You, the neanderthal in the red sleeveless shirt and jeans, standing at pump 8: Congratulations, you've figured out steps one and two of operating our pumps by placing the nozzle in your tank and lifting the lever it sits on. However, you have failed to press the button on the screen at the top left of the pump that will send the message into the store to me to authorize the pump for you. Staring at the pump will not make it magically turn on. Neither will putting the lever down and lifting it back up. Great. I suppose I'll have to go help you--Oh, look, you figured it out. Wonderful. Now pay for your gas and leave me alone. Oh, you want some foodstuffs too? Okay, fine, yes, we accept EBT. Your EBT card says you're from that lovely state where people have to show you things. Explains so much. I've said it a million times and I'll say it again: DO NOT OPERATE THE GAS PUMPS IF YOU DON'T KNOW HOW!
How in the...?
Pump 5 has been beeping at me for quite some time, telling me the person who pumped the gas needs to pay. Where is said person? Outside, with the hood of his car up, trying to figure out what's wrong with it. He comes in, grabs a quart of oil from the shelf, and asks if he can bring it back in and pay for it with his gas. Sure, fine. So, he goes out, and comes back for oil twice more. The third time, he exclaimed "Oh God I needed oil, ma'am!" Yes, yes you did, my quirky Hispanic customer. Three quarts. Aside from the fact that I'm probably exceedingly lucky that you paid for them (and your gas, and we'll let the fact that you paid for your $29.00 purchase with a $100 bill slide, for now), I would love to know just how you let your oil get that low, and how your car was still running halfway decently! Honestly--Checking the oil isn't rocket science! Some people, I swear!
A Fair Warning To All
The next person that tells me they could've gotten their item and/or items for a cheaper price elsewhere will be told where the door is, to go to the place where it's cheaper, and have a fan-firggin-tastic day. I do not set the prices, and no, saying "Jeebus Cripes (edited) it's 2 for $1.00 across the street!" will not garner any sympathy from me toward you. That is all.
Nice try, scammer!
A gentleman (I use the term loosely) came to pick up and pay for a pizza that he'd ordered. It was a pepperoni with two extra toppings, done as half this, half that, just generally picky. I ring him up as he should be--a single topping pizza with two extra toppings. He gets upset (joy of joys) and says "Isn't it $13.99 for a specialty?" and I politely explain that a specialty is a supreme, taco, meat galore, etc. He claims the pizza maker, K (who happens to be my cousin as well) told him that it could be a specialty because it had so many toppings. I ask K, and K says that no he didn't tell him that. This guy tried this with me in the past, and I let it go, thinking maybe our kitychen workers were telling customers the wrong thing. This time, I recognized it as a scam, rang him up the proper way, and sent him on his way. No discount for you, scammer! I left the manager a note about it as well, attached to the pizza slip, so I'm covered if he should complain. Go me!
Mother (and aunt? grandmother? whatever?) Of The Year
Two women came in, with a boy of 7 to 10 years of age and a girl of 3 to 5 years of age. One of them was leading the little girl along, not by the hand, but by the arm, quite roughly. I kept waiting for the girl's shoulder to come out of its socket. They both hollered and fussed at the kids the entire time, and finally purchased their $4.00 kids drinks and $1.50 fountain pops on EBT (shock of shocks). As they finish, the little girl decides she wants a toy. Mother of the year takes the toy away to put it back on the shelf, and the little girl immediately lets out the most high-pitched, ear-splitting "eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee ee" I've ever heard, which dissolved into crying, which dissolved into squeaks. Thank you, Banshee Girl, for damaging what's left of my already compromised hearing. I lost a bit of hearing in my right ear due to an ear drum rupture when I was 11. I'm sure this girl damaged the other ear, too!
Thankfully, the rest of the evening was rather uneventful, though busy. I'm left to wonder just one thing though: Why me, and why all in one night? I'll be so glad to find a better job with better pay and get the hell out of that place!!
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