Just a lowly cashier complaining about the unknowing irritation you cause by everyday purchasing transactions.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

I Hate Being a Customer

The worst part of my week has got to be grocery day.  I can think of quite a few people who feel the same way about grocery shopping (probably most people hate it with a passion).  But, it's not the shopping I hate but the forced interaction with fellow customers that causes my blood to boil. 

When I lived in Arizona, the town was smaller and there were good and bad times to go to the store.  There were times when there were hardly anyone in the store and you could shop in peace.  But here, where the population is huge and basically always on top of each other, there are no good times to go.  

The shelves will always be missing something you need no matter what time you are shopping.  There will always be some asswipe with a stroller up your ass or rolling over the top of your foot (this happened to my husband this last weekend).  There will always be the annoying family who, rather than putting their barely-walking child in the cart, makes them walk and get in EVERYONE'S way while they casually stroll along without a care in the world besides "Rice crispies or cinnamon toast crunch?" 

There will always be the aisle-blockers who put their cart on one side and stand right in the way so no one can get past.  I usually stand there, clear my throat and stare at them until they really zone out and I have to loudly and sharply say, "Excuse me."  And then they turn to me and genuinely look surprised and say, "Oh, I'm sorry!"  Then I feel like a rude asshole.  But, I also think to myself, "How fucking stupid are these people to completely be oblivious to their surroundings that they can't understand that there are others trying to move in the store?!"  It seriously is as if their brains can only hold one thought at a time and all their brainwaves are occupied contemplating brands of shortening and prices. 

There's always the token screaming kid and mother, the moron who can't drive the motorized cart so every five seconds you hear the *beep beep beep* of them backing up into something, and the old lady (or man sometimes) who can't reach something and looks to me as if I'm some Amazon lady who can get it down for them (not that I especially mind, I like being tall...).  

I hate walking in the mall during a busy day and I look off into the distance to see a stampede of strollers coming my way, forming an impenetrable barrier of offspring.  They're usually young mothers in ugly yoga pants and unbrushed hair walking handle bar to handle bar and completely oblivious to the world around them.  There are times when I don't move and they look at me as if I'M the rude one taking up all the space. 

I also hate shopping in stores where I'm the only customer and I've got three sales people trailing after me asking if I need help.  How many people really need help shopping for clothes, I wonder?  Wouldn't I be the best person to consult on what I'm going to wear?  It only makes sense. 

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Rewards For Being Morons

Well, the book has stalled for now.  Sometimes it's hard for me to stay focused because I'm the queen of the "there's always tomorrow" excuse.  I've got to get it through my thick head that that's not necessarily true and I should take advantage of all this time alone at home to write!

To all the men who call women "sweetie," "baby," or "sweetheart": STOP IT!  Whether you realize it or not, it's condescending and rude.  I am not any of those things to you and it makes me feel like a "little woman" when you say these things to me.  It's usually the old, ugly fucks who say this to me from the other side of the register.  I guess there are worse things to be called but I don't appreciate being called a "sweet" name.  It makes me feel insecure, stupid, and incompetent.  And when you accompany any of the above names with a wink, it makes me want to knock you upside the head with my debit machine.  

Things I Don't Miss:

-People who would bring up a handful of items and say, "I guess you know what I'm having for dinner!"  For one, I don't care.  Two, I usually don't really pay much attention to the shit that I would scan.  Three, NO I can't tell what the fuck you're having for dinner because I fail to see how bread, a can of anchovies and milk constitutes a dinner.  
-When I would announce the total while still continuing to bag groceries, there was always that rude moron who would shove their bills under my nose so that I'd take them immediately. It was so annoying and inconsiderate that I wanted to take their $50 and shred it in front of them and blow the pieces in their face. 
-Donut theives.  When I worked at my convenient/grocery store job we had a large donut case.  People would graze past there as they entered the store, fill up a bag or box and eat throughout the store.  They liked to lie about the number of donuts too so I always had to pay attention to if they were eating their donuts or not and I'd always have to open the box to see if they were lying.  A lot of the time they were.  Why would you bother stealing a fucking .65 donut when you're paying about $25 for the rest of your groceries anyway?!
-When I was a cashier/Sunday morning manager at my last job I'd have to deal with product returns.  It was usually people complaining about bad meat (which didn't happen very often but once it did they'd say "UGH this is the [exaggerated amount]th time I've gotten bad meat from here!").  I distinctly remember one customer who brought me a just a shopping bag of sausage.  It smelled terrible like she'd left it on the counter all night.  She had no meat wrapper and no receipt.  It took all my energy not to scream at her, "What the fuck do you want me to do with this?!"  Seriously though... what is the mental processes that are going on in people's heads? (Are there any...?)

Speaking of "bad" food, when I worked at my last job I dreaded the Summer time.  Not because it was so deathly hot outside when I took out the trash that I'd be covered in sweat by the time I got back from the dumpster.  Not because there were intervals in which business was mind-numbingly slow.  Not because I hated working weekends and seeing everyone come in for the cookout and pool party supplies.  But,  every Summer we had a wave of morons that would come into the store and complain that our dairy products or meat had spoiled.  What these fuckwads failed to mention was that the above items had spoiled because they had left them in their 124+ degree car after they bought them.  Is your car a fucking fridge?  Of course it spoiled, genius!  Even though my boss highly suspected they'd abandoned their groceries in their hot car, he always gave their money back.  I hate when people are rewarded for being complete idiots. 

Monday, March 7, 2011

Gross Hands and Boob Money

Throughout my entire customer service experience, I have come into contact with some of the most disgusting hands and fingernails that the world has ever seen.  

When I worked at Little Caesars and served cheap-o $5 pizzas with the innuendo "Hot-N-Ready" emblazoned over my chest, we had plenty of construction worker customers.  Now these men are hard workers, there's no doubt, but what extra effort does it possibly take to wash construction shit off of your hands before you go to lunch?  I have no idea why anyone would really want to walk around with dirty crud underneath their fingernails and on their hands that makes it look like they were elbow-deep in a cow's ass.  And I KNOW you aren't going to use a fork for that pizza so now you're eating that nasty crap off your hands.  SICK. 

There are a few types of grossness that have come into contact with:

-Mechanic-gross hands (oil and grease in the dry, icky cracks of their hands)
-Construction worker-gross hands (mud and dirt and dry, cracked hands) 
-Diseased-looking gross-hands (warts, dry and pealing skin, scabs, open sores, bruises)
-Surprise!  Missing finger!/hand! gross-hands 

It wouldn't really bother me that other people have these revolting types of hands if they... DIDN'T HAND MONEY TO ME AND BRUSH THAT SICKNESS AGAINST MY SKIN.  I despise the stranger-hand touch and it makes it a hundred times worse when that hand touch is coming from a zombie hand. 

The last type of gross hands, the Missing Finger! hand has got to be the worst.  It's not even necessarily that it's gross but more like the crazy shock you get when you realize that only four fingers are handing you the money!  Then, you have to act like nothing is wrong and that you hardly notice that the man is missing his index finger.  

It reminds me of all the times this one guy would come in at Little Caesar's with his hook hand and would count out the money and hand it to me.  I tried to look normal but who knows what my face really looked like? 

I used to dread the Summer months in my desert town in Arizona for two reasons: the extreme heat and wet money.  The construction workers that had disgusting hands would retrieve the money from their pockets (that was wrinkled into a wad) and hand it to me, sopping wet.  That was the most disgusting thing ever.  I even reserved a special place under my cash drawer to lay out sweat-soaked bills from construction workers' pockets. 

But still, worse than that was boob money.  For some reason there are women who think that their bra doubles as a wallet/purse and will hide things in there.  While this may be a good idea for enjoying Mardi Gras or the NYC New Year's Eve ball drop, a trip to the store shouldn't employ such aggressive laziness/anti-theft tactics.  I don't want to touch anything that you pull from your bra especially anything that has been up against your breasts long enough to be as sweaty-wet as pocket money.  I also don't enjoy you and your friends talking about how much money you made dancing at the club when you pull money from your bra.  Even if it's a joke, please... spare me the mental image that you just gave me by placing you in a strip club (because I need to go bleach my eyes now). 

Friday, March 4, 2011

A New Direction

So, I finally figured out how I think I want a book based on this blog to go... and I started writing today.  I reasoned that most of my blogs fit into the following categories: arriving, shopping, and leaving.  Here's what I've got right now as a work in progress for the first chapter of the book so far. 

The parking lot is the first indication of the condition of the actual store.  It is also a place of great idiocy and rudeness on behalf of the customers.  Most parking lots that are frequented by a great many people, as the Supercenter’s was, are littered with everything imaginable: fast food bags, dirtied baby diapers, drink cups, socks, and shirts that have remarkably found its way off of the wearer.
And despite the fact that there are many trash cans that are conveniently located throughout the parking lot, people take the path of least resistance and dump their shit out on the pavement rather than walk an extra two steps to deposit of it properly.  This behavior is not unlike the lazy assholes in movie theaters who leave their popcorn on their seats and their drinks in the cup holders (because carrying it out the door and next to the trash can would be too much activity to handle). 
To further drive home the true laziness of the Supercenter’s classy clientele, the manner of parking was also indicative of the customer’s true lack of conscientiousness.  
There’s a special breed of people (whom I have named parking piranhas) that cruise the parking lot for the closest spaces in order to attack it as soon as one backs their vehicle out.  There may be many parking spaces a few spots away but they seemingly cannot live without the space being as close to the door as possible.  I have even experienced being stalked by people driving in their cars in order to find where I was parked so that they may grab up my spot with the greediness of a two year old child.  To catch them off guard there are a few tactics I have employed to throw them off (you may steal these if needed):
  • Walk insanely slow, stop, look at your imaginary watch and glance around the parking lot as if you cannot find your car.  Throw up your hands in exasperation and soon they will get frustrated and drive off to another victim. 
  • Pick a random car out of the parking lot and slowly walk to it.  Fumble with your keys for effect.  When the car approaches you and your fake car, run in the opposite direction to your car.
When you finally get your car parked in a carefully chosen space, it is now time to take a deep breath and brace yourself for the hectic store environment.  
Have you ever experienced inclement weather while out shopping?  Have you raced through the rain/snow/sleet to the store entrance, went to grab a cart and there are none?  Or there are carts but you turn up your nose and cry out in exasperation that the carts are wet?  Yes, the carts go outside and outside is where it is raining so logically the carts will be too.  Wipe off the cart and move on. 
And when there are no carts but the parking lot was covered in a foot of snow, what the fuck are you doing out in the snow shopping for?  (Why did you risk your life to come and get a bag of chocolate-covered donuts and a t-shirt?)  These are the same people who cannot figure out why there are no carts in the store.  If you had a hard time walking into the store, how fucking hard do you imagine it is to walk, push carts, and avoid the asshole drivers of the parking lot?  Yeah, pretty damn difficult.  If I were a cart handler, I would not be the slightest bit tempted to go outside and grab carts in terrible weather and risk bodily injury just so customers can push it around the store to gather things to stuff their faces with.  Go get your own cart or grab a hand cart.  Why are you grocery shopping in this weather?! 

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

I'm Not The Only One

My husband and I went grocery shopping at Walmart yesterday and we went at a time that was super busy, dinner time.  It felt weird walking into the store and as I passed the registers I glanced around to see who was working: Trailer Park Girl (still sporting the dark hair and greasiness), the cashier I beat for fastest IPH, The Twilight guy (his name is the same as one of the characters), and grumpy Gloria (she trained me but upon further examination I realized just how grumpy she was to everyone). 

I'd have to say that as a customer, other customers annoy me even more.  They stand in the way, they walk slow, they pay no mind to what's around them and are generally very inconsiderate.  But now... I get to leave and I breathe a sigh of relief once I get to my car to be out of the store that's filled with assholes. 

While shopping I encountered a woman whom I was hired with and she asked me if I was still working there.  I had no qualms telling her that I quit because I hated it and I was beginning to get panic attacks.  

"Then you did what you had to do," she replied before complaining about her own work schedule.
"It was the customers, they're so rude," I said.
"Yeah, I just shrug it off, pay no mind and don't let it get to me."

How come I couldn't just shrug it off?  Maybe she's more easy-going and laid back than I am? I tried and tried for months to just shrug it off and usually I managed to.  Then, I came home just to bitch about it on my blog.

She mentioned that she was actively searching for a job still (because she hated Walmart too) and before parting we wished each other luck.  Unlike the insincerity of most casual goodbyes, I really meant it.  

Monday, February 28, 2011

I Quit

Last Wednesday I walked into Walmart, threw my name tag in the personnel lady's face and screamed, "I QUIT!" 

Okay, I didn't dramatically do that as I did countless times in my daydreams.  Instead, I made up my mind just a half an hour before my shift began that I didn't want to take it anymore.  I didn't want to take the customer abuse, the long and endless lines, the hours of standing in front of a register, the feeling of extreme dread, and the forty-five minute bus ride on two buses just to get to work. 

I did my makeup nicely, fixed my hair and put on the same sweater I'd worn the day I got hired (kinda full circle now, huh?) and drove to work as my husband laid in bed totally zonked out of his mind on meds for his back injury.  I wish that I'd had his input on my decision to quit, but I guess ultimately I took this shitty job in my own hands and ended it (not unlike a nemesis that only the hero can kill in the end).   

I burst through the double doors and into the personnel office and I opened up by asking for my W2 which despite being nearly March, I had not received.  I then asked her who I had to notify that I was quitting.

"Are you putting in your two weeks or..."
"I'm quitting today.  I'm just kinda done," I said flatly.
"Why, was it the hours?" she arched her eyebrows like she'd heard this before. 
"No, it's the customers.  I'm sick of the way the treat me."
"Yeah, working with the public is difficult," she nodded and her face relaxed.  Clearly, she'd been through her own customer hell before.  Another cashier walked in to discuss medical leave with the personnel lady and we exchanged a few words,
"I wish I could quit, I hate this job.  I had someone throw groceries at me once," the cashier said to me in front of the personnel lady.

It was then that I felt a little guilty.  This other cashier was a mother and I gathered that she had to work this job to support her family.  I had the luxury of throwing my hands up and leaving but, she did not.  That's not really my fault though because we both have different circumstances but I couldn't help feeling bad for her.  And, what asshole throws groceries at a cashier?!  I would beat the shit out of that person with their gallon of milk and choke them a plastic bag.  

Now that I am now a housewife until I figure out how we'll either A) get another car or B) find another job within a bus route, I'm facing tons of free time.  I'm also facing the outcome of this blog.  I have tons of customer stories and insights into the annoyance of the service industry.  I'm considering molding this 30,000 word blog into a book somehow... 

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

You Can Stuff Your 'Congratulations' Up Your...

After being off since the day after Valentine's Day, today is my first day back.  I have two shifts, today and tomorrow from 4:30-11 and I hope I can get through them without having a panic attack, pulling my hair out, or attacking a customer and beating their head against the ground.

Most of my day yesterday comprised of looking at every job site I could think of to try and find something that I can send a resume to.  I came up empty handed.  This caused me to have a very shitty day and for my husband to come home from his totally crappy day and have to deal with his blubbering, crying wife. 

To top it off, I got this in the mail: 

Congratulations! NOT
Apparently, this little stupid card is worthy of being congratulated over.  Now I can save 10% on SOME items.  This is just damn depressing.  That means I've been at this shit hole for over 90 days. 

And the people at Walmart assumed that my last name was the same as my husband's because he's now Mr. MyLastName.  Nice. 

Speaking of these stupid cards, I see them being abused all the time.  Associates shopping with friends will swipe their cards first and then let their friends pay the difference.  It's not supposed to be used like that but, because I don't have an interest in what Walmart loses money in, I choose not to say anything. 

Another stupid thing about Walmart: they only sell edited CDs.  Now this concept, I don't really get because they can sell rated R movies that SHOW things as well as say bad things.  What sense does that make?  

I'm not quite sure how today is going to go.  Either way, I know it's going to be filled with misery, lots of clock watching, annoying people, and screaming babies.  Oh, what a wonderful job. 

Friday, February 18, 2011

Women Are The Most Annoying Customers

On the one day I was supposed to work in this long stretch of time off, I called out sick.  I was even dressed and head out of the door when my throat tightened, my heart raced, and my chest began to hurt.  Another mild panic attack.  When I called off I unfortunately had to talk to the Overly Enthusiastic Manager and she genuinely wished me 'get well' and I felt bad for about two milliseconds.  After hanging up the phone and taking a deep breath, I realized that I would not have to step behind a register for almost a week.  

There are few times in life where I feel more relieved than I do when I clock out and race out of Walmart and hit the parking lot.  While my life feels dull, dismal, and completely Edgar Allen Poe-esque while I'm working, the clouds lift and my soul (what soul I have left that hasn't been raped and pillaged by Walmart) is uplifted once I step outside.

This may be the overly dramatic, writer-creative person-artistic side of me but... I feel so fucking stifled by that workplace.  Everyday my nerves take a severe beating and each day I wonder when I will finally fucking snap.  Of course I don't mean snap as in a violent sense, more like throw my hands up and scream, "Fuck this job and fuck you!" as I point my finger in the face of the offending customer.  I hope it's an old snooty lady.  Or some high and mighty soccer mom with those fucking pieces of shit reusable bags (that they're going to stuff in their enormous UNenvironmentally friendly SUV). 

I just thought of something interesting.  I have more problems with female customers than male customers.  I can only think of a couple times in which a male customer has really caused me problems or has been annoying (stupid, yes but all customers are stupid).  Female customers seem to be the worst.  And I'm not saying I'm anti-female but, they are the pickiest of all the customers whether it's price, bagging preference, or annoying requests.  

What does this mean exactly?  I'm not sure.  Is it because women, are more prevalent grocery shoppers and therefore I'm more in contact with women and as a result they cause more annoying instances?  Is it because I'm sick of bagging douches?  Is it because women are more annoying and picky?

I think it's a combination of those things.  All my life I have held most females at arms length because of many instances in which I have been badly burned or backstabbed.  Usually it's because a lot of girls (with the exception of a few) have generally annoyed me.  It could have been their mannerisms, conversational subject matter, or the way they treated others.  A lot of the time it's because I have regarded them as being weak.  I cannot stand weak and overly feminine women who adhere strongly to gender roles.  On the opposite end of the spectrum I cannot stand men who hold fast to gender stereotypes either. 

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Strawberries, Whipped Cream, and Paintbrush Skewers?

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 7 (a four hour shift followed by two days off, it wasn't too bad) 

At least once a day I get a customer who pulls out some items from their pocket or purse at the last minute and hands it to me to scan.  Sometimes we have already finished the transaction and the items in their pockets are a last minute remembrance.  It makes me wonder, how many times do customers not remember that they've pocketed things?  And how is it that no one from the Walmart security room didn't deploy someone from the roof to tackle the lady in the lipstick aisle to the ground once she slipped the item away?  It must be really simple to steal things from our store.  

But as a customer, why would you think it would be okay to put things that you haven't purchased away in your purse or pocket?  It always is the women who put things like lipsticks and other cosmetics in their pockets.  I've never had a man who's nearly forgotten to pay for anything so it must be a woman thing.  It really bothers me though because I have to fight the urge to say, "What if you had forgotten to give this to me?!  THIEF!!!"

During my last hour I was put on re-shop which brought me into the line of fire of a million questioning customers.  Where's the satin sheets? (Ew.)  Where's the cookie cutters?  Where's your skewers? 

I easily found the skewers but we were out of the bamboo ones that the woman wanted to impale her box of fruit upon.  She didn't want to use metal skewers and she asked me if I had any ideas (????).  I thought of a few stupid things: straws, toothpicks, ... dowel rods?!  She had no idea what a dowel rod was so I took her over to the craft aisle.  While a skinny dowel rod would have worked fine, unfortunately we only carried a multipack of different sizes.  We stood there staring at the dowel rods and pipe cleaners until she reached toward a pack of paintbrushes.  Yes, plastic, multicolored, kid-friendly paintbrushes.  After considering them for a moment she put them in her cart and said, "Well, at least it'll be the joke at the table."  We had a good laugh at the idea but I cannot believe that ultimately she walked away planning to skewer fruit on paintbrushes.  How romantic. The sheer ridiculousness still makes me giggle to think of it. 

Valentine's Day means lots of customers buying strawberries, chocolate syrup, whipped cream, boxes of fake rose petals, candles and boxes of candy.  It grosses me out when they buy these combinations of items because I don't want to think what they are going to be used for.  Oddly enough, no one bought condoms or lube... ?  It truly surprises me how many women feel comfortable enough to put their sexy underpants on the register checkout belt that has smears of questionable things on it (could be chicken juice, fabric softener, milk stains...).  At least put it on top of one of the items!  Yuck! 

Speaking of piling clothing, one of my huge pet peeves involves the customer bringing up a wad of clothing and piling them on the register belt.  It takes me twice as long sorting through a collision of clothing that resembles the dumped out contents of a laundry hamper.  And if it's messy on the belt, I'm going to throw that shit in your bag in a tangled and wrinkly mess not unlike the one you unloaded on me. 

And the Roundhouse Kick to the Face Award of the week goes to: the woman who asked me where "stuff for your lawn would be" and didn't realize that such things would be in... LAWN & GARDEN!  

*The "Roundhouse Kick to the Face Award" goes to the dumbest customers with the most obvious and ridiculous questions (there might even be multiple winners).  This award is sponsored by my Mom who loves the phrase "roundhouse kick." 

Monday, February 14, 2011

Valentine's Hell

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 9.8

For my entire shift it was non-stop customers.  The combination of military payday and impending Valentine's Day created a perfect storm and my personal hell.  It was a hassle just to walk to the back room to clock in and wade through the throng of people.  One of the door greeters mentioned that it had been a crazy day and that's when you know it's been bad.  You can't even stand at a fucking door and say "hello" to customers without feeling overwhelmed.  It almost made me want to snap at her and say, "Oh, you think that's bad?  Try having non-stop customers and bagging their shit over and over.  Standing in front of the door is cake!!"  

After my shift my entire body ached, especially my back.  Maybe I'm too tall or something but bending down and bagging really gets to my back sometimes.  I think it might have something to do with the height difference, practically every cashier and service manager is shorter than me.  It makes it difficult to look for a manager because I usually end up looking over them because they are all so tiny.

Another thing about Valentine's Day: the expensive candy.  And I'm so happy that I'm paying for people to buy that expensive Valentine's candy with their food stamp card.  WHAT THE FUCK!?  Feed your damn kids!  I have no problem with people using their card to feed their families because some financial misfortune has befallen you.  But besides a few people, everyone I've seen using it buys the most junk food I have ever seen.  I also enjoy the fact that some of the women have nice and expensive Coach purses with matching wallets and a manicure.  If you can afford that shit, you can afford food.  Same goes for cigarettes and alcohol. 

I'm pretty sure that Valentine's Day will be the last shitty holiday I have to put up with at Walmart.  There's been Thanksgiving, Christmas Eve, Super Bowl Sunday, and now Valentine's Day.  I'm fed up with the holidays at Walmart.  When does it end in our consumer-driven culture?  Buy, buy, buy!  "I need food for Thanksgiving, so much food that I'll end up throwing away half of it!  I need STUFF for Christmas... and FOOD.  I need to eat and drink when I watch the football game!  Don't forget all the chocolate candies I need to eat on Valentine's Day.  I want so much chocolate, I'm going to melt it and inject it right into my bloodstream!  MORE FOOD!!!"  It's no wonder that our nation is a nation of fatasses.  We can't do anything or go anywhere without eating.  Whether it's a concert, the movie theater, the fair, or airplanes, we can't go anywhere without stuffing our faces.  It's embarrassing. 

There's been a study done that America wastes half of the nation's food supply.  HALF!  Yet, we have people fucking starving on the streets and people making Epic Mealtime (though... Epic Mealtime is kinda funny).  And everyday more and more people graze off to Walmart to gather more food. 

Here's another fun fact courtesy of one of my undergrad Sociology classes: In countries where food is prominent (as in the US), a slim physique is the ideal.  In countries where food is scarce, a plumper body frame is most desirable. 

I thought that was interesting and not a very complex idea, but something I didn't bother to think about before.  It seems either way, you can't win. 

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Marshmallows and Panic Attacks

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 8.5

The other day I had a huge line and in it were two different families which had two girls the same age.  The one nerdier little girl decided to copy the other one (a pretty, blonde girl) by picking up one of those stupid toy cellphones by the registers.  They both proceeded to "talk" on the phone while I rang up their parent's orders.  The blonde girl began saying things in a stern tone like, "Stop calling, Tinkerbell.  I don't have flower power," and she'd hang up and reopen it to say other nonsense.  The nerdy little girl began to copy her but more aggressively screamed the above phrase into her phone.  Over and over and over and over.  Her father didn't but once tell her to be quiet but, she didn't really listen to him because she probably couldn't hear him above her own ridiculous screams.  Now, I am not immune to child cuteness but when she said that shit for the fiftieth time at decibels that could kill ear cells, I got a little pissed.  When her father handed me the stupid toy phone I wanted to snap it in front of her and watch her eyes tear up.  I guess people are so used to their children being fucking annoying as hell, they don't know what is past the tolerance level of normal society. 

And on the opposite end of the spectrum but, is it me or do some people seem to have kids just to have something to yell at?  

I had to fight so hard yesterday to not tell a customer what an idiot she was.  She said in front of me that the customer service associates should "know their store a little better" because they incorrectly told her the marshmallows were in the baking aisle.  They are.  I told her this and she said she looked forever and couldn't find it. Then, I had the mental image of a bag of marshmallows hitting her face and her saying, "Where are they?"  Which is probably what could happen and she would still be lost.  But, besides that... do people expect associates to memorize every fucking nook and cranny of a HUGE Supercenter?!  Think of how dumb that sounds.  That's why we have people who specialize in that area.  Don't expect me to know all about digital cameras just because I work in a store that has them.  Your office building has an accounting department... does that mean you know all that goes on there?  No?  Well, now you see where that logic leads us.  Asshole. 

The first thing that infuriates me upon getting to work (when I get to drive the car) is our Walmart parking lot.  We've taken all the dumbasses from inside the store, who bang their carts into things, drop shit and create havoc, and put them into cars.  It creates an aggravating, shitty, and dangerous scenario.  People drive so damn slowly and in ways that cause traffic to back up clear to our traffic light.  It's ultimately the morons who planned the shopping center's fault because they made it very idiotic.  

I now have physical proof that my annoying job is getting to me.  On Friday, I had a mild panic attack.  My heart raced, my chest hurt, I broke out in a sweat and my hands trembled.  I felt out of control of my own body and I just wanted to go hide in a bathroom stall until my heart rate returned to normal.  Maybe I can't be a cashier for too much longer because my mild panic attacks will turn into serious panic attacks which could result in agoraphobia!  Looking up medical things online tends to freak you out.  I doubt I'll ever develop that far (as long as I get the hell out of Walmart pretty soon) but, I definitely need to find ways to calm down.  All this pent up rage at customers is causing me harm when I really could be feeling fine if I took it out on them.  Maybe I need a punching bag with the faces of random customers on it... the Old Lady, the Price Watcher, the Bag Opener, the Re-Bagger... etc. 

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Random Thoughts

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 7.5

Going in today from 11:30- 8 so I'll leave you with some random thoughts for today: 

"You're such a nice, patient cashier," I hear a lot, especially from old ladies who require a lot of patience.  If they only knew what I was thinking inside my head, they would not bestow such a compliment upon me.  But, I guess that's good though because I've finally mastered hiding my irritation at most customers.  There are some customers that I don't even bother to because I want them to see how annoyed I am.  I want them to know they are annoying.

If you really aggravate me, I will not wish you a nice day/night.  For some reason I feel that is some sort of ZING!  You will just get a cold "thank you" followed by your receipt and I mentally kick you in the ass. 

I know I should be happy to have a job and blah blah blah.  "Great... I have a job, but it's at Walmart!" is like "Great... my insurance covers a colon exam."  Either way, you're screwed. 

There's a lady at work that I mentally call Fish Eyes.  She's got creepy, unpredictable eyes that are far apart on her head and almost on the sides of her face... like a fish. 

Bag Openers are annoying.  Sure, I appreciate the gesture of you taking time to open new bags for me.  But, it takes TOO much time.  Here I am trying to turn the carousel and you're chasing after it to open the bag.  Then, you usually say something stupid like, "Heh, I'll leave that to the professional!"  Screw you because that's just damn insulting.  And I come back with something like, "Wow, that's sad if I'm a professional bag opener." 

Buying condoms for your son is just weird.  I'm sure he appreciates the gesture but when I've got a forty year old woman and a barely legal-looking male... I'm going to think you're a cougar until you mention him being your son.  I don't know, it's also pretty emasculating that your MOM has to buy your condoms.  Be a man and pay for them yourself!! 

I learned that one of the overnight cashiers has a twin sister and it kind of freaked me out at first.  I wish her twin worked there instead of her because she's really bitchy.  She has one of those faces that look like she's forever smelling something foul and you would never want to approach her.  Oddly enough, her twin doesn't have that look on her face.  Maybe it's because she doesn't work at Walmart? 

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Produce Mis-Manager

Since I didn't work yesterday, I'm going to go back in my archive of grocery experience and talk about Eddie, the Produce Mis-Manager.

I used to work in a small neighborhood market that only employed about a handful of people. Most of these people had known the owner for years and they'd all worked the grocery circuit in town and ultimately ended up at the store. Because of this friendly history, it was difficult for my boss to come to terms with the fact that his Produce Manager sucked. And not just sucked at his job, he was an asshole. A fat, lazy, loud, annoying, inappropriate asshole.

When I first moved up from my cashier position into a near-manager type role, I got to experience working the mornings with Eddie the Moronic. His reputation had proceeded him as being an insensitive jerkwad who told inappropriate and unfunny jokes. He certainly did not disappoint. For a while I humored him, listened to his long stories when we should have both been working (and I would have rather been working, his stories were fucking pointless).

I usually said anything just to get out of his aggravating storytelling.  After a while, he must have just figured that I liked conversing with him because he would seek me out instead of doing his fucking job.  I'd be in one of the aisles, jamming away on my iPod and thinking about life while straightening the shelves and here he would come, fresh from the shitter to talk to me.  

And he was always in the bathroom.  My God, his prostate must be the size of a grapefruit.  I'd always think that to myself after I'd see him bumbling out of the bathroom and then instantly shudder because against my will I thought about him having a prostate and that was just disgusting.  

It was before one of these bathroom trips that he first began saying inappropriate and perverted comments.  I was kneeling on the floor, fixing cans that a dumbass customer had knocked over and he stopped short of his office door (a.k.a. the bathroom) and said, "What are you doing... down there on your knees."  He waited for a response briefly before turning and going in the bathroom.  I'm sure my jaw hitting the floor wasn't the response he expected.  For a few minutes it was, "Did he just say what I thought he said?!"  Then, I got angry and felt so angry that I wanted to kick him in the nutsack and shove his face in the toilet.  But, that would involve touching him so I refrained. 

I told my boss who supposedly talked to Eddie Spaghetti (what he lovingly called him... bleh) and it was to no avail.  He kept trying to chat with me until one day I decided that I was going to be straight-up fucking rude to him and maybe he would stop.  I'd briefly answer his questions and walk away while he was talking to me or answer rudely or shortly.  I didn't bother to hide my disgust when he was near by either my facial expressions or my guarded conversations with others.  I didn't laugh politely at his jokes or give him much opportunity to say anything to me.  

There is one incident that will forever live in my memory as the day my coworker (who also despised Eddie) and I saw Eddie for who he really was, a sugar and fat-driven animal.  Every extra drop of sugar brings Eddie to either being maimed or entering a diabetic coma because of his near-raging diabetes.  But, he won't let a little threat of limb loss deter him from preying on sugary snacks.  My coworker and I were in the main office discussing price changes when we looked up at the television monitor that overlooked Eddie's produce area.  We watched him stand near the trash for a second before diving headfirst into the trash can.  He retrieved an item and we watched in horror as he shoveled it into his mouth.  

For a little background knowledge which will serve to show just how fucking sick this is, the trash can that was savagely attacked was used to throw away old produce, stuff off the floor, and other rotten things. 

My coworker and I gasped and looked at the monitor in disbelief.  We had actually seen him eat some nasty shit from the trash.  "What did he just eat?!" I exclaimed.  We waited until he left for the day to search through his garbage carefully and determine what the fuck he ate from the trash.  And there it was...

Clearly, he does love his honey buns too. 

The Little Debbie's vendor came into the store to stock new merchandise and discard the out of date treats in the trash can.  Before he'd throw them away he would squash them so they wouldn't be able to be resold.  There was a pile of honey buns that had been squished and a wrapper that had been torn as if by wild animal claws: it's what Eddie had dived into the trash to retrieve to stuff into his repulsive face.  Sure... it was individually wrapped but, we had to dig through rotting produce to get to it.  (Which, he would leave in the back instead of taking to the dumpster because for some reason he liked flies to accumulate in the back room.) 

His whole reason for living was sugar though.  Every out of date Entenmann's donut/pastry/cake he could find he would stuff into his fat face by the fistful.  Whenever I brought a treat to work, I'd try my hardest to hide it until he went home at 11 am so he wouldn't get any.  On my birthday I was feeling charitable so I offered him a delicious cupcake, "Not right now, maybe later," he told me.  After that he bought a jug of milk and came back to where I was standing, "I'll have a cupcake now."  Moron. 

He was a shitty worker and took advantage of my boss because they were friends.  I don't even know how my boss, a really upstanding and wonderful guy, could be friends with such a slimy asshole who crawled out of the gutter everyday to go to work. 

He is a sick, disgusting, wobbly fuck and I hope I never have the displeasure of seeing him again.  On my last day of work he held out his hand for me to shake it.  I should've been rude and told him to stick his hand up his own ass but I shook it out of what politeness I could muster.  And you know what?  That asshole squeezed the hell out of my hand and I thought my ring on my finger was going to be bent so much I'd need it to be cut off.  What a dick. 

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

My Bleeding Eardrum and Re-Shop Lessons

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 9.5 (and I was actively playing out quitting scenarios in my head). 

I once read a sentence in a message board after searching for the words 'I hate working at Walmart' that made a great deal of sense to me. "You know your job is shitty when you contemplate suicide everyday you're there but are mentally healthy as soon as you leave."  I am clearly not alone in my cashiering hatred, thankfully.  

It's been difficult to want to write this blog for the last day or two.  I've been feeling out of sorts, even bordering on depressed when my mind even wanders to thoughts relating to work.  I feel so stuck in a rut career-wise and I have no idea what to do.   A lot of people say that college is the hard part.  Bullshit.  College was the easy part once you pick a major.   Because once you get out into the real world, you really have to decide your place in it and there isn't a degree checklist to help you find your way.  Sometimes I feel like the time I spent in college and the debt I've accrued haven't been worth it.  Although ultimately I'm glad I possess a degree because it's the one thing that demonstrates that I'm a cut above the rest of the cashiers.  And I guess that sounds mean, but then again... it's not my fault they've decided to settle for a job as monotonous, shitty, and hugely unrewarding as being a cashier. 

Last night I worked 5-10 and for the most part I just gave people breaks (which I don't mind, it serves to break up my shift a little).    I had to give Cold Shoulder Girl a break and for some reason she couldn't sign off of her register so I was going to have to use her numbers.

"Just don't screw me up," she said as she gathered her things.
"Pssh, screw you up?  I'll probably help you out," I scoffed (referencing her Items Per Hour number).
"Oh, I didn't mean it like that... I was just kidding," she tried to backtrack.  Oh yeah?  Blow it out your ass. 

Oh and I learned what my IPH was to make me the fastest cashier: averaging 811 items per hour.  Yay.  The Zone Manager (the overly excited one from here) caught me by the time clock yesterday and was praising me for the dull and pointless achievement and advised me to keep up the good work.  Then she made me read some stupid document about future management positions.  I don't know if all the cashiers had to read that or if it means something. *shivers*  The thought of being a Walmart manager makes me want to run for the nearest exit. 

If it's not the customers that are going to ultimately drive me to just walk away from my register, it's going to be the customer's annoying offspring.  I had a customer with a young boy who randomly out of no where emitted such an earsplitting scream that my right ear still doesn't feel right.  I swear that I will probably never hear that pitch again in my life, the ear cells are officially and brutally murdered.  I have never wanted to slap a child more in my life and I wish the parent had done it.  But there is never ever a time during my entire shift that there isn't one child crying.  There is an endless screaming, crying, temper-tantrum-throwing child.  I could choose to listen at ANY TIME and there is one in one of the checkout lines.  It's no wonder I feel miserable when the sound of crying is the soundtrack to my shift.   

I've been also doing a ton of re-shop lately which I have come to really like as opposed to being stuck on a register.  I take my little cart back to whatever section and look for where things go.  I can stand around and "pretend" to look for an item when I'm really just staring off into space.  I even sometimes take the re-shopping as an opportunity to shop for items myself.  I get to see all of the new items and make a mental checklist of what I want to get either when I get off work or in the future.  So when we do re-shop later in the day, like 10 pm or so, there aren't many customers in the store and they leave me alone for the most part.  I used to not know where a lot of things are but as a result of all the re-shop, I now know a lot more.  Here's some observations I've made while doing re-shop:

1.)  Some of the same items need to be re-shopped everyday.  I don't know how many times I've had to put back this one Spongebob pillow but I put it back nearly every day!
2.)  I go down a clear aisle and happily celebrate that it is empty and begin putting items away.  It is then that a huge horde of people descend on the aisle as if they are invading and ready for battle.  
3.)  No one ever works in Hardware and Sporting Goods.  They are seriously ALWAYS MIA and it pisses me off because then a customer comes and bugs me. 
4.)  The most peaceful place in the store during re-shop time is Lawn & Garden.  I usually take my time and enjoy the quiet. 
5.)  If you're wearing a navy shirt, I instantly think you work there until I go to look for khakis and a name tag.  I accidentally asked a customer if we had an item another customer was looking for.  Embarrassing, yes.  But I quickly looked around and pretended I was asking myself out loud.  I bet I looked like an idiot.
6.)  A lot of male associates try to flirt with me and say things like, "Oh... you're new here?" *wink wink* BLEH. 
7.)  Customers couldn't find their asses if it wasn't attached. 
8.)  I find A LOT of empty drink containers and food wrappers.  Disgusting. 

I'm sure there will be more to come. 

Monday, February 7, 2011

Here's The Keys, Bye!

In the grand tradition of Walmart throwing you into a job before receiving the training, I arrived to work yesterday and was stuck in the jewelry section.  I was handed keys, briefly shown the register and was left alone to answer questions that should've been answered by someone who worked in the section.  Apparently everyone in the jewelry section had called off and I was one of the last resorts. 

"Where's the watch bands?"
"What type of batteries go in these watches?"
"Are you having a sale on sterling silver?"

These are the types of questions that I don't know the answers to.   You know how shitty it is to see the looks  on people's faces when you have to say, "Um, I don't normally work in this section so I don't really know."  It's fucking uncomfortable!  After the first hour I was relieved and sent to a register and more familiar territory.  Other than that and getting asked who my team for the Super Bowl was a million times (I didn't care), time went pretty quickly.  Unfortunately I have to work 8-12 am tonight which is a short yet annoying shift. 

Here's a weird observation: Trailer Park Girl dyed her hair the same color as mine.  Before, I was the only cashier with my hair color and length and now hers looks the same (except hers is unstyled, uncombed, and greasy).  Just... weird. 

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Can I Rate the Customers?

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter: 7.9 

At each register we have a sign posted that has a big "10" circled and underneath it reads, "Rate this cashier a 10 for fast, friendly, and clean."  I find that phrase so damn stupid.  I understand the fast and friendly part (which most of the cashiers are either one or the other, certainly not both), but clean?  What does that mean?  Personal hygiene?  They keep your groceries clean?  I'm not sure.  Apparently we're supposed to hand out the little surveys with a sticker with your name on it on the receipt, but I don't because I don't give a shit about what Joe Shmo and Ms. Braless Trailer Park thinks of the job I do.  I'm expecting to get asked any day now if I do include the name sticker with the survey receipts.  And I'm going to lie.  They'd have no real way of knowing unless they viewed the register video and why would they do that for something so pointless?  And even if they caught me red handed, who cares?  Maybe I should make up a fake cashier name like "Bonita" or "Patsy"?  

Can I rate the customers?  Because... they suck.

I think the cashier from Early Shift Pains has realized that I probably think she's an idiot.  Yesterday she plainly walked past me and looked the complete other way... and obvious cold shoulder.  I almost felt a chill as she walked past me.  It kinda made me laugh because I don't really care.  She's really rather wacky. 

One of the things I've come to dread now are seeing an employee of Walmart in my checkout line.  They are more annoying and picky than other customers and I have no idea why.   Perhaps it's  because they work there and they think they are owed special treatment, I don't know.  But I want to slap them in the face and snap their meager little discount cards in half.  The discount cards are also a joke.  They take 10% off of every purchase... on certain items.  And 10% isn't even that much so why can't they let it be off of every item?  I've seen people swipe the cards and get $0.00 discount.  What's the point of having them?! 

As if my day couldn't get more annoying, someone invented Valentine's Day singing balloons to contribute to the everyday noise of Walmart.  So now, whenever someone taps a specific balloon, "Still the One" starts playing on repeat for the next minute or so.  I don't know why the fuck you'd want a singing balloon... 

Today I'm working 11-3 and what a fucking pointless shift that is.  What's the point of me coming in today?  I'm basically showing up to make $30 when I'd pay more than that to NOT show up. 

Friday, February 4, 2011

The Hat In Its Natural Habitat!

Today's Quit-O-Meter: 5.9ish 

Well, I just got off work about an hour and a half ago and I've got about eight hours until I'm back behind a register, not fair!

But, today was not in vain.  I have managed to take an up close and personal picture of the offensive hat, the one that has caused my blood to boil every time I see it.  I was giving Hat Lady a break and she left the terrible headpiece behind: 

Faces blurred to protect the innocent (left) and the fashion victim (right).
I finally feel like I've accomplished something!  I've managed to take two hat pictures and share them with the rest of the internet.  I wasn't exaggerating, was I?  It's fucking horrible.  Now, I can end my unhealthy obsession with the hat now that it's out there for everyone to see!

Strange purchases of the day: a cat poop scooper and laxative.  This combination brings to mind a rather odd mental picture.  Did the woman suspect that Fluffy was a little stopped up?  I just picture her following her cat's butt around with the poop scoop now. 

Oddly, the person who said to me, "You're a nice cashier" was the one person in the entire shift I wanted to face punch.  She wasn't necessarily rude, just extremely slow.  It seems that people have absolutely no idea that a line is behind them.  I'm sometimes amazed at my nerves of steel but, sometimes I almost reach my breaking point.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Worse Than Cashiering

I can think of two jobs off of the top of my head that are worse than being a cashier: hotel housekeeping and custodian.

I have seen people tear through a store and leave it a disaster in a matter of hours so I don't even want to think about what a hotel housekeeping has to deal with when people stay in one room for over twelve hours. That has got to be a complete nightmare. That's why when I stay in a hotel, I usually think of the hotel staff and I try to be as least bothersome as possible. I clean up my trash, hang the towels up, and wipe around the sink. When I brush my hair there are hairs that naturally fall out and I clean those up to avoid someone else having to deal with my stray hairs. I mean, I would find that most disgusting so I figure so would the housekeeping staff.

A clip from The Office: 

Sometimes I think that if people weren't so naturally fucking disgusting, a lot of hotel rooms wouldn't be so gross.  I'm positive there are times where housekeeping staff are lazy and maybe don't properly clean up.  But seriously.... people are disgusting.

They'll bleed on the floor of the Taco Bell lobby (that happened not too long ago, actually) or leave their poopy pants in plain sight in the bathroom instead of shoving them further into the trash (saw that on People of Walmart, coincidentally).  They'll leave half-eaten food around the store or dirty diapers in the parking lot (my poor husband had to deal with that a lot when he worked at Toys R Us a few years ago).  For some reason the rules of cleaning up after ones self doesn't apply when you are in a public place where there's most likely someone who's job it is to clean up.  

I've had really messy customers who have had a drink and spilled it all over the floor and have watched me clean up after themselves.  I've had a guy who had a wet paper towel and has wrung it out all over the floor which made me want to kick him in the chins and ask him if he's ever heard of a lawsuit waiting to happen.  But, people don't think about that kind of stuff because they either don't give a shit or their brains haven't thought that far ahead. 

I remember one time at my last job a customer informed me that someone had thrown up in one of the aisles.  My first thought was, "UGH!  People are fucking sick!"  What kind of asshole just pukes and leaves?!  If it were me, I would do anything to get rid of the evidence.  And what made it worse is that the bathroom was TEN feet away.  What kinda lazy ass sicko would just puke and leave?! 

When I reached the puking aftermath I was just initially stunned.  For being vomit it had no smell.  For a few moments I was skeptical that it was even vomit, it had the appearance of canned cat food.  I was hoping it was cat food.  Upon further examination it was not but, it was disgusting and terrible to clean up.  It was times like that I'd wished we had a store custodian.  

Being a custodian would be a terrible job and being a school custodian would have to be the worst.  The horror stories my elementary aged brother would tell me had the potential to give me nightmares.  It just further drives home the point that kids are really repulsive.  It's no wonder they didn't find custodians who had hung themselves in the bathroom after finding a particularly gnarly mess.

One thing I can't comprehend is how one, sitting on a toilet can miss.  That surprisingly happens a lot... poor custodians. 

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Super Bowl Sunday

Super Bowl Sunday is one of the days throughout the year that I dread in the retail business.   Just like Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve, on and before Super Bowl Sunday the lines will be long, carts will be bulging, and customers will be grumpy.  But unlike those other two holidays, Super Bowl Sunday is a culmination of all things I don't like:

1.) Fat, testosterone-fueled men wearing sail-like jerseys and/or body paint.  Lovely combo. 
2.) Football
3.) The truly American pastime, eating.
4.) Overly-hyped commercials 
5.) Beer 

Over the past eight years of my working life, I have worked eight Super Bowl Sundays.  They suck ass.  

My first job, Little Caesars, was a nightmare on SBS.  There were so many different and large orders that it was difficult to keep up (and everyone except a handful of people who worked there were pretty much useless, slow, and dumb).  We ran out of wings which caused the jiggly masses to become irate, it was just an ugly day.  

Customers are especially unpredictable on SBS:

-The guy whose team is losing and he had to make a beer run and is either grumpy about the line being so long so he's especially pleasant to you once he gets to the register or wants to bitch at you about how terrible his team is doing when you really don't give a shit.  Usually I barely know who's even in the Super Bowl so I nod and act like I care. 
-The guy whose team is winning and he had to make a beer run and is dancing with impatience in the line like he's got to urinate and it's as if his life depends on racing back to his television.  He's also known to answer "How are you?" by saying something like, "Great, my team is winning so I couldn't be better!" [initiate stupid grin]
-The wife who couldn't care less about the Super Bowl and she is taking her sweet time getting back to her house because she doesn't want to be there with all the screaming, jelly-filled beer drinkers.   This customer pisses off the previous types of SBS customers because she is so slow and interfering with game time. 

At my last job I was responsible for the store on Sundays and among those responsibilities I had to refill the freezer that held the bags of ice.  On a normal Sunday I had to fill it once, twice if it was Summertime and really hot out.  I couldn't get anything done that SBS because I was pretty much constantly filling that freezer up.  By the end of the day I was worn out from stacking probably hundreds of ten pound bags of ice. 

Did anyone else think of IBS when I started abbreviating Super Bowl Sunday?  

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

I'm The #1 Cashier...

Yesterday's Quit-O-Meter reading: 6 (trust me, it's never going below a six.)

Apparently there's a speed contest for cashiers that I wasn't aware of and upon arriving to work yesterday I was told that I was number one in IPH (items per hour) out of all the cashiers in the store.  Everyone was really excited about this for some reason.  I think it's kinda silly but it's also kinda sad that I've only been there for almost three months and I've beaten everyone that's worked there longer than me.  I even had an associate come up to me and shake my hand for beating her for the top position that she's held seven years running.  I wasn't aware that there was such a contest, I just do what I always do and if there's no compensation (whether it's an extra break or even a slight monetary compensation), who cares? 

In the past I was told by another associate that speed doesn't matter (and every cashier before they sign off for any reason always checks their speed... I don't).  So, clearly it does matter if there's some sort of list to be on top of, right?  Maybe he was trying to clear out the competition? 

When you have no customers you're supposed to sign off so your IPH doesn't go down and I usually forget to do that so I wonder if it could have been higher had I remembered?

So... I'm the number one cashier.  Somehow, that's really sad to say.  The thing that I'm really good at is passing items over a scanner and putting them into bags.  That's a confidence builder, right there. 

There was a customer yesterday who I wanted to throat chop (just lean over the counter and ninja chop to get her away from me).  She stood with her face two inches from the register read-out (I'm not exaggerating at all, TWO INCHES!) and she would look at the item I was scanning, then the price, look at the item I was scanning, and then back to the price.  Her head bobbed up and down and up and down for nearly SIXTY items.  It was driving me insane because I could see it out of my peripheral vision and her head was just bobbing annoyingly.   She must've had bad vision but she wasn't wearing glasses at all.  If her vision is that bad, holy shit, how does she even tie her damn shoes or walk behind a cart?!

If you come up to the register with produce, do not proceed to tell me what it is.  If I am holding it up to my nose it is because I cannot read the small little number code on the sticker.  I am not holding an orange up to my face because I can't figure out what it is.  Yes, I know what a roma tomato, (tomatillo, avocado, etc.) is.  Then the other day I had a lady getting mad at me for "weighing" the red pepper and green pepper twice... even though those are priced individually.  Customers insult my intelligence on a daily basis.