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

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

I Forever Hate Gardenias

It's my first post of the New Year! And with the new year comes new and better things, right? Yeah, well... wrong. I'm still working at Walmart because I went in after getting home yesterday evening to check my schedule and I'm on 2-11 for the rest of the week. Remember when I said my co-worker had 17 hours starting the new year? Well, she must really suck because I've got 32. You'd think that because I have eight less hours a week that I would be there less days. Not a chance, I've still got the same two days off because they just shaved off an hour or two here and there. Dicks.

Fuck, how do people get fired from this place? Despite being fast on the register, I really have done my shittiest job ever because I just care that little about my position. I show up late, I've called off at least three times in six weeks, I don't really smile, I do a half-ass job at the tasks I'm given (when I'm supposed to put something back in a department and I can't immediately find it, I do a quick glance around to check for other associates and shove the item on the shelf somewhere). Seriously, what do people have to do to get let go from Walmart?! (Perhaps... write negatively about Walmart on an internet site?) From my experience at least, you have to be a complete and utter social failure to get fired from Walmart. Am I just blessed (I'll use the term loosely) or do they let everything slide?

Things I Haven't Missed:

1.) Dumbasses.
2.) The ugly, rude, old chick who wears a fur-lined cap with ear flaps INSIDE at her register. I want to rip off that hideous hat, light it on fire, then throw the ashes into the toilet. It's THAT bad.
3.) Trailer Park Girl and her prancing she does around the registers. You're a cashier, get over yourself.
4.) The monotony of scanning items.
5.) My sore back from bending over and filling bags all day.
6.) Everything about Walmart.
7.) Riding the damn bus.

Since I was home this last week I visited my old place of work. Now that job I did try my hardest to do a good job despite having to cashier. Lucky for me I got to do many other things in the background and I didn't have any contact with customers. Being there did bring back some memories that I'd like to forget. I saw regular customers that I'd like to forget.

One of my absolute least favorite customers was wonderfully missing this week so I missed out on seeing her. I call her Fuschia- Gardenia Lady. She is short, portly, and middle aged and wears her hair extremely long and usually parted half-way with a scrunchie sitting on top of her head. Sometimes she wears her hair in a tight and unflattering bun. Her face is very chubby and the first thing you notice is her hideous shade of fuschia lipstick that she wears with every outfit regardless of whether it coordinates (does fuschia lipstick ever look good exactly?). The scent that proceeds her and lingers far after she is gone is the strongest gardenia perfume that has ever been manufactured. Forever she has ruined the scent for me and every time I smell it, I immediately think of her.

She was a regular customer who asked for help with the ATM every single time she came in. It's not a slot machine or some sort of difficult puzzle to master before you can get out your cash, it's an ATM and a very easy one at that. Despite an easily readable picture of how you swipe your card, she always scanned it wrong. After helping her it was all I could do to not swipe a twenty for my trouble.

She always asked for things we never had. And the things we did have, she had to give her review on every product. 7 UP, I will forever hate you for adding antioxidants to your Cherry 7 Up. For months (and even to this day!!) she swears she can taste the antioxidants and she doesn't like the way they taste. I don't know what the fuck antioxidants taste like, but she could taste them. It's also not like I have a direct line to the factory in which I can just pick up and tell them to change their formula. I just sell the shit. I don't even bring it into the store, don't tell me about it!!

It was always a blessing to see her go but you could always smell her for the next ten or so minutes and be reminded of her. Yuck.

Lastly, she had no clue what my name was but started calling me Nicole. My name couldn't be further from Nicole, but I never corrected her. That way, if I ever went postal on her ass after a day of irritation she would complain to my boss about "Nicole" and he would have just thought she was nuts because no one named Nicole had ever worked there.

No comments:

Post a Comment