The money was counted, the clothes were out. Everything that the Store carried was placed strategically around the store itself. The fitting rooms were prepared, the customers were outside the door. Four of us stood armed with our price scanners and bags, mentally preparing ourselves for the hell that is
Tax Free Weekend.
Being the shortest of the group of trusted ringers, I was placed on the smallest register. The line had begun snaking itself around the store, nearly colliding with the line to the fitting rooms. I repeated myself over and over again.
"Hi, do you have a [insert discount card name]? No, well fill out this bit right here. It works like a Bilo card. It only takes a second."
Take items off hanger, take off security tag, scan, place in bag. That's my method for keeping sane.
I was four hours done with my six hour shift and on my lunch break, sitting in the back
reading when one of my coworkers runs in.
"Some lady called. She said her son bought four polos and two pairs of jeans and came home with only one pair. He didn't want the other jeans." She told me.
I walked out of the back room with her, confused.
"She says he came in at 2:00 with his girlfriend. He's tall." Redhead Coworker told me.
"Does that woman honestly expect me to remember a tall guy with his girlfriend? We've had so many tall guys with their girlfriends today."
Manager by then had come over. Redhead filled her in on the story.
"Tell her to come to the store," Manager suggested.
"She won't. She lives in ______," a town about 15 minutes away.
"Then there's nothing we can do." Manager signed. "Go clock in," she told me.
I spent the rest of the day feeling guilty over the jeans. I racked my brain trying to remember.
The next day, I worked the entire day, waiting for her to enter. She didn't. Out of curiosity, Manager pulled the receipt for that transaction. The jeans in question were girl's jeans. They were his girlfriend's jeans.
The mother never called to apologize.
---
Hot Coworker, a new guy we've hired, was straightening the six foot high pile of jeans. There were two sides to the pile, which was held upon metal shelves. He worked hard at it, finishing one side only to realize the other was back to its previous state of disarray. One woman, taking notice of his work, settled down to help him. Together they folded the entire pile and restored our cumulative faith in humanity. Until our next angry, accusatory, shouting customer.
---
A few weeks ago I was working one of the weekday shifts. These are the slowest and always have the fewest associates working. It typically ends up being a manager and a single associate, which is bollocks because it ends up having one person watching the back and one the front and God forbid we have to check a size or let someone in to a fitting room. And forget about using the bathroom. But I digress.
A woman walked in with her two kids. She was fairly tall with bleached blonde hair. She also had a large purchase. As is required of us, I began by asking if she had her _____ card with her, which she did not. Again, as is required, I asked her to write down the first and last name the card is under, along with the zip code. She refused and turned away.
I finished ringing up her purchase, which was close to $200. It's our custom to ask if the shopper has a ____ credit card with us. If not, they can sign up (if approved immediately in store) and save 15%.
"Would you like..." She cut me off three words in to the question.
"I didn't come here for these damn questions," she snapped. "Just tell me my damn total."
"Yes ma'am. It's $200." She pulled out her card. "Is that credit or debit?" I always ask because if it's credit, I swipe it in the back so I can check the ID along with the digits.
She glared at me. "Debit."
Thankfully, her card went through quickly.
For the record, I asked her a total of
THREE questions, which was somehow a burden upon her and prompted her to yell at me. I love my customers.
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