It is NONE of your business what I buy

I should be able to pile up all sorts of strange crap on the checkout counter and have you ring it up for me without making a smartass comment, you self-important register-monkey. It’s a simple job, really.

It consists of dragging my items across a little scanner and listening for beeps. Sometimes, you punch in a few numbers that mean “bananas” or “Vidalia onions”, while you let the items sit on the scale for a second. When the items are all gone and you don’t hear beeping anymore, you tell me how much money to give you. Hell, you don’t even have to put anything in bags - you have a sidekick for that. But whatever else you do, nowhere in your job description does it say you should be advising customers on their food and beverage choices. You’re not a nutritional advisor.

For your information, the beer and soda and chips and ice cream were for a party. Not that it’s your business. But rolling your eyes at me and saying that I “could have bought something of nutritional value” is bloody well uncalled for. I hope the next time you’re at the pharmacy, you have to purchase a strange mix of Monistat, condoms, lice shampoo, and adult diapers. And I hope the clerk is of the same breed of nosy jackass as yourself. And that you need a price check. A loud one. With your ex, your boss, and your boyfriend’s mother in line behind you.


But you know, this woman just wasn’t worth the effort of going to bitch to the manager. I was in a hurry, and I just left. And since I never saw her again, I figured that cosmic justice had somehow taken care of everything for me.

Until this weekend, when I learned that the night management, at least, is just as evil as some of the employees.

I was with my mother, and we’d just had a whole bunch of groceries passed through the beeper, when Mom remembered that she needed cigarettes. The cashier had to call the manager over, because after 7pm the cigarettes are kept locked up. As the smarmy little man brought her cigarettes over, he waved them at my mom and said “You know, these will kill you.” Ok, that’s annoying, but we’ve heard that lots before and it’s fairly easy to respond with a cold stare and just move on. But you see, Mom’s quitting this week. She’s decided this is it, she’s tired of answering to nicotine, and she’s very proud of herself for coming to the decision.

Mom: Oh, I know they’re bad, and I’m quitting this week.
Manager: Sure you are (winks).
Mom: No, really – that’s why I’m buying two packs instead of a carton. I’m stopping Monday. (Big proud smile)
Manager. They all say that. You’ll be back for the carton. Trust me.

At that point Mom got quiet and upset. She’s tried to quit twice before. It’s hard, dammit. I could have hit the fucker. Of course, there was nobody higher up to whom I could complain, so instead I asked for his name, and the store owner’s name, and wrote both down in front of him, while he was explaining his comments as a “joke”. Joke my ass. The owner, and the head of the company, are getting a letter this week. I am beyond pissed.

Why the hell do people think they have the right to make fun of their customers? Do they not realize that we might be insulted by their “jokes”? Needless to say, I won’t be shopping there anymore. They don’t care, of course, but I’ll feel better knowing that I can pass through the checkout line without worrying what the jerk-of-the-day will have to say about my groceries.

It’s one thing to make small talk, but both of those situations are ludicrous. Did both of those incidents happen at the same place?? I’d quit going there if so.

It’s one thing to make small talk, but both of those situations are ludicrous. Did both of those incidents happen at the same place?? I’d quit going there if so…and I just saw that you said you won’t be shopping there anymore…I will learn to read entire posts. :wink:

I have to admit I do something like the cashier in your first example. I’ll look at the groceries of the person in front of me in the register line and try to guess the menu for their dinner, but it’s something I do silently, just to keep me amused. And had I seen you there buying beer, soda, chips and ice cream, I would certainly have thought “party.”

That is dreadful, and I’m glad you’re sending letters.

I had a similar experience when I was on Reductil for a while - the pharmacy was connected with the medical centre and I started off on a fortnight’s prescription and then got a three month prescription, at which point the woman behind the counter started asking me about how it was going and had I had any results yet. Completely inappropriate, and I let my doctor know about it when I got home.

Yes, this kind of thing annoys the shit out of me, too. I usually just give them a cold stare, but one of these days I’d like to have a retort that lets them know how rude they are, and shuts them up.

Well perhaps even party treats should have some nutritional value - I mean, just 'cause it’s a party doesn’t give you license to serve/bring unhealthy food?! We all know obesity is at epidemic proportions and party food isn’t generally known for nutritional value - the trend here is to bring sushi or celery sticks and dip (okay the vast majority don’t but you can always count on one or two people to).
That being said - perhaps the check out girl needs to think about her employer and what they have decided to stock. Perhaps, next time make a note of the crap in the store and make a comment to the check out person on the way out??
I’m nosey and like to look at what people are checking out too - ofcourse I would never say anything, although I am soooooo tempted when I see someone buying bucket loads of bad food, and they are in the demographic prone to diabetes and heart problems and they are more than moderately overweight and they have children in tow (eating habits of the young becoming eating habits for life) and so on…

The only thing a cashier should comment on with regard to your choices is “ooh, that looks good, have you tried it” or “oh, I love that flavor”. Period.

Once when I was in the supermarket stocking up on a few essentials like yogurt, tuna, and frozen dinners, the lady ringing me up offered, “You know, if you’d learn how to cook, it’d be a lot easier to get a girlfriend.”

Needless to say, I was stunned.

See, this is why I use the self-checkout whenever I can. Sure, someone can still see what I’m buying, but at least that person isn’t right next to me.

Do you look like you haven’t got a girlfriend?

You’re a better woman that I for not complaining to the manager about the cashier in your first example. And I hope the manager in your second gets a reprimand.
And for my story… once several years ago, I was at Sears looking at clothes after the birth of a child. The salesclerk and I got into a conversation, and she promptly informed me that she’d recently had an abortion, yet her tummy still hadn’t gone back to normal. I’m pro-choice and everything, but damn. I’ve never forgotten that.

Does it matter?

I dunno, maybe this is a concept that could catch on - to make us all eat more healthy. Your shopping is looked over at the check out and that you need to have the right proportions of all the food groups?!

Not at all - just curious.

Jeepers. That’s way worse than creationism guy.

When I’m traveling and asked to show a driver’s license in the supermarket so that I can charge my purchases (a request I shouldn’t have to comply with anyway, according to the credit card company), it would be nice if the cashier didn’t feel compelled to hold forth on the politics and fairness of elections in my home state.

Unless I invite political debate, just ring up my veggies and shaddup, thanks.

Too bad, a response like “If you’d learn to keep your mouth shut it’d be a lot easier to get a job that wasn’t minimum wage” would have gone well there. Maybe next time.

Where the heck WAS this, Antigen?

I thought this was going to be about the purchase-tracking cards you have to use to get regular prices in most grocery stores these days. Those bug me a bit and I’ve taken to using the local weather line as my phone number for new cards.