You must admit that it was a dreadful movie. Just be glad that you didn’t have an Adam Sandler endcap available for this child’s passionate criticism.
I suspect there is something you are not telling us. Granted, it was ages ago, but when I had an evening job at a department store, employees sneaking off to have sex outnumbered customers by at least 10:1. Hell, it was the only fringe benefit to an otherwise lousy job.
I haven’t worked in a bookstore for 15 years, but:
Do not be annoyed if a bookstore clerk cannot identify a book that you have just described: by color, by size, by the picture on the cover, by the fact that it was just discussed on some daytime television show, by a review in the paper three weeks ago Wednesday, by the fact that “it just won a prize,” or by a short precis of the plot. They do not arrange books in a bookstore by color, bookstore clerks do not watch daytime television because they are working, nobody can keep track of what was reviewed in what paper when, there are lots of literary prizes, and many books have similar plots. Books are cataloged by subject, title, and author, and these are handy pieces of information to have. If a clerk can find a book going only on “I’m looking for a book, the cover is red, it’s about a young woman coming of age in the South, I just saw it on Regis and Kelly,” then that person is a genius and you should thank them. Profusely.
One of my good friends used to work as a plain-clothes security guard for J.C. Penney and always had some wild stories.
The grossest was the “poop art” they’d find in the bathrooms at least once a day. People are so disgusting. And of course lots of “accidents” in the fitting rooms all the time.
He’d find teenage boys masturbating in the juniors department.
There was the large Indian woman wearing lots of flowing gowns and scarves and who tried to walk out of the store with a television tucked between her legs.
There were a few regular transvestite customers who visited his store about once a week, and my friend said they were the best customers. They politely asked for whatever they needed, were very neat about things about putting things back they didn’t want to buy, and never caused a scene or made a fuss about anything.
Jeez, now I’m going to have to call him to get more stories. He was there for years, I know he could probably write a book.
Well, I certainly worked in retail long enough to know that there’s a certain small group of people who think that if they want an item, you should be able to magically conjure it for them, but: about the Deli trays. I know you can’t drop everything and make one for me right now, but aren’t there allowances for getting it done quickly (for an extra fee, of course) in case of something unplanned? For the sake of you who are wondering what the hell I’m talking about, let me explain: When my mother died (condolences aren’t necessary, it’s been almost 16 years), I wanted a meat and cheese tray for my home, after the funeral. Essentially, I needed it in 48 hours. Every single store I called said the same thing: “Sorry, we need 72 hours notice for platters”; I’d explain the situation, and that my mother was not thoughtful enough to give 72 hours notice before dying, but nope, no one was willing to do in 48 hours, even for extra money. I ended up buying a bunch of sliced meat and cheese at a local deli and a friend stayed up late with me the night before the funeral to roll the stuff up and put it on a platter.
As to the OP, don’t get me started on customers who thought that threatening to take their business elsewhere if I didn’t get down on my knees and kiss their ass would strike fear into my heart. In fact, though I wasn’t allowed to say it out loud, most of the time when the customer in question would say “I can take my business elsewhere, you know!”, I would be thinking “Good; then I won’t have to listen to your shit anymore!”
God, I so don’t miss retail.
When I managed a record store that sold karaoke tapes, I remember having to deal with every person who wanted a karaoke version of some modern, yet-to-be-issued hit that had only just charted…which was no biggy. The one that annoyed the crap out of me was the woman who asked about a recent Alison Krauss hit; I told her it hadn’t yet been released. Not quite a minute later, she asked a part-timer (who was not privy to our conversation) about the same backing track. He said, as he should, “let me go ask our manager.” He brings her over to me, she turned about five shades of red with occasional flashes of purple, with the ultimate result of me explaining, calmly and slowly and care-ful-ly, that it’s not that we don’t want her business, it’s that what she is requesting does not currently exist in nature in any form, but hopefully will in the next month or so. Eventually she got it, but it was a long way coming.
We also suffered from the pubescent fuckwipe who asked us to open and play a CD which was on sale so he could make sure he was buying the right song. We did, it was, and THEN he asked us for a further discount because we’d opened the CD. As I recall, we said no, grabbed another one of our 50 available copies and asked if that would be all.
What was even funnier about that one was that managers did have occasional discretion on that front, but only due to damage on full-priced CDs with no additional copies in the store. In English: to give him his discount, we would have to break or sell all our other copies, mark up the remaining CD to full price, then knock 10% off that price, whereas by buying it on sale he would have paid something like 25% less.
Then there was the shoplifter who tried to flush a Snoop Dog CD down a public toilet…
This nearly caused me to “passionately critcize” my chair.
Here’s where a creative manager would get the idea of the next new thing: Sears Bang Central.
As a customer in a grocery store, I explain it to them if they make me wait—unless, that is, the person performing the offense is a 300 pound, tatoo-covered biker. Then I nod politely and keep my mouth shut. I have grown a short fuse and have almost no patience now that I’m old and bitchy. I never used to be that way. Speaking up about it usually works, by the way.
Multi items in the express lane is my pet supermarket peeve. Standing in line for a half-hour and watching the last person to arrive in that line be checked out first by someone who has just opened a register runs a close second, though. In fact, the two probably hit the tape at the same time. Why in the hell clerks can’t be taught to select someone who has obviously been in line and check them out first is beyond me. They don’t have to select me, necessarily, but they should use a little common sense. Hell, their trusted to handle money, aren’t they? Surely they have a few brain cells.
And, cashiers, pay attention: I am the customer. I am concerned with how much attention you pay to my order. I like to be greeted, even if it is just a “hello.” I don’t care about listening to you chat with your bagger buddy—it makes me think that you might scan the same item two or three times because you can’t hear the beep and you obviously are not looking to see if the green light flashes. And, after spending a hundred bucks in your store, I appreciate a simple “thank you” even if you don’t mean it.
Not too long ago, I walked into the shoe department at Wal-Mart to see a little boy taking a whiz on the floor, while his little brother pointed at him and said, “ooooo…”. Their mother was nowhere to be seen. I got back out of splatter range and waited to see what would happen when she showed up, which she did a couple of minutes later, from another aisle. The answer is, nothing. I’m not even sure whether she was aware of what had happened. That was the really upsetting part: that kids of about 3 or 4 years of age could take a piss in the shoes and their mother not even know about it because she wasn’t watching them!
As for my own experiences in fast food and retail, I don’t think I’m mentally and emotionally ready yet to dredge them up.
whimpers Hold me! flinches away from imaginary flying cup of soda
Ahh, yes, this reminds me of another pet peeve of mine (I had tried so hard to block it out of my mind. . .); when I worked retail, I worked in the toy department; I can’t tell you how many times I heard mothers tell their children (ages four and up) “Honey, you just play here while mommy shops”. Aaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh! Oh, how many times did I complain that I needed extra money above my salary (minimum wage) because of my babysitting duties!
I love those customers that say “Well, Business X is selling it cheaper”.
I worked in a thrift store once and an older couple told me, “At this other thrift shop they sell ALL of their books for ten cents” (our store had paperbacks for ten cents, and hard cover for twenty-five). It’s like, “Oh really? Then let me mark the price down without telling my boss!” Or I also felt like saying, “Well I just paid $15 for a paperback book at Barnes and Noble. You could shop there if you’d like.”
I’m really glad I left my last job. My current job is practically Retail Heaven. I am allowed to tell people to fuck off if they’re being obnoxious.
No more running up and down the stairs twenty times because "I want the same style and size of jeans, but I want to try twenty pairs on. " or “Why can’t I get a my visa sale refunded in cash? Your return policy should have said that! You’re lying! I’m never shopping here again!”
Or elderly overweight women running around in their underwear, stepping on clothes.
Or switching price tags.
Or drooling on things.
I’m going to forget my last job, now, thank you. I know it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, but I didn’t enjoy it.
Not even that would’ve stopped my manager at JC Penney, where I worked in my early 20s. A dirty, smelly man came in trying to return dirty, smelly Levis. And I mean DIRTY! and SMELLY! They smelled like dirt and smoke and were very visibly dirty. Of course, he didn’t have the tag or receipt, since he obviously bought the damn things months before and worn them while being dragged through the mud by a tractor (it was Northern New York, so this was a possible scenario). I called my manager and she actually gave the man his money back!
Why even bother calling a manager? Just give everyone their money back. Hell, just stand at the register and give money away to passersby!
God I hated retail!! :mad:
Do you really have to ask those questions? I know you do, because some guy in a cubicle farm in HQ thinks it is a good idea, but I just want to pay cash for some batteries and a screwdriver. Unless you are asking my phone number because you plan on asking me on a date later (not that Ms. D_Odds would approve), your store does not need it, nor even my zip code, no matter what the marketing weenie (and I work with lots of them and they are all weenies) thinks.
Many, many moons ago, on one very long, very frazzled night, when told “I’m taking my business elsewhere”, I replied, “Go ahead, I get paid the same either way.” It wasn’t as if I would have had a problem finding another job paying $3.50/hour.
Another pet peeve:
“Hi, I want to buy that 48” console TV set."
(Purchase completed, helping customer out to car)
“What do you mean it won’t fit in my Corolla?”
As packing items into a car was not a service we were supposed to provide, it was even more comical when the helper was older and frailer than the helpee (daytimes during the school year, usually).
Then there was the old canard, “Why don’t you just hire more people?” As if the store manager had this magic budget power, plus the ability to find scores of people willing to toil for you for minimum wage. Commiserating with the staff is one thing, blaming them for understaffing isn’t.
Having worked retail 2+ decades ago and still remembering how bad it could be, it will take a special level of asshole behind the counter to make me lose my cool. Of course, the one who wanted to witness for me qualified easily.
WhyNot, I would have tried to find some way to get the sub-human’s license plate and reported it (any other employee would have sufficied). Such people deserve a knock on the door from a uniformed officer, and in a perfect world, to be dragged away from their home, in front of the child, in handcuffs.
I’ve always wondered why changing rooms in older deapartment stores at the mall have so many stains on the floor…
:eek:
Now I no why my mom Lysols her shoes every time she gets home from a shopping trip involving trying on clothes…
I don’t think he’s in Kansas any more, Toto.
I’m so glad I’m out of retail.
I worked in a Ross during college, and although this didn’t happend to me (Thank Og) it did happen to a friend of mine.
A guy came in to try on bathing suits. She gave him the tag, he went in, came out a few minutes later, and dumped the bathing suits on the counter.
She went to hang them up, and realized that the man had ejaculated all over them.
Again, I’m so glad I’m out of retail.
You gotta realize that comes with the territory.
If the coupon says “Valid OCT23-OCT31”, don’t get all pissy because I won’t let you use it on OCT22. Even if I’ve just rung you up for $200 in school supplies. Especially after I call the supervisor to make sure, just for you, that you aren’t some special exemption to the dates on the coupon. As pathetic as my job is, I’m not getting fired so your ass can save $10.