Retail Hell Underground

Dumbass Crustys and Asshat Managers

From Sisu:

Hey RHU-ers.

I swear this site saves what's left of my sanity. 

Things have gotten bizarre at work. Because I'm taking a full load at university and one of my classes ends when I was supposed to be at work, I had to change my availability. Ironically, I opened up my hours more on the weekends, but had to shorten ONE FUCKING DAY BY HALF AN HOUR so they moved me to part time. Fuckers.

The best part is, because of this, I lost my dental insurance the day after I went in, got my x-rays, and had to set up a root canal and 6 fillings. (Oops!) With the insurance it was going to be around 400 bucks. Now, I'm looking at around 1600. Yeah, can't pay that, and the Vicodin is running out at an alarming rate. 

Oh, and full time is 34 hours, I have 40 available, and they're scheduling me 33.5. Funny how half an hour is going to cost me 1600 bucks.

I HATE my manager. (I hate him even more after he scheduled me for a shift where I was alone after 6 on a super busy Friday.)

The customers have been super sucky lately. One lady flipped her lid because I didn't know where honey was. Sorry, don't get that much demand for honey in freaking electronics! I even called a manager to find out for her, but she still ranted. Then got scary sweet.

Another guy came in dressed in our ugly ass uniform and tried to act like he worked there. Clearly he needed professional help.

The best was when I had to go to lunch, leaving my poor co-worker on the floor alone and swamped. When I came back, some old fat ass lady was screaming in her face that it was her fault that her husband left her at the store because he was so angry.

WTF? Yeah, bitch, your husband couldn't take another second of your yapping so he left.

Lucky bastard.

Crusty the Bitch made a fatal mistake with me. Between squawks she said, "I USED TO WORK HERE AND I KNOW HOW IT WORKS. YOU CALL THE OTHER STORE RIGHT NOW!!!"

I couldn't help it. It was too...easy. And my co-worker was at the end of her rope. So I did the right thing and I stepped in.

"Ma'am, I'm sure since you worked here and know how things go oh so well, that you must remember their number! And I'm sure you know that customer service is our goal, so if you'll excuse us, we'll get back to work. Good bye!"

You could hear her squawks all the way out the door, but she left.

Bitch.

Oh, and separately, I learned the horrible lesson that if you have a price sticker on yourself, people will try to buy you.

And sometimes, they're serious. *shudder*

Much love,

--Sisu

 

Alien Baby Maker Mannequin

Got mannequin milk?

Alien babies don't come from a spaceship, they come from mannequins!...and Nadya Suleman, which had to be the inspiration for this freak-of-scifi-nature manni from a trendy store in West Hollywood, California. Nice to see she was given sense enough to protect her ears. Those alien babies probably have a wail that could send someone into a coma...

  I am Alien Baby Maker.

  

Creeps and Goths - Ana's Awesome Custy Tale

On Creepers!

I want to share a story from my past.

When I was sixteen I worked PT for a Saver’s store located Downtown. It was a popular place for fellow teens to stop and (shoplift) drinks and candy. I liked it because my friends would stop by and talk to me when it was slow. I also got to flirt with cute guys at the cash. Bee, my sister, put in a good word for me and that was the only reason a sixteen year old got hired over a few more qualified slaves.

Now at sixteen I wasn’t preppy or anything. I had a thing for bright colors, chunky shoes, and pink hair. My family used to joke that I was Rainbow Bright all grown up with a nose ring. I am all about free expression but I was very sheltered at sixteen and thought that being too weird meant the person was wrong in the head.

I had not worked for very long and really only lived the "rebellious upper middle class Hot Topic Rebellion Lifestyle." This was before Bee came out of the closet to anyone and before I really learned to speak up for myself. Now I am more open and understanding, but as a self conscious teen, it was hard for me to fight back or fight for someone.

I was not yet broken or jaded. I had never been treated like an object, or shit, or as if I were stupid. I would soon learn how mistaken I was. But I digress.

I worked part time on Thursdays (and week days) and would meet up with friends after my shift to walk around before my ten o’clock curfew. Now on this night I wasn’t feeling to good. Bee was working in the back. I got off at nine.

Now about ten minutes before my shift ends this middle aged man comes in. He looks normal, suit, tie, rumpled from a hard days work. He was shortly followed by two Goths (a cute male and what I assumed was his girlfriend) that set me on edge.

We had plenty of robberies (one that I witnessed) and they were always punk kids with something to prove. By punk I mean idiots who think they are hardcore bad asses.

I put them out of my mind when the older man comes up to pay for his “questionable magazine.” He tells me he likes “exotic girls” and that I looked like the girl on the cover. She has no clothes on.

I am looking around for my manager, thinking he was going to be trouble. He reads my name off my tag in a disturbing tone. Then he tells me I remind him of his daughter. “Ana is such a pretty name. It rolls off the tongue like butter.”

I tell him I have to go and cannot sell him that magazine. He says he'll see me around and stumbles off like a drunk, leaving the magazine behind.

I tell my manager and he offers to walk me out to my car. I tell him I will be fine and wait twenty minutes before leaving.

During this whole thing the Goth kids have paid and left with their cigarettes. I pass them on my way out.

As I am walking to my clunker I hear the same creepy voice of the man calling after me. “Ana, Ana I want to talk to you. You need to come with me.”

I turn around and freak. I try to bolt but he grabs my arm. “Let go of me!”

Right before I scream I hear what sounded like metal punching a wall. The Goth kids had seen the man following me. The girl had punched the man in the face with a hand so covered in rings it was like she was part mecha.

I ended up thanking them and they asked if I wanted to go get some coffee or something. I said yes, only because I was shaking and wanted someone to talk to.

I told my manager the next day and James got a picture of the guy from our camera and he was banned from the store and picked up later for harassing some other “young thing” from another store.

I don’t know what happened to him, but I do know that the girl, Kay, ended up becoming one of my best friends and her “boyfriend” turned out to be her cousin, who I dated for three years. Bee ended up thanking Kay for saving me with a date. They have been together on and off since.

This is why judging a book by its cover often leads to missing out.

Unless the book happens to be written by Stephanie Meyer, then I would suggest a nice fire pit and some S’mores.

I hear vampires burn beautifully.

--Ana

Shopping Cart Misses The Bus

Perhaps better than getting hit by it.

"That damn #15 bus!!??"

--From Mick

  

Memories of Supermarket Hell

From Rhiannon:

Hey, I found this website in a drunken stupor a few nights back and got here by clicking on random websites until the internet gods got bored and dumped me here to entertain myself.

I used to work at a supermarket here in the UK as a professional chicken cooker. :) Basically I worked on "oven fresh" and although I didn't get accosted by custys on the shop floor (I rarely strayed out from behind my protective counter) people seemed to leave their brains in a basket on the floor before talking to me.

I had one woman point at a chicken breast (in a big metal tray, with about 5 other chicken breasts) and ask what it was.

I stared at her and said "um...it's a chicken breast"...like the sign in front of it says, numbnuts.

She then said "oh...whats that one then?" and pointed to ANOTHER CHICKEN BREAST IN THE SAME GODDAMN TRAY.

"....that's a chicken breast as well."

*                *                *

We mainly sold plain chickens (on white papers), but we also had extra-tasty ones (on orange papers) and garlic chickens (on yellow papers). Some moron woman asked for a chicken and specifically said she wanted the one at the back on the yellow paper (this is important).

So I hoiked it out and bagged it up, stuck it on the ticket machine to get the sticker and rang it up as a garlic chicken.

The moron then said "Oh! it's garlic? I didn't want garlic, I wanted plain! why did you give me a garlic one?"

I glared at her and was mentally screaming "You wanted the one on the yellow paper! There is a fucking sign in front saying garlic chicken! I don't put the chickens on different colored paper to make my goddamn counter look pretty you halfwit!" 

*                *                *

We had an idiot manager as well, who never once pronounced my name right.

My name's Rhiannon and said so on my nametag (eventually - the first 2 nametags were spelled wrong, and I had to argue with the daft bitch in personnel that I knew how my own damn name was spelled).

He would always call me Rhianna, no matter how many times I corrected him (I know it's not a huge difference, but its my name dammit).

He came over one day trying to be the "big boss" in front of the new manager and asked, "Rhianna, have you put any chickens in the oven, you're running out on the counter."

Before I could say "Yes, if you would turn your fat head 10 degrees to the left, you would see 3 damn ovens behind me, full of fucking chickens."

The conversation went like this:

Cool Manager: Rhiannon.

Fuckwit Manager: what?

Cool Manager: Rhiannon. She's called Rhiannon. It says so on her nametag. There's an N at the end, not an A.

Fuckwit Manager: *mutterssomethingincomprehensibleandfucksoff*

I then transferred to a different store where I was on the salad bar, so I didn't have to deal with people at all and could hide round the corner where they couldn't get at me.

Thankfully I got out of Retail Hell and now work in a care home, where even the residents on the psychiatric unit are more reasonable than the general public :)

peace out,

--Rhiannon

 

Custy Rejects

One little piggy has vetoed breakfast.

Custys Behaving Themselves?

- What's almost the worst that can happen to a business?

If you guessed "power outage", you would be right.

It was about 7:00pm when the lights flickered but did not go out completely. We weren't very busy because the weather was nasty with a mix of rain and sleet.

I had a pretty decent card order I had made out, I had filled the balloons with the last of the helium, and all that was left was to front the store. It was going to be really slow and the assistant manager had almost considered sending me home because of it.

We waited a few seconds to see if the lights were all going to come back on, but they didn't. It was weird because some of the lights worked, some of the register functions worked, some of the doors worked, and some of the outside lights worked, but others wouldn't... almost like a brown-out.

I kept waiting to hear a custy have a screaming fit because we couldn't take debit cards, only credit cards and cash. Our registers just weren't functioning correctly. In addition, the cashiers were having to key everything in by hand. Nothing. Not one irate customer had a breakdown because of the power outage!

Granted, it only lasted about an hour, but people were very understanding, very accommodating and we didn't have one argument!

Just as I was leaving, the power was fully restored and the possibility that people CAN be human when the unexpected happens once again has been proven. May it grow and prosper!

-Pharmacy_psycho

Jit Flexes Her Retail Balls For Charity

Wow! So many Retail Balls Awards this week. The Slaves of the Underground are not taking shit off fucked up custys. Now Jit is getting a Retail Balls Award for an rude bitch that had it comin:

So this may be my own stupid fault, or the ignorance of the customer, but I'll let you be the judge of that, neh?

My store is collecting donations for March of Dimes. We collect for various charities, and it's one more question to tack onto the many we're expected to roll off our tongues at the end of each customer's order.

Instead of asking for these donations, every once and a while (twice per charity, about) I'll write a note saying something like, "For every dollar you donate to March of Dimes, I will also donate at the end of the night." just cause. This was one such day.

Mostly, this is well-received. There are the occasional skeptics that ask if I really do it. Last year, someone donated fifty dollars, thinking I wouldn't match it. I did. It really does get donations and I really do believe in helping charities, so I do my part. 

Anyway... a couple of women came through my line and read the sign. The entire time, one of them kept saying, "You're really going to regret that."

I counted her saying that at least two dozen times within the course of three minutes. During this time, I told her it was just something I really believed in and at one point, I asked her to stop telling me I'd regret it.

She persists. Finally, I say, "Okay then, will you make me regret it?"

So she donates five dollars.

I said, "Oh, I thought you were going to try to make me regret it. Thanks for the donation, I appreciate it" and tallied the amount I owed the store.

She then proceeded to quite blatantly call me a goody two-shoes naive little kid.

I looked her dead in the eye and said, "Have you ever lost a kid?" 

"What? No."

"Until you do, don't tell people that give to charities that they'll regret it."

I don't know what was more satisfying - the look of surprise and guilt on her face as she left, or the fact that she faceplanted tripping over someone's rugrat.

With Retail Hell Love,

Jit

 

Customer Reject

A greeting card reject from Pharmacy_psycho:

"She doesn't look old enough to be married :-T"

 

Call Center For Satellite TV: Blizzard of Custy Dumbasses

From Atombomb1945:

Hey all.  My retail days are far behind me and I thought that when I moved to support I would not have to deal with the pissy custy aspect. Later I promise that I will give full details of my decent into the Hell that is Custy Support. But for now, I have to get something off my chest and VENT!!!

Currently, I work for a company who provides high quality Satellite TV service to the United States.  Everyone knows that Satellite TV has issues with the weather and really bad storms.  At one time it could simply be over cast and you would lose your signal, but it has really gotten better over the last two years or so.  Now it takes a really BIG storm to cut the signal.  And guess what happened to the good people of the state of New York yesterday?  

One really BIG snow storm. 

Normally this is an easy call that goes something like this:

Me: "Thank you for calling Satellite TV Service. How are you doing tonight?"

Customer: "Well not to good, I have a message on my screen that says 'Searching for Signal' and I cannot get any programs."

Me: "I am sorry to hear that and I would be happy to help you with that." I check the account. "Sir, I see that you are calling in from the New York area. Unfortunately, due to the heavy snow in your area we have had a number of people with this issue. All we can do at this point is to wait for the storm to pass."

Now at this point most rational people state that they understand and they accept that there is nothing that can be done during a heavy storm like this. But that is most people.

Last night I had three people take the above conversation further. Here is the basics of how it went.

Custy: "Ok, well what are you going to do about it?"

Me: "About? The Snow?"

Custy: "Yes, what are you going to do about it? I don't have any TV and I wanted to watch the Hockey Game!"

Me: "Well Sir, unfortunately there is nothing that we can do about the snow falling in your area. At this time all that we can recommend is to wait for it to pass."

Custy: "Well that's crap!  Maybe I should go with that other satellite company. I am sure they would be able to fix this." 

And then they would hang up.

Two of these calls ended with the custy wanting me to make it stop snowing, and another demanding that he receive a credit on his account due to the fact that he had been without service for the last two hours. 

Really what I wanted to say was: "Two hours of service?  Fine I will mail you a quarter and you can keep the change from that." 

Unfortunately, I need this job, so I kept a civil mouth. 

I have finally crawled out of the shelter I have been living in for the last six months hoping that the air had cleared.  But the wasteland of Retail Hell stretches on forever.

--Atombomb1945

Barista Custy Revenge Secret Revealed

From Just Jay:

For the life of me I will never understand why people think being a bastard to the persons making their consumables is a good idea.

Personally, my own insight into the reality of customer service and impeccable manners aside, I would never abuse the person with which I am entrusting to provide me with food and drink. That's just stupid.

And yet people do.

I recall one occasion when in a drive-thru with someone I didn't know very well, after they had finished making the most finicky demands in an inappropriately patronizing tone they turned to me and asked what I wanted to order.

I politely declined, stating that I wasn't hungry anymore.

Not hungry for a spit sandwich, at any rate.

Now, most hospitality workers I know would never do something as stupid as spit in someones order. But that doesn't mean we don't have our own methods for getting our own back on assholes.

For example, in a cafe I know, they have a container of coffee grounds for the trainee baristas to practice on. This coffee is top of the line and very expensive, so at first they get to play with this stuff so as not to waste that delicious liquid heaven...mmmmmm.

Where was I? Oh yes. The trainee coffee. It's usually the crap that ends up dusted all over the counters by the end of the day, they don't actually serve it to people.

UNLESS YOU ARE BEING AN ASSHOLE!
 
That's right, they have a reputation for being a high end coffee house, reflected especially in the prices of the beverages. And we all know what kind of bastards high end establishments attract. So tit for tat, I reckon.

The moral of this rant is: don't mess with your sustenance providers.

Especially if they're highly caffeinated.

Otherwise you may need to strain your beverage before drinking.
 
Peace,
 
Just Jay.
 

Rich Daddy's Girl Bitch Gets Told

Nurse Hiedi gets a Retail Balls Award for recalling how she handled one nasty little Rich Bitch Custy during her nursing school days:

One of my many, many jobs I had while putting myself through nursing school was a grease monkey at a jiffy lube type place. IT was a 6 bay shop, and we did car repairs, oil changes, and had a car wash on site.

A favorite customer of mine came from this rich family. They reeked of it. Their oldest daughter was well…behind her back we called her miss bitch. Only reason we put up with her was her daddy (he and his wife owned a 25+ successful fast food restaurant chain I won’t mention) was a longtime customer of the car shop. For the last 15 years he had brought not only his personal cars to us, but his company cars/trucks to be fixed/oil changes, the like.

One day, Miss high and mighty rich Bitch (she was 19 at the time) pulls up in her brand new BMW (daddy paid cash for it. Birthday present or some crap) and she gets out of the car just screaming at us to fix her car.

I come out and ask her what’s wrong. In a huff, she explains the seat is broken. It won’t slide back, only forward. And that we better fix it because her daddy pays us good money to fix all their cars.

I told her we’d call her when it was fixed. She told us to call her on her cell phone because she had things to do and the car had to be fixed THAT day or she was going to daddy.

So one of my fellow grease monkey slaves pulls into an empty car bay. 20 minutes later, I was standing under a car, finishing up an oil change when he was looking at the seat trying to fix it.

I watch his face turn three shades of pale and hear him yell “EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEWWWWWWWWW GROSS!!!!” followed by a “Somebody quick get me latex gloves and a brown paper bag…EW EW EW EW EW GROSS!!!!”

Turns out Miss Bitch’s thong, a condom wrapper (no condom itself, just the torn wrapper) and a bright green vibrator had rolled under the seat and got stuck in the track that allows the seat to slide forward and backwards.

I plucked the items from the seat and stuff them in a brown bag. My coworker then pulls the car around front.

An hour later Miss Rich Bitch comes back with her friends. She came out to the counter with them all high and mighty demanding to know if her car was fixed. I told her it was. She demanded to know the price, and then proceeded to tell her friends how we are expensive and that maybe she should go to another place if I don’t give her some sort of discount.

She asked loudly what was wrong with her car.

Trying to show her some courtesy (and spare her from embarrassment in front of her friends and the 8 or so custys in the lobby) I tell her we discovered a foreign object stuck under the seat, I wasn’t going to charge her but please step into the office so I can give her the um….items we found.

She started talking loudly about how we “better not” charge her for such an easy fix and how crazy I was-there was no “object” lodged under the seat, she keeps her car clean I just better hand over her keys or she was gonna call daddy and tell him how rude and incompetent we were.

I gave Miss Bitch her car keys. I said I had no intention of mentioning this whole thing to her daddy, but if she was going to call him to complain about us fixing her car, then I have no problems showing daddy what we found under the seat.

She looked at me with the “you don’t know what you’re talking about bitch.”

I grabbed the brown paper bag from under the counter, opened it and showed it to her (hey…if she had been nice about it and came into the office away from everyone like I asked her too….well….) and she turned 15 shades of red.

I asked “We are not going to charge you for fixing the seat, nor are we going to say anything to your father about this. But if you feel the need to get him involved….”

She grabbed her keys, her purse, and the bag all in one huff, then glared with her famous Miss Bitch stare and stormed out with her friends.

We never did tell her daddy.

--Hiedi

Burger Bitch Hits Hell's Breaking Point

Burger Bitch gets a Retail Balls Award for putting her soul first and deciding when enough is enough:

Well, I walked out of work today guys.

I'm talking to my manager tomorrow about what went down because technically "Walking out is considered quitting."

Hopefully she'll understand that my day was already horrible so it was just a momentary lapse.

Here's what happened.

First off, I walk to work and back everyday, it's about a 30-35 minute walk.

Halfway there today, a car swerves to purposely splash me with a fuckton amount of water.

I'm soaked to the bone(r). My coat is completely soaked, as are my pants, socks, hair and boots.

This entailed me having to turn around, go back home, get changed, dry myself off, blow dry my hair and walk back again!

Since I didn't have time to toss my coat or boots in the dryer, I had to wear my Converse and a hoody (I live in Ontario, Canada. It's a bit fucking cold outside).

Then, I went to work for two hours and was bitched at over ten times (I counted).

I won't go into great detail about them except for this one:

Old Woman: And ketchup.

Me: -Puts ketchup on-

Old Woman: Uuh. Did I SAY I wanted THAT ketchup?

Me: You just said ketchup.

Old Woman: I wanted it in the PACKAGES.

How the fuck was I supposed to know that?

But the last customer was the straw that broke the Burger Bitch's back.

He bitched at me because the cook had the cheese in his hands. Uuuh. Yeah. That's how we put the cheese on.

The grill is EXTREMELY hot, so they can't wear gloves otherwise they would melt to their skin =/

But the cooks have to wash their hands once with soap then with a special sanitizing soap, their hands are cleaner than a nun's cooch.

He bitches at me for this, saying that I must go back and tell him how horrible that is! I offer to get him a new burger but he screams at me because "YOU'RE ALREADY MAKING ME LATE TO WATCH THE GAME. DO YOU KNOW HOW IMPORTANT THAT IS?"

Uuh, no. Fuck you.

He continues to bitch at me for not putting the correct tomato and pickle on his fucking burger AND that the mustard is, get this............too yellow.

So I stop and say "LOOK, SIR. I am trying my best to keep my cool here, but this is just ridiculous."

He continues to tell me how rude I am and that the cheese is disgusting blah blah disregard that I suck cocks.

So I looked at him. took of my gloves and said "If you want your burger this bad, you can come and garnish it yourself because I am going home."

And I left.

--BB

Update: Burger Bitch is indeed still a bitch to the burger. Her supervisor acknowledged the situation as "she went home sick"....Which is actually the truth when you think about it in Retail Hell terms.

Awesome Signage

Found on the net by Pharmacy_psycho.

Best Bastard's Douchebag Custy of the Week

From Best Bastard:

Been in retail/customer service since I was 13. Everything from paintball field management/customer service, retail sporting equipment store manager, IT support and now.... Best Buy.

Woo-fucking-hoo.

I've got stories out the ass but I'll start with a quick one that took place today. The Computer section of BBY was PACKED. We had, what, 4 employees on the floor (2 of which actually DO their job) and over a few dozen customers.

My manager was helping a couple when ENTER ENTITLED, ARROGANT, DOUCHEBAG OF THE WEEK (and quiet, mousy, somewhat nonresponsive wife).

I had just finished helping a nice older lady find a netbook for her grandson, when a manager walked over and asked me if I was free. I said yes (MISTAKE). She points him out and says, simply "He needs help."

Oh, how right she was. I saunter over and...

Me- Good morning sir, anything I can help you out with?

DBAG- (steps over to crappy gigantic 18in Toshiba) Get me this one.
Me- Alright sir, did you want anything with your laptop today? Microsoft Office, Optimization and Antivirus are all very common addon purchases with laptops.

DBAG- No.

Me- Ok then, I'll just grab the keys from my manager and we will pull out your laptop.

DBAG- (sigh) Fine.

I hurry to find the manager because I know how precious his time is and I just want to throw him to the front registers and have them ring him out so I don't have to deal with him anymore. I actually get the keys really quickly (in under a minute), unlock the case, pull out the laptop, return the keys (as per SOP) and return to the customer.

Me- Alright sir, I've got your Toshiba right here. Did you want to grab anything else such as an external mouse, keyboard or carrying case?

DBAG- No.

See this is where I made my mistake. Instead of just taking him to the front registers for him to check out, I decided to be nice and ring him out in the back to avoid the huge line in the front of the store.

Me- Well, it looks like the line is really long out front, I'll ring you out back here so you can avoid it.

DBAG- ...

I ring up the items as fast as possible and, as per BBY SOP, offer our extended warranties.

Me- Have you heard of our protection plans for laptops?

DBAG- Stop offering me things.

Me- Ok, then.

Oh God, please let's just finish this.

Me- Your total comes to $xxx.xx, is that card debit or credit?

DBAG- Credit.
(swipe, ID check then that EXCRUCIATINGLY LONG wait before it pops up....... APPROVED! YES! OH GOD YES THANK YOU!)

Then, it happens. Receipt. Paper. Jams.

Me- FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUU

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU----------

Me- I do apologize, sir. Our machine seems to have jammed, I'll just print your receipt from another machine, I'll be right back. Once again, I do apologize.

I run, not walk. I RUN to the next register, type in the halfway printed receipt code, print the receipt and return in less than a minute. I DARE anybody to beat that time.

Me- Here you ar--

DBAG- You forgot to ask for my Reward Zone card.

Me- Oh, I'm sorry but that's no problem. Just go to MyRZ.com an--

DBAG- You know what?! FORGET IT. JUST FORGET IT.  (Gathers crap and leaves)

Phew! He's gone. But wait! There's more! THERE'S ALWAYS MORE.

Apparently, he went up to our security desk complaining about us. So, LP called our manager up and the conversation went something like this...

DBAG- Every single one of those people working in computers is completely incompetent. They're all idiots! Especially that one red-haired guy (guess who that was...), he had to ring me up three times before he got it right! I can't believe this! This is unacceptable!

Awesome Manager- Sir, I do NOT appreciate the way you are speaking about my employees. You will show them respect, they do a wonderful job.

DBAG- (grumble grumble grumble) I'm never coming here again!

He then tries to "storm out" while the spider-wrap security device is still attached to his laptop... He sets off the alarm which alerts LP and he gets to spend the next few minutes waiting for them to deactivate everything while everyone in the store watches =D

--Best Bastard.

 

Dumbass Custy Encounter

From Book Bastard:

Phone: Ring!

Me: Library, this is (me).

Lady (on phone): Hello?

Me: Hi.

Lady: Library, please.

Me: Speaking.

Lady: Okay, I blahblahblahblah something about a public lecture last week about the Buffalo.

Me, remembering that the county library did something like this: Hmm.. are you sure you meant to call the college library?

Lady: Who am I speaking to?

Me: This is the college library.

Lady, to another lady: It's the college library.

Other lady, taking phone: Hello?

Me: Hello?

Other lady (on phone): Who is this?

Me: This is the college library.

Other lady: Okay, talktalktalktalktalk would like to buy the video.

Me: We don't have any videos for sale...

Other lady: Do you know where I might get one?

Me: Hmm...

Other lady, to first lady: Are you sure it was at the college?

First lady: Yeah, the college.

Other lady: It was at the college.

And on and on for about five minutes.

--Book Bastard

Douchy Manager Gets Told

A Retail Balls Award is going out to Grace for how she confronted a douchy manager:

My first "real" job was working at a particular chain store known for their trademark "uniform". I was only 16 when I was hired and already in college (I was home schooled so I bypassed the bull).

During my 30 day trial my mother had a stroke while I was at work one day which forced me to take some time out. Already, the store managers were pissed since I was in the select crowd of under-agers who had to skip out at 9:30, rather than stay till Midnight or later and this certainly didn't help.

The icing on the cake was that I specifically told them I couldn't work more than 25 hours a week because of school (I was a freshman, course loads were scary) and they repeatedly had me down for 30-35 (one week I had 38) hours, including 8 hours on Saturday. Not only was this against their rules for underage workers but I was repeatedly denied my sparse 10 minute breaks because they kept calling me to back up registers.

Finally, I had enough. I had attempted to talk to the managers repeatedly but they were never in the store, nor would they even take my calls. So finally, I called them and told the shit manager I was quitting.

This lovely chat followed:

Mr Douche: Well, why are you quitting.

Me: You guys keep scheduling me for too many hours. On top of that my mom had a stroke, I need to be home with her.

MD: Have you talked to the manager.

Me: I've tried everyday. I don't have two weeks to wait for her to run my hour change request through headquarters.

MD: Well, what are you going to do when college gets tough?!!! QUIT?!!

Are you KIDDING ME?!
            
Me: Considering that by *store* rules, you are already overworking me AND you are denying me the breaks required by FEDERAL law, you are in no place to be getting angry that I'm leaving based on being denied worker's rights. And there is no comparison between being the only one working three different sections a night and staying in college.

Needless to say, I don't think I would ever be rehired.

--Grace

Sign For Retail Slaves Not Feeling Well at Walmart

From Walmart Bitch: This sign is hanging up by our time clock...This is how we deal with flu season.

 

Observations from a Day in Retail Hell

There's no way to sugar-coat this:

I'm turning into a xenophobic knee-jerk reactionary. It wasn't always this way. 

Let me say up front: I don't speak Cantonese, Mandarin, Korean, Japanese, Vietnamese, Hindi, Farsi, Arabic, Greek, Italian, Russian, Polish, Swahili, Creole, Afrikaans or Serbo-Croatian.

So when I quote people a price on a piece of goods, and they start yelling at me in a foreign language, my tendency is to wait for them to speak English.

I DON'T think, "Wow, they're really pissed. I'd better give them a massive discount."

Other observations:

- Certain nationalities bring every family member when they go out. This can be good or it can be nightmarish. One toddler screaming its lungs out is plenty. FIVE makes me think VERY unkind thoughts.

- Certain nationalities treat their female children very sternly. MALE children, on the other hand, can get away with murder.

- Certain nationalities stare at their receipt as if they're waiting for it to speak.

- When the announcement that the store is closing for the day is made, some people think it's prime time for BARGAINING. One guy was literally standing there in the dark tonight demanding an additional 40% discount.

- When you walk away from my register after putting a heap of clothing on the counter and say, "I'm just going to look for a few more things", it doesn't give you the right to butt in line. I had a crusty spend two hours today looking "for just a few more things". Each time he found something, he'd just step in front of the person at the counter and say, "I was here FIRST".

- Saying you found something on the clearance rack doesn't make it so.

- A 50% discount on a $50 item doesn't mean it's FREE.

- Just because you ripped the price tag off doesn't mean it's FREE.

- If you're 6' 8" and/or over 300 lbs., bitching at me that we don't have clothes in your size wont make those clothes magically appear.

- A department store is not the place to have screaming fight with your boyfriend. "Motherfucker buying CLOTHES! You SHOULD be buying me that GODDAMN DIAMOND, ya' cheap BASTARD!"

Thanks for letting me vent. Peace.

--Joe the Cigar Guy

  

Revelations From a Wronged Retail Slave

From Clothing Cadaver:

I encounter stuff every day that is worthy of the site (as we all do in Retail Hell), but this pushed me over the edge and actually led me to take steps toward quitting.

This happened a few months ago, but I'm just now getting around to submitting it. Somehow I thought I'd get over it, and that I was overreacting... but I'M NOT.

This was the absolute pinnacle of bullshit. Apologies in advance for the length, but I think the ridiculousness is worth it.

So, I work at a clothing chain store. Rhymes with "mold slavey". We are also located in a mall, it's the only mall in town and we get a fair amount of traffic.

It's the Tuesday before Xmas, and I'm going about my business as the primary cashier. Ringing, smiling, being nice... the regular bullshit. We're pretty busy and I'm ready to go on my (much-needed and long overdue) lunch, when a customer who I'd rung up about five minutes prior came up to me.

At first, I'm thinking oh, shit... this lady's either gonna complain I fucked something up that I actually didn't, or that she wanted a non-existent discount, or that the sun isn't shining bright enough. But instead, she brought a little problem to my attention.

Well-meaning Idiot: Oh, I'm sorry to bother you, but there's a lost little girl.

(in my head: FUCK MY LIFE.)

Me: Okay, where is she?

Well-meaning Idiot: In the mall. And right outside our entrance, a few feet away from the doors that lead out of the mall and into the world, there's a small girl, about 4 years old, who is BAWLING her fucking eyes out. She is crying so hard she literally cannot breathe. All the other mall patrons are just passing her by, some are making comments to the people they're with, but nobody is stopping to help her.

Apparently, well-meaning idiot took it upon herself to help the girl (hence, she is WELL-MEANING), but didn't take her to mall security, or the mall office, or the police liaison (hence, she is an IDIOT). She instead chose to tell the last mall employee she encountered, and then she walked away. Leaving me to deal with this poor child.

I left my register after making sure there were two other employees up, and letting them know the situation and tried to ask the little girl questions that could possibly help me find her mom. I asked her name, her mom's name, what her mom was wearing, what stores they went to... and I got no reply. So I tried again in Spanish. I'm the first to admit my Spanish sucks, but I tried. I know I made a little sense. But still, nothing.

So I get on the piece-of-shit walkie-talkie and let my LOD know that there's a hysterical little kid who's lost, and I was gonna take her to mall security. I didn't get a response, but there was nothing I could do but leave. I couldn't call security, because our mall security does not respond to a problem. We've tried everything to get them to help us in the past, and I knew that they'd take half an hour to show up, and then wander around the mall to find the mom, leaving the little girl behind in my care... fuck that shit.

So I take the kid's hand, and we go over to the police liaison office, because it's on my side of the mall. It's fucking locked. Lights out. The security office is way the shit on the other side of the mall, and little girl is freaking out even more now that the office is locked.

I start having a mild panic attack because I really don't know what to do. I can't drag this apeshit little person all through the mall.

so I went to the little kiosk where they sell mall gift cards and give directions and stuff, and ask the dude there why the liaison office was closed. He said there had been a small fire on in the food court (OF FUCKING COURSE) and that everyone was over there.

I am mothafuckin' DONE at this point. So I let him know that I was an employee from mold slavey, this little girl got lost in the mall not in my store, she won't answer my questions, and I didn't know what to do.

And you know what he said?!

"I'll get to it in a minute"

OH, HELL NO! I told him he needed to call security NOW and let them know the situation. I am nearing tears myself, and I think he could tell I was reaching my breaking point. So he got on his fancy walkie and asked for an officer.

I sat down on the floor in front of the kiosk and little girl sat next to me. She's still understandably in tears, and I'm pretty damn close. I didn't want to leave her with the kiosk dude who didn't give a fuck, but I knew I was gonna be in big trouble if I didn't go back to work soon.

Then, about 3 minutes later, baby girl shoots up like a fucking rocket and takes off. I start freaking out and chase after her, when lo and mothafuckin behold, she had run straight to her mom.

This bitch... she had about a million bags attached to her stroller, that had a damn infant in it (this baby literally looked days old, nowhere near old enough to be out and about).

And what did she do upon being reunited with her not-so-beloved daughter?

Asked her why she ran away.

I nearly flipped shit. She didn't thank me. She didn't ask if her daughter was okay. Little girl's still crying, and they walked out of the mall. Welp. Back to work.

This whole ordeal took maybe 10 minutes all together, although it felt like hours. I figured someone would have told my LOD the situation, and hopefully he'd be semi-understanding. Oh, no. I walk back in the store and go straight up to him and apologize.

What does he do? Proceed to tell me, aka yell, that what I did was incredibly irresponsible, that I can NEVER under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES leave the store without permission, and that if I ever did anything like that again, I'd be written up.

I was floored. I mean, I'd tried to tell him what was going on. I can't make these old walkies work, and I sure as shit can't make you listen when I talk.

I stood there for a few seconds, and then I walked back to my register. Did I mention that several of my coworkers, not to mention quite a few customers, were nearby? Because the level of humiliation I felt really adds to the story. He then came over and told me to take my lunch.

I practically ran to the stockroom to clock out and immediately had a mental breakdown. Luckily, my two amazing merchandising managers were in the back and asked what had happened. I told them, and they were disgusted. Then my asshole LOD (whos name happens to rhyme with DICK... coincidence? I think not.) came looking for me.

He then asked the stupidest motherfucking question I have ever heard: "What's wrong?"

I almost went apeshit bananas. I started screaming. "I tried to let you know what was going on! I called you on the walkie! YOU DIDN'T RESPOND. I didn't leave the store to go for a walk. I made sure people knew where I was at. I was gone TEN MINUTES! SHOULD I HAVE LET THAT GIRL GO OFF BY HER FUCKING SELF AND GET HIT BY A CAR OR KIDNAPPED BY A GODDAMN PEDOPHILE?!"

Then I burst into tears, and ran to the bathroom. Where I spent the next twenty minutes of my lunch.

I regret lots about this incident. I regret being nice to that dumb bitch that I rang up, because maybe if I had been a cunt, she wouldn't have brought me that poor little girl. I regret not screaming at the horrible excuse for a mother. I regret not karate chopping my cocksucking LOD in the throat. And I regret letting my emotions get the best of me. but I DO NOT REGRET trying to help a child.

However, I am slightly thankful this happened. It made me realize that I actually do have a soul, otherwise I wouldn't have given a flying fuck about that girl.

And I also realized that I needed to quit. Because there is no motherfucking way that I can stay in a place that would punish me (and I did get punished for this; just a verbal warning though, not a write-up) for helping a child in need.

So I've almost completely closed my availability, and as soon as something else, anything else, comes my way, I'm gone.

But I get the feeling that every time I hear a scared "mom?" from a kid, I'll flashback to that day from hell.

--Clothing Cadaver