Retail Hell Underground

Book Exchange Manners

 

 

Merchandising For The Tall

 

 

 

Retail Hell Bookstore Memories: Custy Not Happy With Gift Receipts

Bookstore Slave with a story from my first ever job:

Holiday temp at Noble Barnes.

Hired in late August, fired January 8th, this was my joyous first experience with Customers from Hell and boy, let me tell you, I got a doozy.

A woman comes into the music department to purchase a huge frikkin pile o' crap. Eh, our task is to tell custys over the PA system "Good [morning/afternoon/evening] customers, if you don't want to wait in that big ol' line at the front of the store, I would like to let you know that there is no line whatsoever in the music department, where you can make your purchases right away!" Figuring that this was the case, I didn't raise my eyebrow at the huge pile because, hey, the less time you have to carry that monster, the better your arms feel.

I ring up everything, total her up and swipe her credit card. All goes well until the receipt prints up.

Her: Oh, and I want gift receipts for my purchase today.

My initial reaction was "Oh fucking well, too late, goodbye and have a nice day." Really? You stood there staring straight at me while I do this and only mention that you want gift recipes AFTER you pay?

But nooo. I bite my tongue and summon a manager to retrieve the transaction and explain the situation, since we lowly minions do not have that grand power. As the manager retrieves the transaction, he walks through the whole thing, getting gift receipts on small clumps of stuff from her purchase. They print out and OMFG HOW DARE THEY LOOK DIFFERENT!

She argues with the manager because the gift receipts were printed out AFTER the transaction, they have a  different format. 

The manager informs her that yes they will, in fact, work just fine. When he finally gets sick of her he simply tells her "Ma'am, they wouldn't look like this if you had requested your gift receipts during your transaction. Since you waited until after you paid, this is the format they come in. I assure you that they will work just fine."

Muttering, the woman leaves and I help the next gentleman who has been waiting quite patiently throughout this whole mess. Is that the end of it?

Hell fucking no!

The manager returns to his duties and the woman returns so quickly that I know she was waiting for him to leave. She then proceeds to stand to the side and loudly berate me for not ASKING if she wanted a gift receipt as this was OBVIOUSLY her Christmas shopping (it's mid September, and our store is set up for back-to-school sales currently).

For FIVE MINUTES.

I am attempting to ignore her, ringing the gentleman up for his medium sized purchase, hit total and she jumps in.

Her: You didn't ask HIM if he wanted a gift receipt either! You're obviously not smart enough to do your job! Sir did you want a gift receipt?

Him: Erm... no thank you... *he gives me a look like a spooked rabbit as this yapping terrier of a woman, who for some reason dragged HIM into her little vendetta, continues her tirade*

Her: You see, that's how you do your job! How can you not ask every transaction if a customer want their receipt?

Okay, I've officially snapped. I have not been browbeaten into bending over and taking it yet, so I decide I've had enough.

Me: ENOUGH!

Her: *stunned silence*

Me: Do you know what harassment is? DO YOU? It's what you're doing right now! You are harassing me, AND my customer. Now, you can either take your purchases and leave, or you can stand right there while I call the police and file harassment charges against you. It's your call.

Her: But-

Me: It's September. There was no way I could assume that you wanted Christmas presents this early. And if a cashier doesn't ask, you DO have the power to ASK me to include them BEFORE you pay. And I would have. As it is, you have what you want anyway and you're still not happy. Leave.

She spins around, enraged, and sees the manager standing in the entrance of the music section with his arms crossed.

Her: Did you hear what she said to me?!

Him: Yes.

Her: Don't you have anything to say to her about her atrocious behavior?

Him: Yes. *to me* Call the police. She obviously thinks you were bluffing about the harassment charges.

She splutters as I reach for the phone and then she flees.

The gentleman I was helping applauds.

When he leaves the manager quietly says: Next time, call a manager to deal with harpies like that. You're not paid to put up with that crap. We are. We'll take care of it for you.

God I wish I sill had managers like that. I still wish I had that kind of faith in the Manager level of authority too.

May all your customers be nice!

--Bookstore Slave

 

 

One Dumbass N.A.T.'s Chaotic Escape Attempt

Hello, everyone. Tis I, Book Wench, back again to share more tales of Wastings. 

It's been a while since I last wrote in, for which I apologize. I've been dealing with a nasty wisdom tooth infection and all of the family arguments resulting from that, and combined with the utter soul-sucking grind of work, I haven't really had the energy to do more than go to work, come home, and fall asleep on the couch listening to Jon Stewart. (Note: nodding off to the Daily Show, coupled with a liberal dose of hydrocodone, results in very peculiar dreams. Try this at home!) However, we had a little incident a few days back which I really must share. An attempted robbery... with a side of carjacking!

Because our general manager has the short-term memory of a goldfish with Alzheimer's, problems that we bring to his attention are almost never addressed. He's very apologetic about it, and he will change things (poor scheduling, etc) if we nag him enough, but when it comes to anything that involves having to talk to corporate his powers of recall vanish almost entirely.

As a result, our security cameras have been in shambles for over a year, with no word from the head honchos as to when/if they will be replaced. We know this, the NATs know this, and we know that they know it. 

Naturally, one of the broken cameras is located directly over an area of highly valuable merchandise! And naturally, we are so short-handed that the lone associate assigned to this department  (which includes roughly a third of the store) can't spend all their time in that one corner of Highly Valuable Shit, even if they wanted to. We lose hundreds of dollars of merchandise every single month from this area, because GM doesn't have the balls to talk to corporate and get us another gorram camera. 

Last Friday, as I was tidying up the book department toward the end of my shift, I heard a ruckus coming from the front end. Walking up to the registers to see what was going on, I beheld half a dozen cops, an extremely angry Curmudgeon, and a woman holding an ice pack to the back of her head.

The story, as it fell out, was this:

Our awesome video manager, K-Pax, had noticed a skeevy-looking fellow circling around our corner of Highly Valuable Shit. K-Pax finds a reason to loiter in the same area, keeping an eye on him, but gets called away to assist a customer. The minute K-Pax leaves, skeevy guy pulls out an empty grocery bag, jimmies open the case, and fills his bag with HVS. He then attempts to leave the store, and here's where things got weird. 

We have three doors in our store. One opens up onto the mall, and by that point in the evening is closed and locked. One is the entrance, and only works as an entrance; consequently it is not equipped with any theft detectors. The third door can only be reached by passing by the front registers, and thus passing through a detector; it too only works one way. You can leave by it, but you can't come in.

Our would-be NAT takes off running for the entrance, only to smack face-first into the door and knock himself over.

He gets up and runs around through the registers, setting off the theft alarm, and drawing the attention both of the girl at the register and of K-Pax, who immediately recognizes him and vaults the goddamn counter in order to chase him. 

NAT gets outside, bumps into Curmudgeon returning from her dinner break, drops his bag of HVS and takes off across the parking lot, K-Pax in full pursuit.

Register Girl (she'll get a nickname if she survives a month here) tells Curmudgeon what's going on and Curmudgeon calls the cops, and all the while K-Pax is chasing after this NAT.

The NAT jumps into the backseat of a completely random car and starts smacking the driver on the back of the head, telling her "DRIVE, BITCH! DRIVE! JUST FUCKING DRIVE!"

At which point K-Pax shows up, drags the NAT out of the car, and tries to march him back to the store.

NAT tries to punch his way out, succeeds, and vanishes into the bushes across the street. K-Pax brings the driver inside, gets her an ice pack, and convinces her to file a police report. 

The best part?

When Curmudgeon opened the bag, it turned out that our NAT had inadvertently taken only used things from our case of HVS. He tried to rob our store and carjack a random stranger, for a total cash value of maybe $150.

The day after, of course, we all got a stern talking-to by the GM about how we must never, ever accost a customer, even if it is obvious that person is stealing from us... maybe we should just disable all the damn cameras, then, if we're going to let merchandise just walk out the door!

We have the dubious distinction of being the worst Wastings in terms of theft-related losses out of the entire chain, and we can't do anything to fix it. 

I need to find a job that lets me yell at people for being stupid, RHU.

--Book Wench

 

Retail Hell Memories: Hoarders Custys Steal Store Bags Meant To Be Used Like Shopping Carts

Bookstore Slave with another memory of Hoarders.

As previously stated, the store used to have black see-through bags for the sole purpose of shopping in store. They have no price tag. Not that this stopped a crusty...

A man comes up to the registers with one of these Hoarders Bags, crammed full of books and announces that he wants to buy the whole lot. So I start ringing him up.

Man: I want to buy this. *points to Hoarders bag full of books*

Me: Um, sir, I am ringing you up for your books.

Man: No, I want THIS. *he plucks at the Hoarders bag.*

Me: Sir, those are for in-store use only. They aren't for sale.

Man: Of course they're for sale! I have six of them at home.

Me: No, sir, they are for in-store use only. If you took them home, it means that you took them without paying for them. They don't have a price tag. They aren't for sale.

Man: But I have six of them at home and I told the cashier each time to ring me up for the bags as well.

Me: The cashiers probably misunderstood you sir. When we run out of those bags, we simply won't get anymore and all of our customers will be unable to shop using them.

Man: Well the ones I took home are mine and I'm not giving them back.

Me: Whatever soothes your guilty conscience sir.

Over the next two weeks, our number of in-store shopping bags dwindled until there were none left. The managers threw away the stand upon which they had been hung and we simply never got any more. I made the managers aware of the situation, but they simply shrugged and said "Oh well."

Same Man: Where are your black carry bags?

Me: They're gone.

Same Man: Why? They're great bags! I have fifteen of them at home.

Me: ... Some jerk stole them.

Same Man: What an asshole. He ruined it for everyone who used them.

Me: I know. Oh well. I guess he didn't care about that. Have a good day sir.

May all your Customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

Book Merchandising Fail

Bookstore Slave's New Year's 2Fer: The Dumbass DVD Custy and Entitled Dog Lady

Bookstore Slave with a pair of Hoarders memories.

So, I had been coasting along at 4 years straight employed and was just trundling through yet another evening shift when we received several custys in a row of dumbfuckery. In order to give yourself the appropriate understanding of my evening, kindly read the story in its entirety, and then simply replace "Dumbass 2, 3, 4 and 5" and re-read the story 5 times in a row.) Or just, y'know, facepalm because you know that custies are that stupid.

Dumbass 1 arrives with a DVD in its "anti-theft" clear box and puts it on the counter. Bookstore Slave rings up this brand spanking new DVD still in its plastic and all appears as normal until Dumbass opens his mouth.

Dumbass 1: So when is this movie due back?

Me: Uhm, you have 30 days and it cannot be opened.

Dumbass 1: But how can I watch the movie if I don't open it?

Me: You don't. If you want to watch the movie, you keep the DVD.

Dumbass 1: What?

Me: Sir... you are purchasing this DVD. If you don't want this movie, don't open it and we can return it for you.

Dumbass 1: Wait, you don't rent movies?!

Me: No... sir... we do not. We are a Book STORE, who happens to also sell movies and CD's.

Dumbass 1: Then I don't want it!

Come to find out the Yellow Pages listed Hoarders under the heading "Buy/Rent Movies." In other words, our book/music/movies/cafe store was listed right along with Blockbuster and Hollywood video. This would have been worth nothing more than a mildly exasperated eye roll if we hadn't gotten five Dumbasses in a week, each crusty asking how much we charged to rent DVD's and throwing tantrums when we replied that we SELL, not rent. Managers had to be dragged into a few of them.

***

Hoarders used to have these big black mesh shopping bags that customers could use to carry large purchases in. They had the Hoarders name on the sides, and the little tag saying "Made In [Insert Country here]" None of them had price tags. Most of them were shop worn. And we had to intervene a number of times when owners of yappy little rat-dogs tried roaming the store with their precious little pee bags stuffed inside. No lady, mesh bags do NOT conceal your snarling, yapping, squirming little "angel."

Lady: What do you mean he can't come inside?! It's 100 degrees out!

Manager: Ma'am, we handle food in our cafe, and it is unsanitary to have any animal in the store.

Lady: I don't plan on going into the cafe! I don't understand why my dog is banned if it doesn't go anywhere near the food!

Manager: Because whether you go into the cafe or not, it's part of the store and therefore the ban on animals extends to the rest of the building.

It's at this point that a heavenspawn passes by, minding her own business and aimimg for some point past the scene. She is not running, screaming in a shrill voice, or taking any notice at all of the situation, but instead is calmly rummaging through her small plastic purse to see if she can afford her selection. It is at this point that the rat-dog takes exception to the situation and launches itself half out of the black Hoarders carry bag, yapping and snarling and snapping violently at the very startled little girl, who begins crying.

Manager: Ma'am, please control your dog and remove it from the premises.

Lady: HOW DARE YOU! *she catches the dog before it wiggles free of the bag to have a go at the child* You provoked my precious, sweet little Muffin didn't you?

A fellow employee intercedes and gently pries the terrified, sobbing girl away from the shelf that she's backed up against, risking being bitten by the little beast in an effort to put some distance between her and the situation.

Manager: Ma'am, that girl was just walking by. Your dog is the aggressor. I suggest you remove that animal before we report it as being vicious for its unprovoked attack.

The dog stops snarling and snapping and settles for incessant, shrill yapping.

Lady: Fuck you! *bark! bark! bark!* My precious little *yap! yap! yap!* Muffin is the *bark! bark!* spirit of gentility! That little bitch *yap! yap! yap! yap!* provoked him somehow!

Ironically, security escorted her off the premises, not because we called them, but because the dog's shrill incessant yapping could be heard OUTSIDE by the passing security guard, who was well aware of our no-dogs policy. The little girl was ultimately all right and we managed to calm her down with a cup of hot chocolate from the cafe (on the house). I can only imagine that the dog would have become a bony little football if Momma Bear had come into the scene during the situation.

May all your customers be nice.

--Bookstore Slave

 

Bookslave's Message To Holiday Crusty's and Douchebags

Bookstore Slave with a message.

Every male who believes himself SUPERIOR to women should branded with an iron stating "Ungrateful Bastard." A woman gave birth you, and without us, it's just you and Lefty or Righty. And if you can't STAND the fact that some OMFG WOMAN OMFG is trying to be nice and give you some help, then take a flying leap. Otherwise, man up and change your fucking attitude...

Dude: Hey I can't find this sheet of instructions in dis book.

Me, thinking he missed it: "Oh it's in a weird place. It's on page..."

Dude, cutting me off and snarling: I'M NOT STUPID!

Me: I didn't say you were, I just thought...

Dude, snarling some more: I'm not stupid! It's not in my book.

Me: Ooookayyy...

Well excuse me for not knowing that that particular book was a defect, I mean, after all it's all my fucking fault that my vagina interferes with my ESP.

Dude was silent for a full minute, then grunts grudgingly: Well... thank you for trying to help me.

It's WAY too fucking late for a "thank you". I tried to help and you bit my head off. Try an apology instead you Ungrateful Bastard.

*** 

Douche comes into the store with a pack of friends and loudly talks to his buddies when I'm assisting the group in finding what they want.

Douche to a co-worker who walked past on another mission: So do y'all have [product we don't carry]? (obviously wasn't listening )

Me: No, sir, as I told your buddies, we do not.

Douche snarling: I wasn't talking to you I was talking to HER! *gestures to the startled looking co-worker*

Fellow customer (not part of the group): Hey, try showing some respect! She just told you that a minute ago.

Douche: YOU WANT RESPECT?! HERE'S MY RESPECT! FUCK YOU! 

I just... What was... I don't even...

Douche's Buddy: Dude, whut...

Awesome Manager: Okay, that's it, OUT!

Douche to me: Fucking bitch I didn't ask you!

Awesome Manager: I said get out. You're not making your case with your swearing.

Douche: I'm not trying to make my case I'm telling her what I think of her.

Awesome Manager got him to leave, but he came back the next day, trying to be allowed in by apologizing for his behavior. Manager McSpineless accepted his apology and let him continue to come into the store. I made the decision to simply not acknowledge his presence whenever he entered the store, and kept the number of Security on hand in case he tried to blame ME for his getting in trouble. Needless to say I didn't work at that establisment very long.

Look asshole, asking somebody else the same question I just answered won't help you much. If you're a a misogynist, at least mutter "thanks" and walk away and your interaction is over and done with with a minimum of pain.

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

The Tale of A Doomed Newbie: Smoking Consumed His Life

Bookstore Slave with a memory stirred by the abrupt quitting of the newbie in Theater Writer 's post.

Now, I'm not a big fan of smoking, but whatever. I know it's an addiction and as long as you're not blowing your fumes in my face, I can live and let live. It's cool, really. But when it consumes your life, you need to sit back and take stock just a lil. Let me set the scene.

Bookstore Slave was relatively new, and hired as a temp holiday slave for Waldenbooks (before it crashed, got bought by Hoarders, and then crashed for a final time). Now Waldenbooks also had kiosks sitting in the middle of high traffic mallways. Not part of the store but owned by it. I was plopped on a Bionicle kiosk; Bionicles were like brand freaking new so the kiosk was literally stuffed to the gills with the five or so main characters and nothing else. As a quick learner, I was actually able to man the thing all by my lonesome after a week of training, allowing my manager to hoof it off to places unknown to do WTF ever he wanted (thus labeled Absentee from here on).

Insanity has not started yet, so keeping an eye on the kiosk is about 90% boredom/pacing in a circle like a land shark, 5% ringing up a purchase and 5% explaining what the hell these things were to confused mothers buying for their little Bionicle loving crotch fruit.

What happens next? Whammo. New newbie. Absentee dumps New Newbie in my lap for helping me man the thing. New Newbie is 24 bloody years old to my 19 years, neurotic as hell and restless. He paces around, eyes darting all over the place and then an hour in, begs off for a FIVE minute to smoke. Like I'm a fucking manager.

Right, it's not like we're slammed so I give him the go ahead. He disappears for TEN minutes, returns reeking of whatever carcinogens he was lighting up outside the mall in the pouring rain. He's calm for like, half an hour. One hour on the dot after his smoke break he flees to light up again before returning to grant me my ten minute. Third hour in, he's agitated again. I point out that we technically get a ten minute every two hours plus a half hour lunch break, so the fact that he's already had two ten minute breaks in two hours and jonessing AGAIN on his third hour is a bad thing. He says that if he can take a ten minute every hour, he'll gladly give up his half hour.

Now usually my math isn't so hot without a calculator, but a 30 and two 10's = 50 minutes total of break, not counting before or after work. He's basically consuming an hour and 10 minutes of break. This is a bad sign of his work ethic.

I send him off to gather stock for the kiosk; not that we were in real need, but when you're bored, you can plug little holes. He disappears for 20 goddamn minutes. 10 for his third smoke break and 10 to retrieve the product I had actually sent him to get. All I do is heave a great big sigh, accept the box of product, and discover that the Bionicles grabbed weren't actually in need of stocking. Sending him back to get the right ones proves he has no memory to speak of, as he still hasn't gotten the right ones. For fucks sake, we have five different characters to stock and two attempts have failed. ("Get the blue ones, the white ones and the red ones... no, NOT the green one or the brown one.") A weary facepalm later, I conclude that if I leave him on his own for a few minutes to get them myself, he'll start the apocalypse involving a duck, a blow up doll and a case of the hiccups, somehow.

Halfway into his third hour, twenty minutes after his third smoke break, he cracks like an egg.

"I can't do this, it's too hard, I quit."

And he just walks away from the kiosk to return to Waldens to retrieve his crap and flee to return to his chain smoking (and whatever else he was on...)

I got a prompt call from the mother store. Ironically this wasn't Absentee, but Sweetheart, who told me from the onset that the store was labor law compliant.

Sweetheart: Bookstore Slave, are you okay? New Newbie just barged in here saying that he quit.

Me: Meh... I'm fine for now, but I'm gonna need somebody to cover my lunch and my final ten. And I could use a restock to keep me busy during the quiet hours.

Sweetheart: Wait, have you had your first ten yet?

Me: Yeah, we managed to get that out of the way but he couldn't seem to get the right stock when i sent him to get them.

Sweetheart: *weary sigh* "Okay, let's see, when'd you start? It says here 9 am. Okay, it's 11:30. Hang in there, I'll send someone to cover for noon okay?"

Ultimately a fellow Temp was sent out of the Calendar store (also a Walden's sub store) to cover for my lunch. Turns out Absentee was hiding in there with her, pretending to train and supervise her so that he didn't have to man the Bionicle kiosk, which was where he was really assigned.

I took my lunch, handled my final four hours and turned the kiosk over to Absentee; Sweetheart confessed he'd tried to get one of the later shifts of Temps to cover it and had been.. corrected... in his mistake. He was Manager On Duty for the Kiosk, which meant he had to get his ass out there and do it. Sweetheart wasn't accepting negotiations.

I never saw New Newbie again, but I have high hopes that his inability to handle a job of any kind forced him to detox from his drug addiction. Because seriously, we weren't even in the middle levels, much less the lower levels, of Retail Hell. We were warm, protected from the weather, and not really doing anything more labor intensive than picking up a feather light canister of LEGO bits or running the register at that point. The crowds weren't even bad at that point. Yeah we didn't have a stool so we had to stand but really? Who out there in retail would pass up a job that didn't require heavy lifting of any kind? Who out there would trade a little boredom for a swarm of Customers From Hell instead? Keep in mind that if you'd had a co-worker, your challenge for passing the time would be bullshitting back and forth and standing around. NO manager breathing down your neck. NO demand to stay after the mall closed in order to clean up the main store, because you were a Temp Slave assigned for the kiosk or the Calendar store only. But it was TOO HARD for him to go an hour without a smoke (plus whatever else he was on, I never could pinpoint whether it was a chain smoker's tweak or some other drug tweak on top of it).

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

Bookstore Black Friday Hell: Dirty Old Men, Entitleds, Crazies, and Bigots

I know it's been a while, but here I am, your faithful Book Wench, here with a few brief anecdotes from Wastings. 

Our Black Friday was an absolute hell, of course, but since I was stationed in Books and not on Front Counter I really didn't mind too much. Mostly I just wandered through my department and picked up after people and their spawn. There are trash cans at both the mall entrance and the street entrance of our store, as well as at all the registers, but I guess it's just too much to ask people to carry their empty Starbucks cups an extra fifteen feet. SIGH. Honestly, though, compared to what the people at the front were going through, I got off easy.

Just a few quick mini-rants: 

--The Dirty Old Men. There are five or six of them, they're all retired, and they all come in every single day to get their Hustler or Playboy or what have you. What distinguishes them from the other people who occasionally buy such things is their insistent and incredibly obnoxious behavior. Yes, I will show you where those magazines are for the fifth time today. No, I do not want to give you "recommendations," no, I cannot personally handle your transaction, and for the love of any and all gods, please stop trying to touch me. It's never outright groping (and if it ever crosses that line, I WILL break their wrist, job security be damned) but it's always uncomfortable, especially since it's often combined with such wonderful comments as "My granddaughter is about your age..." *pats my shoulder with a creepy stare*  If you went to the adult store down the road and did that, you'd be banned. Don't fucking try to do it here.

--Vanity Press Lady. My tiny little town has a great big artsy reputation, and every nut-slurping snowbird and their overly made-up wife fancies themselves a great writer or philosopher or what have you. VPL, however, takes it to the next level, insisting that we simply MUST carry her self-published book of shitty poetry, complaining when we tell her that we don't, trying to sell us copies that she then insists that we send to our corporate headquarters "because there must be someone who actually knows about great literature there," and generally acting like a diva. "BUT DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?" You're a shriveled, bitter crone with her head so far up her own ass she no longer knows the difference between a fart and a burp. Mystery solved!

--The Amnesiacs. "I don't know what it's called, or who it's by, but can you find it for me?" Sure, right after Indiana Jones and I track down the Lance of Longinus and use it to stop Xenu from taking over the lost city of Atlantis. DEEP-FRIED CHRIST ON A POGO STICK WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE? You don't know if it's a book or a DVD or a CD? You can't even remember what it's about? Here, take this dog-eared copy of Twilight and get the hell out of my sight, if you don't know what you want, you're going to take whatever crap I want to give you. 

--The Exorcist. I am not religious, but I don't give a damn if you are, Mrs. Crusty, and I will happily show you to our massive section of Christian literature. That is where my customer service to you ends. It certainly does not cover you pointing at my completely harmless ankh necklace and shouting "Madre de Dios! You are possessed!" and then trying to get me to join you in prayer. In the middle of the fucking book section. While I'm still on the clock. My obvious discomfort and attempts to disengage politely were met with more pious shrieking, and apparently she complained to the associate on register that she can't come in here anymore since Wastings employs "damned souls."

And.... the Bigot. I got called out of Books and onto the register a few days ago, since the front counter associate couldn't be arsed to come in that evening. It's a weeknight, fairly quiet, until..... her. She walks up to my register and slams a couple of DVDs down on the counter. "I want a refund for these!"

I pull up her account, see she kept the movies for the whole week, and check the discs. They aren't scratched or dirty or otherwise unplayable. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you kept these for the whole week, and they're in good condition. I don't think I can do anything for you, but let me call my manager over." I page Curmudgeon, and the minute I'm off the phone this crusty bitch starts ripping into me.

Apparently, this show is filthy and immoral and wrong and she tried to be open-minded, she really did, but she doesn't understand how anyone could watch this, and how she thought this show was about love and relationships but instead it's just filth--

I actually look at the discs for the first time. She had checked out the first two seasons of "The L Word."

There are very few things that will cause me to get genuinely angry with a customer. Pray for me? Fine, I really don't care what you and your sky fairy think of the state of my soul. Insult me? Water off a fucking duck at this point. Creep on me? You're getting politely shut down. Touch me? Again, a polite warning to cease. But do not ever, ever throw something at me, and do not ever, ever use me as a captive audience while you slander an entire demographic of people for no better reason other than that you're stupid and you think you can. 

"Ma'am, this show is about love and relationships," I tell her, in a tone of voice so utterly cold I'm surprised she didn't get fucking frostbite. 

"Well, women dating women, that's just unnatural, and it's wrong--" My attempt at reason is a tiny drop in her ocean of hate, quickly dissolved. I'm giving you the gist of what she was actually saying; I refuse even to type some of the utter crap that was coming out of her mouth.

At this point, Curmudgeon shows up, and tells her the same thing: she'd had the DVDs all week, they were in good condition, we couldn't refund her. Bigot leaves, still complaining, and the moment the doors swing shut behind her Curmudgeon turns to me and says possibly the greatest thing I have ever heard from a manager:

"That bitch doesn't deserve lesbians."

Stay strong, fellow slaves! There's more to tell of Wastings hell, but for the time being, I'm going to snuggle up with my bottle of Jack and drink until I wake up in a better world.

--BookWench

 

Retail Hell Memories: Bitchy Homeless Person Causes Closing Time Nightmare

Bookstore Slave with a "bitchy homeless person" story from when I worked with Hoarders. Now the homeless part I have no problem with. I don't judge. Honestly if not for my parents, I'd be homeless right friggin now.

We used to have chairs in our store, where customers could sit and partake of the wonders of the written word for a while (yay alliteration!). This homeless person would come in and sit in a chair allll day reading books. This too was worth no more than a minor eye roll, since of course she never bought anything but it wasn't worth kicking up a fuss.

Trouble started when she decided to claim it as her territory. If someone else was in "her" chair she would harass and harangue the customer until they moved and gave her "her chair" back. If the customer told her to go sit somewhere else, she would get louder and shriller until the customers got sick of it and moved themselves. "Her" chair was planted in the computer books section of the store, kinda tucked away from traffic. But it was immediately "Get the fuck away from me!" whenever coworkers came to shelve in the section.

Manager: We don't mind you sitting there all day, but if you're going to act rude to customers, employees and managers then you have to leave.

Bitchy Homeles Person (BHP): Rawr, grr, snarl!

Manager: I will NOT put up with that attitude! This is a retail store, which means you can't "claim territory" here. If you don't like it, again, you can leave.

BHP: Grumble, mutter, sulk.

Then finally the store closed one evening after she built this lovely little reputation for herself. A manager sent me to the women's bathroom to hustle anyone hiding in there out, warning me "THAT one" had slunk in there twenty minutes ago and hadn't been seen leaving, despite our closing announcements at the 30, 15, and 5 minute warnings AND the "we're closed" announcements.

"Hustle her out, and stand in the doorway until she leaves, because we've stuck our head in there twice and she hasn't left." I was told. He calls me back and murmurs quietly "If she gives you attitude, give it back. She's been hell on all of us today."

I have been given permission! MWAHAHAHAHAHA! Ooohhh the urge to blaze in there was very strong, but I bit my tongue and started off nice. I was, however, more than ready to unleash my inner Slave Rage at the drop of a hat. So I swing open the door and find Bitchy Homeless standing at the sink. She's doing little grooming things, generally designed to stall for time and make retail slaves give up waiting and walk away, to hopefully forget about her presence.

Me: Ma'am, the store closed five minutes ago.

Bitchy: I HEARD THE ANNOUNCEMENTS! *she starts washing her hands slowly and thoroughly.*

I stand patiently at the door and wait.

Bitchy: I SAID I heard the announcements. You don't need to stand in the doorway waiting. *still washing hands*

Me: You're the last customer in the store. I need to make sure you leave so we can go home.

Bitchy: I SAID you don't need to stand in the door waiting! *still washing hands*

Me: *sick and tired her her already* Yes I do. We're closed.

Bitchy: I'm GOING to leave! *still washing hands*

Me: *I fold my arms and stare her down* Get. The fuck. Out.

Bitch snarls and snaps and whines and moans as she slowly grabs the paper towels, dries her hands off, and shuffles toward the door with me in slow pursuit like the "sheep herding, no future, lowlife bitch" that she says I am and all but biting her ankles to drive her onward before we finally get her out the door.

Manager: Don't bother coming back here, you're banned for verbally abusing my employees.

He then slams it closed behind her, locking it. The cheers from various employees could be heard from one end of the store to the other. May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

Bookstore To Be

Cop Threatens To Arrest Bookstore Slave For Not Remembering Custy's Stolen Check

I respect cops. They do the dirty, painful and thankless job of trying to keep us safe and most people just want the cops to kiss ass and control their kids. That being said, what the fuck do cops want from me?

Okay, I'll set the scene. It's March. MARCH! (remember this) And a cop wanders into my store, shows his badge and talks to the managers. They vanish into the back, come straight up to me and the interrogation begins right there on the floor.

Cop: All right ma'am, the transaction history shows that you rang up this customer.

Me: *blink*

Cop: Were you aware that the person writing the check was writing a stolen check?

Me: Uh, no.

Cop: Yet the customer came in and you accepted the check without ID.

Me: Store policy only requires the name, address and phone number to be current. The last time I tried insisting on ID, the customer threw a fit and I got in trouble for it. I am now only allowed to ask if the information is current. If they say "yes," then there is no more authority availailable to me.

Cop: Do you recognize the transaction? *shows me the copy of the recipt*

Me: No... 

Cop: Yet you rang them up ma'am.

I take a closer look at the date. IT'S FROM FUCKING NOVEMBER! ASDFJKL;

Cop: Are you sure you don't remember this transaction ma'am?

Me: ... seriously sir?

Cop: Ma'am?

Me: This transaction apparently ocurred the day after BLACK FRIDAY. On a normal week I will see over 200 faces, and ring up at least that many transactions. During the holiday season, these numbers double or even triple. On Black Friday alone, it was insane in our store. There is no way for me to remember faces or transactions that happened last week, much less four months ago. I cannot give you a description of the person and no, I don't remember the transaction.

Cop: Ma'am, you are being unhelpful in a criminal investigation.

Me:  And what do you expect from me?! Four months is too long to expect what was a normal transaction with no reason for it to be memorable. The customer was not a Customer From Hell or I would have remembered them. They filled out the check apropriately, told me the information was current and took the crap they bought.

My manager steps in at this point: Officer, she's not interfering with your investigation, and unless you want to arrest her right now, I suggest you leave her alone. (I nearly have a heart attack at those words). She's given you all the information she can.

The cop sighs, takes my name and age and leaves.

Me to Manager: You just scared the everloving daylights out of me when you told him to arrest me!

Manager: Bookstore Slave, honey, there comes a point where you stand your ground against cops. He had two choices. He either needed to arrest you and charge you, which would mean a lawsuit against him because he had no lawful reason to; or he could leave you alone and stop trying to bully information out of you. Since it was unreasonable for you to remember someone from that far back, he had to back down and leave you alone. Let me or another manager know if he tries to come question you some more.

I spent several minutes trying to calm my heart down because he really did freak me out when he mentioned the word "arrest".

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

Clever Bookstore Merchandising

Unexpected Happy Black Friday For Bookstore Slave

As I am sure many of you will be posting your horror stories soon, if you haven't already by the time I finish typing this, I, Bookstore Slave, wish to share a few small stories of how my Black Friday was unexpectedly a happy one.

Mom decided to explore Wall Fart on the pretense that she heard something about a 40 inch tv on sale at noon for $199.00

I was pretty damn sure that such a beast would have been snapped up by the doorbusters already, but we went in anyway. This was further compounded by mom not knowing which brand was supposed to be on sale, and no copy of the ad to prove such a sale existed. I just gave a facepalm-sigh as we wove our way through the crowded store.

It was surprisingly intact for a Wall Fart after the rush of pure manic evil and we managed to snag an employee in electronics. Turns out most of the TVs were sold already (or at least the ones with eye catching sales) and the supposed brand with the big promotion was entirely sold out.

The retail slave was still very helpful and checked around and asked fellow retail slaves for any knowledge of such a sale. A friendly fellow customer gave us her 32 inch (going for a comparable price) in exchange for a 40 inch that was a couple hundred dollars more. (Thank you sweet lady!) The retail slave even helped us get the thing into our cart (mom had back surgery and walks with a cane, and I'm 5'2" and scrawny as far as muscle mass) and pushed it into line for us. (Thank you kind sir #1!)

We made our purchase, headed to the front of the store and then requested assistance getting it out to the car. Another fellow custy intervened and told us it would most likely take half an hour at least for a retail slave to extricate themselves from the mob of questioning custies and gently took control of our cart. He wheeled it out to our car and lifted it into our trunk for us. (Thank you sir #2!)

Surprisingly painless despite mom's disorganized decision.

Hoping that all your Black Friday custys were doped with endorphins and "sweet disposition pills,"

--Bookstore Slave

 

Twi-Haters Take Action

 

 

Bookstore Hell: Do You Have a Copy of "Shut The Custy UP"?

From Benjamin Kissell:

Although I don’t work in the bookstore industry these days [and couldn’t miss (most of) it more] I do still frequent them to feed my never-ending book addiction. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll find good deals on various websites, but, nothing quite matches that pure book-hunting experience. It’s invigorating. It’s entertaining. It’s … ruined by completely rude and selfish assclaps who feel the need to belittle EVERYONE around them.

I was feeding said book addiction on Veteran’s Day in-between rounds at the movie theatre [Immortals bit the big one but Anonymous was rather well done] with my Mum [an awesome movie/shopping companion, FYI]. Despite their ass-over-tea kettle layout, you can still find some great reads at the Joseph-Beth-turned-Books-A-Million in town … as long as you have a good eye and take the time to do so.

Apparently patience, sanity and courtesy were in short supply on her end the day this woman decided to go shopping [and she seemed damnably determined to kill it on others’].

We were near the obliquely laid-out Customer Service/Cash-Wrap desk trying on various glasses [style versus function, that age-old question] and leaning on our chic black-metal shopping cart [I still have connections; while others get a hand-basket I’m given the Rolls Royce of shopping carts] when a very high-pitched, nasal and angry voice broke through our shopping reverie.

“Well, why don’t you have this?”

Now, if this had been a question asked in mild perturberance, I’d totally understand. I mean, we’ve all been shopping for something in particular and not found it (much to our annoyance). But this woman with the over-priced SuperCuts-esque ‘do and a voice which makes Fran Fine look demure seemed to take it as a personal attack.

Of course, being a veteran [veteran, victim; poh-tay-toh, poh-tah-toh – it’s all semantics, right?] of the Retail Industry myself [and currently still in the Customer Service Industry] I tend to sympathize towards the retailer this type of vitriol is aimed at.

With this woman’s assault on the auditory senses I angled myself a little less in the mirror and a little more in the ‘I’m not eavesdropping I’m just shopping a little closer to you’ zone.

“I went looking for this Neil Gaiman book. That’s Gaiman, spelled …”

First off, she’s pronouncing his name wrong. Secondly, her grating voice is passing from peeved to condescending. And third? Well, I could already tell I just plain don’t like this woman; from the tips of her overly-gelled caught-in-the-bug-zapper-pixie hair to the toes of her more-expensive-than-my-rent shoes and every square inch in-between. I’m pissed off on behalf of this nice, mousey girl behind the counter [clocking in at 5’2 and ma-aybe 100lbs, I could just pick her up and toss her in my bag] who is bouncing along in the classic ‘I just want to please you so you’ll stop being so mean’ eagerness.

Now, in the defense of this custy, the store has an absurd filing system for its genres and authors: You’ll find Fiction as a sort of all-purpose/catch-all section. James Patterson for a popular [if not quality] example; his mystery/thriller novels will be both in the Mystery section (Kiss the Girls and Sail) and in Fiction (Along Came a Spider and The Swimsuit) or Charlaine Harris’ popular Sookie Stackhouse series (Trueblood on tv) will be have random volumes on shelves in SciFi, Horror and (of course) Fiction. And Neil’s books can be found in much the same ‘order’ 2 copies in SciFi and the rest in Fiction; so, of course, I understood her frustration. But, you can be frustrated without being a Class-A bitch. [Just saying.]

After listening to her belittle this already-little girl for several minutes, I – in my most polite voice – pipe in. [Cue the ‘big mistake’ drumroll/theme music … ]

“Ma’am, I couldn’t help but overhear,” [read: Lady, you’re fuckin’ loud and your voice is grating], “you’re trying to find Neil Gaiman? They had him spread over the 2 sections, but, I …”

[Cue the spoiled rich bitch ice glare of attitude and sudden death.]

I faltered. I momentarily froze up under it. I mean, here I was just trying to be a nice guy and conscientious fellow shopper and she goes all Leona Helmsley on me? [An adult people reference kiddies, ask your parents.] My natural urge is to tell the spoiled little custy to stick it where the ‘sun don’t shine’, but, I also remembered that this was that girl’s job-place. And antagonizing her customer wasn’t my place. Of course, I also am a customer and her assclap behavior was affecting my shopping time.

So, I give her a subtle one-finger-salute as I turn back to eyeglasses shopping and reign in my temper. [Okay, I may have been muttering “Die you scum-sucking bitch” under my breath, sue me.]

“It’s part of a series, I have each of the other books, I want this one. You NEVER have what I want.”

Oh-kay lady, calm down, they’re books [which I love] not diamonds. And, really? What Neil Gaiman book is a part of a series? His Sandman graphic novels? The various incarnations of Stardust? Really lady? Chill the fuck out.

I rolled my eyes heavenwards and did my best to tune her out. Slowly, her voice faded to a quiet din. And not long after? I turned around and saw her [thankfully] gone. See, miracles do happen!

Realizing I'd grabbed a ripped copy of a book I intend to give as a gift, I hustled towards the back section where I'd grabbed it - hobbling along on my cane [foot injury, different story] and hoping to get back swiftly. [Sidenote: I can hobble pretty swiftly at this point on my cane. It's not for nothing that my nickname once was 'House'.]

Of course, I saw her as I limped past the Cooking section. Of course she had a smug/disinterested/condescending look on her face. Of course she had her back to me. So, of course, I happened to bump the small-book display table behind her as I went past - causing it to be off-kilter so that when she turned her purse to move she'd end up knocking a very heavy copy of Julia Child's bound works onto the toes of her more-expensive-than-my-rent shoes. Whoops. Of course I was nowhere near her when she did this. But, I did hear her annoying voice emit a tight "Fucking Hell" as I returned with a new copy of the book.

[Sorry Mum, you did wonder why it took me longer to get back from switching books. Well, now you know.]

Again, let me preface – I don’t work in the bookstore industry ANYMORE. I say this because I want no company to be held responsible if I go all Tonya Harding on this bitch [another adult people joke, kids] should we meet again for round 2.

--Benjamin Kissell

 

Retail Slaves as Custys: Not Just a Girl

Bookstore Slave with a tale from being a customer many years ago.

Now I will be the first to admit that off the top of my head, I cannot list the parts necessary for what I am hoping to achieve with a trip to Radio Shack. That being said, I CAN look at the parts I have and usually figure out how to plug them in based on the shape of the connecting parts. And since electronics do their best to be dumbfuck proof as possible (ultimately impossible but they usually do a pretty good job trying), I tend to get along just fine hooking up my own game systems to my TV without the nifty little diagrams.

So I have a three different game systems and I'm tired of plugging, unplugging, plugging, unplugging to get my nostalgic fix. I take a trip over to RS in search of the mysterious switch thingie that lets me hop between systems with the pressing of a switch. The employee was very helpful and suggested parts that I hadn't realized I needed (again, tech savvy only on a basic level) so I ended up spending more than I intended but coming away with everything I needed. I'm sure his manager needed a towel after his employee's selling success. 

I got a quick explanation of how to hook it all up and paid happily. I got everything in one go and could go home to play my games to my gamer heart's content.

I turned around to find a fellow customer watching me with undisguised shock. A GIRL bought ELECTRONICS! OMFG!

Him: Are you sure you can hook that up, hun?

Okay, as most women will tell you, don't use affectionate jargon unless you know us. It's just insulting to be in my twenties and called hun, girlie, hunny, etc.

Me: Sure. Each piece can only fit into one particular type of slot, and that one's gotta be the right one.

Him: Don't you need somebody to hook it up for you?

Me: ...No I do not, and I don't appreciate the implication that I can't do it all by my little lonesome.

Him: But... you're a woman!

Me: Okay, buh-bye now chauvinist asshole!

It...just... wow... The tech savvy employees of the store somehow managed to help me without talking down to me despite my inexperience, but it takes a fellow customer to piss me off to no end.

**********

Second story, a bit shorter, rather more amusing. See, I'm a horror fan. I grew up watching monster/zombie movies so I have a very... un-girl-like adoration for horror movies and a very un-girl-like loathing for "chick flicks." So when Resident Evil 1 came to the Playstation 1 way back when, I teamed up with my cousin to playthough and beat the game. We loved the horror movie feel and laughed at the horrible dialogue.

*spoilers ahead but if you haven't played them by now you probably aren't going to.*

When Resident Evil 2 first came out, I was pouncing on the articles like any other game nerd. So the virus spreads to the town and there's a NEW virus in contender huh? Sooo, which one actually infects the town?

Standing in the aisle of a store with a Game Informer in my hands, I proudly announce to myself:

"Oh, so it's the T-Virus that takes the town and the G-Virus is something else entirely. Okay."

The guy standing next to me jumps about three feet in the air and does a double take at the short blonde girl with baby tigers on her t-shirt. Then when I look over at him he gives me a sheepish grin and says, "Shutting up now, before I get in trouble."

This one was at least funny enough to smile over later because even though he never expected a girl to like horror games, he knew to shut up before he got his ass in trouble.

--Bookstore Slave

 

Entitled Bookstore Custy Takes Phone Call While Being Rung Up, Walks Away

Bookstore Slave with a story of rage.

Okay, any retail slave will share my utmost loathing of people who can't hang up their cell phone for 30 fucking seconds. It's rude, it's demeaning, and it proves that you're a fucking douche.

So Bookstore Slave has a line of 10 people while compleely alone at the registers. 10 PEOPLE! Manager Lazyass responds to my page for assistance by flatly telling me there IS no one available to help at the registers. Liar. I know for a fact that you're standing at a completely empty Info desk looking straight across 30 feet of store at my swamped ass, and Info does NOT require someone to man it 24/7.

Douche McCellPhone sets his pile on the counter and I begin to ring him up as quickly as possible. 3/4 of the way through the transaction, cell phone of life rings and he answers it. I consider it rude that he answers it, but whatever. If he can pass me his credit/debit card (or wad of cash) I can total him out and help the next person. Har har. No such luck.

Me: Okay sir, the total is $XX.XX.

He ignores me.

Me: $XX.XX, sir.

HE TURNS HIS BACK AND WALKS THE FUCK AWAY!

I stood there, totally blown away, staring at his retreating backside. I turn my gaze at the next lady in line, my eyes huge and disbelieving. She closes her eyes and gives her head a little shake. I look back at the guy, but he's at the far end of registers with his back still turned. 

I grit my teeth, suspend his transaction, put the book pile aside and call the lady over. I ring her up promptly and release her from the Line of Waiting Hell. She gives me a sympathetic smile and pats my hand before leaving, her purse "accidentally" slapping Douche McCellPhone on the ass as she walks by with her arms loaded. Amazingly, this elicits no response. I could fuking stab this guy and he wouldn't respond to his own blood seeping out on the floor.

I ring up three more people before Douche McCellPhone comes back to get his crap. I retrieve his transaction and he pays, leaving with his stuff.

Manager Lazyass arrives to chastize me about suspending Douche McCellPhone's transaction, saying that Douche McCellPhone could have gotten angry that I had helped other customers when it was his turn.

I give the manager a look and turn to the six other people in line. "Ladies and gentlemen, would you be happy if I stopped ringing and waited for that man to finish his phone call, making all of you WAIT?"

Chorus: "NO!"

Me: Majority vote wins.

Manager grimaces and retreats.

--Bookstore Slave

Bookstore Slave gets a Retail Balls Award for that masterful move on Manager Lazyass!

 

Bookstore Display Fail