Retail Hell Underground

Bookstore Slave Thwarts Asshole Custy Attempting To Shortchange

Auuugh Shywriter's post makes my head buuuurn! And when Bookstore Slave's head burns, it is NOT a Nick Cage movie. It burns with the memories of the self absorbed, impatient, self entitled douchebags who aren't worthy of licking the ground I walked upon. 

I cannot count the number of times this happened, and to this day it still breaks my brain.

Setting the scene:

Douchebag strides up to my register, tosses the books onto the counter and ignores my "did you find everything you needed today?"

Douchebag: Here.

Me: Okay sir.

I ring the books up and before I can even hit total, a handful of money comes flying at me. Now the books are in my hand and I'm halfway through putting them in the bag. They are on my side of the counter, so I drop the books and by some miracle slap down the bouncing coins so they don't scatter all over the floor.

Douchebag: That should be enough, just give me my books and I will let you keep the change.

Um, no. Red flag. You have deliberately scattered your money all over and want your books now before I have even counted what you gave me?

No. No. No. 

Me: I'm sorry sir but I have to count your change.

Douchebag: *Huff, puff, splutter!* Give me my books there should be enough!

I pretend not to notice the immediate shifting of posture, blustering and half assed attempt to reach ACROSS my counter to grab the bag out of my hands. I set the books on the floor at my feet and count the money up in front of him. 64 cents short.

Me: Looks like you're a little short sir.

Douchebag: *GLARE!!!1111!!ONE!!!!!!* THERE. SHOULD. BE. ENOUGH.

Me: No sir, you're a little short. And none of your coins have fallen to the floor. You just need to add a bit more change and you'll be fine.

Douchebag: *splutter, cough, growl, fishes out another dollar and shoves it at me*

Me: There we go. All fixed up! *cheery smile as I give him his sodded change and his bags now that he's paid in full.

Yeah, piss off you red flag waving, son of a sea monkey! I know your game, and you wanted the store to eat that lost change so you could brag about how you didn't pay 60 goddamn cents. Oh excuse me, 64 cents. Yes, you made off with the biggest heist in store robbing history.

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

PS: alternative scenario involves someone waving the book at me and handing me money, telling me to ring them up later when I retrieve another copy from the shelf.

Answer: Sorry ma'am, unless I deactivate your books, they will set off a security gate which is wirelessly linked to an alien war ship in space that will immediately target your car and vaporize it as well as 50% of this state to keep you from escaping with your $6.99 paperback novel. Oh, and your soul will be dragged screaming into hell by a skeletal, demonic lion who will then use it to power his desk lamp, where it will be consumed bit by bit for eternity while he does his taxes.

(Seriously, put the fucking book on the counter and pay for it like everybody else is doing, jackass)

 

Retail Hell Frustration: Technology Updates

Bookstore Slave with an easy question:

What technology related thing do employees dread?

Answer: Anything new.

Working at Hoarders, I survived two register replacements and three book searching program updates. Let me tell you, as soon as any manager announced (with that maniacal grimace of "I'm faking happy but look like I'm shitting a spiked dildo" expression) that our registers were going away and getting replaced with new state of the art registers with totally new programs, the retail slaves fled into the night screaming.

This meant that. Every. Unholy. Time. The managers spent the entire night at the store with techies setting the damn things up and learning how to do the basic functions. Guaranteed, by the following morning, four of the six registers were down and both of the remaining two still working queeped, beeped, chirped and bitched whenever a slave hit a wrong key while trying to ring up the goddamn book.

Let's face it, when you learn the old system, you hit keys quickly and efficiently by habit and the sudden change of routine fucked everybody up. So what was once A, B, C, D, Total, is now a F, J, B, D, Total.

So when *BEEP!* "Dammit." became customary conversation, you can guess that the managers just stopped answering the pages for help. Either they were unconscious from the all nighter or just fucking sick of the number of errors that the error sporting, glitchy, piece of shit registers were firing off. Checkout times slowed down, lines grew, cluess employee is asking clueless employee what does it mean when the monitor spins 360 degrees and projectile vomits green spew, and even normally patient custies are tapping their foot.

OH SHIT THEY BOTH JUST DIED! Okay, okay. Deep breath. Turn it off, count one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two one-thousand-three, one-thousand-four, turn it back on. Pray to the book gods, make a sacrifice to the Deep Ones and cross your fingers that THAT fixed the problem because otherwise we're totally fucked... YAY! Fixed! Okay, next few customers...

Then comes Info program updates. WTFOMFG guarateed all computers are DEAD for a week and info slaves paste on a perpetual expression of pain and reply "I don't know if we have it, do you know if it's a romance, travel, or self help?" *twitch twitch* I mean, the average slave knows roughly what to look for and can occasionally figure it out by the title, but some things hide their nature. And it can take 15 minutes of looking in the section for the title/author before having to conclude that we never carried it to begin with.

I think everyone cried for joy when the computers were fixed, and then screamed in horror when the Blue Screen of Death exploded through the system 8 hours later. Each of these events usually took two weeks to fully resolve and left the staff, (slave and manager alike) traumatized for months afterward.

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

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

 

 

Retail Hell Memories At The Mall: Dumbass Coworker Mistakes Newbies For Custys

I hate working at the mall. So much fucking suckage.

Bookstore Slave with memories from the days of being a mall slave.

The store opens at 9:00 am. This is easy to understand. However, I am scheduled to be in the store at 8:30 to begin my shift and acquire my till, count it out, confirm that I didn't steal money in the first 5 minutes of my shift etc.

So at 8:15 I'm standing at the gated door of the dimly lit mall store, keeping a keen eye out for meandering employees.

Time keeps ticking away. 8:20 am.

Me: Hello?

No answer.

8:25. I have been joined by a second newbie. No movement.

Me: HELLO?!

Miss Prissy saunters out, makes a "shoo" motion with her hands at me, doesn't even look at me standing dressed in full store regalia: "Our store doesn't open until 9 am, come back then." She then saunters back into the back.

Me: THIS IS MY FIRST DAY OF WORK, I WOULD APPRECIATE BEING LET IN SO I CAN SIGN IN!

Miss Priss: We don't open until 9! Come back then!

8:30, and there are now three of us outside the door, dressed in our uniforms. We should be signing in right fucking now.

Me: IN CASE YOU DIDN'T HEAR ME, I WORK HERE! I DON'T HAVE A KEY!

Well, security isn't deaf, and they naturally came over to investigate. We were obviously dressed for work, complete with the shirt sporting the store name. Since yelling hasn't been working, we are all drawn away to the info desk by the Security Officer. He picks up the phone and dials the store number. This is the side of the conversation that we heard:

SO: Hello. Listen, this is Mall Security. I'm not sure how you missed it, but you have three employees who are trying to get into your store so they can begin their shifts.
*pause*

SO: Uh huh. Well maybe they wouldn't BE late if you had opened the grate for them fifteen minutes ago.
*pause*

SO: No, I observed one of your store employees telling them to leave and not come back until 9, when the store opened.

*pause* His face becomes thunderous.

SO: So you're telling me that on their very first shift on their very first day of work with your company, that you expect them to have a key to get in to the back door, even though you never issue keys to anyone but the manager on duty?
*pause*

SO: Oh KNOCKING on the door would have gotten them inside. Do they KNOW how to get to your back door?

(We learned later that the mall has hallways behind every store to let employees transport trash and/or cash throughout most of the mall without exposing themselves to to mall traffic and the danger of having their tills taken from them by NATs. These are mazes and even the most experienced mall slave is apt to get turned around due to the sameness of every hallway and the lack of store names on the doors that you may pass.)

SO: Look, you've wasted my time, yours and theirs. You have two minutes to get that grill open to let these new employees inside or I will be calling your home office to report your behavior.

The actual manager of the store opened the grill to let us inside, allowing the three of us newbies begin our first day of work ten minutes late.

The manager has has somehow remained oblivious to the whole situation with Miss Priss: Oh, why didn't you call the store?

The security officer gave the nearby Miss Priss a look of murderous death and very succinctly told him what was going on.

Miss Priss got written up, but we were never issued keys. We spent the rest of our shifts either hanging from the front grill in the mornings or else hopelessly meandering the maze in back, carefully counting doors and still knocking on the wrong one.

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

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

 

Bookstore Slave's Childhood Memory of a Gas Station Role Model

Today I'm posting a long ago memory of when I was a heavenspawn (or at least, a heavenspawn in this instance, as I'm pretty sure I had my hellspawn moments).

Now this was in the 80's so I was pretty young. The Shell station near my home had just gotten a new car wash and for a while, they tried codes that changed once a week. When they dicovered that people were remembering these codes and using them for free car washes without paying for them, they changed to the system they have today. In other words, it was no longer once a week, but changed to a new code per transaction.

Pre-gaming-system kid that I was, I was aware of the world around me, and knew that this new system had changed recently.

Well, riding in the car with the Parent Of My Friend, she decided to get gas, pay for the car wash and just drive up and plug in last week's code instead of printing out the new slip. 

Me: The code isn't #### anymore. They changed it.

Her: So what's the new code?

Me: I dunno, you have to ask the cashier. 

Her: No, the code was ####. That's what I'm putting in.

So we pull up to the key pad and she dials in. BIG SURPRISE, no dice. The system doesn't accept the number. She tries it 6 times, and gets refused each time. Finally the guy comes out of the office where I guess he was monitoring the system and tells her that her number was incorrect and that she needs to put the correct one in.

Her: NO! The code is ####!

So he goes back to the Cashier where she bought the gas. Surprise, surprise he comes back with a slip for the correct code number that the cashier printed up from her transaction.

Him: Ma'am, THIS is the new code. It's going to change every time you get gas.

Her: IT WAS #### LAST WEEK, IT SHOULD STILL ACCEPT THAT CODE!

Him: No, ma'am, the system has changed. Use this code.

She huffs and she puffs and she tries to blow the little pigs' house down, but the house is made of bricks and will not bow down to her tantrum. Finally she snatches the slip and angrily punches in the new number. Again, BIG SURPRISE, the CORRECT code DOES INDEED work.

I'm sitting in the back of the car, having witnessed this lovely role model prove that temper tantrums DON'T WORK and spent some time wondering if I would get swatted for pulling an "I told you so."

Ultimately I kept my mouth shut, thus proving that at the tender age of 7, I was more mature than the 40-something year old woman driving the car.

May all your customers be nice.

--Bookstore Slave

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

 

Bookstore Slave's Holiday Blessings For Custys and Retail Slaves

Hello RHUers, well I thought I would send a few blessings to custys and retail slaves alike for putting up with the insanity that is the holidays.

To Custys:

Bless you, mother of the little NAT who stuffed your purse full of stolen goods. Bless you for spotting these before leaving the mall. Bless you for returning and handing them back to us. And bless you for making the lesson stick by informing your little NAT that Santa will be very displeased this holiday season!

Bless you custy, for running after another custy who forgot his wallet at the counter. I'm sure it saved him a panic attack and the headache of trying to prevent identity theft or a return trip into the insanity.

Bless you, warm hearted custy who stepped in and said "[Product]? Hey I just saw those. I can show you right now and you don't have to wait in line at the info desk!"

To Retail Slaves:

Bless you for your quick thinking as an unhappy child cried over not getting the toy right that second. The thoughtful expression sent those tears away promptly when he heard: "Hey kiddo, maybe Santa will bring it!" Mom mouthed a thank you and so does everyone else at the clever way you encouraged patience.

Bless you for the patience you pile on as insanity and bah-humbug-ness that spills in this holiday season.

Bless you for the extra effort you add on, even though you're not paid nearly enough for your efforts.

Bless you knowing Retail Slave: knowledgeable in the mysterious ways of technology and explaining its works to those of us hoping we got all the parts we need on the first run. (and for making sure we remember the damn batteries!)

Bless you Retail Slave, for putting up with Jingle Bell Rock... for 8+ hours straight... every... goddamn... day... from Halloween to Christmas... (And thank you for not going postal, though you were sorely tempted.)

Bless you wonderful Smoothie Shop barista, for the occasional free smoothies. Yes I am a regular here, and no I don't ask for free stuff or discounts. Thank you for the lovely surprise anyway!

Bless you friendly train conductor, for all the little things you do every week as I ride that 40 minute piece of track; from the greeting to making sure I know my stop is next to the smile as I disembark, you are the one who makes my trip pleasantly memorable.

May all your customers be nice,

--Bookstore Slave

 

Random Act of Holiday Kindness: Cashier Uses Personal Discount To Help Custy

Kiwiberry here again!

I know it's been quite a while since my last post, but in my new position with Whole Paycheck, I mostly spend my time with Team Members and not custys (thank the dear sweet baby Jesus). This, however, is another story from the other side of the counter, brought to us by my very dear BF.

He braved the very mouth of retail hell yesterday to finish up some last minute Christmas shopping. To hear him later tell the story, he spent more time waiting in traffic at the mall than it actually took him to procure those last minute items.

While at a very popular book retailer, he realized he was about $0.20 short of his total. Being someone who tries to live as off the grid as possible, he does not have a credit or debit card and so was limited to the cash he had on him.

He asked the kindly retail slave manning the register to take one of the books for his mom off, because he was short of cash for the overall total.

Now, you might be expecting to hear next that the lovely gentleman took twenty cents from his own pocket to cover the difference. At least, that's what I was expecting. I've done the very same thing countless times at other jobs.

However, this particular kindly sir gave DBF a warm smile, said "No problem, man, I got you covered" and punched in his employee discount!

Now, I'm sure that if there had been a manager or supervisor around, this retail slave would've been in a world of trouble, but after the financial year we've had, and the absolute headache-inducing abomination of trying to satisfy all of our family's demands to see us this holiday season, this was exactly the lift that he (and I) needed to bring us back into the holiday spirit. Goodwill towards man, indeed.

So thank you, bookstore slave. You made our day and our holiday. :)

--Kiwiberry

 

Random Act of Retail Kindness: Making a Retail Slave's Day

Bookstore slave with a story from the other side of the counter.

So we to to a sandwich shop of the "Great Sandwiches, West Coast Original" and Mom and I decide to share a taco salad, since they're pretty famous for making those things with just about everything. We put in our order, and mention that we'll just share it, so that will complete our order. Usually you'd expect to just get it in one bowl/plate and two forks. But the guy behind the counter went one step farther and carefully divided up the ingredients for one taco salad into two plates so be both got our "own" salad.

It's a small gesture, but it got an "Aww, that's sweet of him" in my mind. Usually in the middle of lunch crowd you're on autopilot trying to get crap out there as fast as possible, so the fact that he was paying attention and made a little extra nice gesture really does stand out. (Preaching to the choir I know. :) )

He calls for a ring and the manager eyes the two trays, just dripping those Douchey von Douchebag vibes that will knock out a buffalo from six miles away.

"Why are you asking for one taco salad?" the manager growls. "I see two plates there."

Now we eat at this chain often, so anybody with any sense can tell when the recipe has been halved because a full order is a decent sized mound of nomming goodness. Obviously the manager has no idea how to serve food according to company portion size and recipe. Maybe it's worth two pennies more because it's one whole cheap ass plastic plate extra, but come on!

The employee looks uncomfortable so I quickly chime in in my "happy customer voice."

"Oh, we mentioned that we were going to share the salad so he was sweet enough to divide it into two plates for us. *happy blissful smile*

The manager bites his tongue, half glowers some more and finally rings us up.

We take our seat and eat our salads. I'm keeping half an eye on the manager, who looks like he's lurking but not wanting to growl while the happy customers are there. Really dude? You'll complain because someone made the customers HAPPY? We put the garbage where it belongs and return to the counter to flag the server over again.

"Thank you again for dividing it up for us. That really was a happy surprise."

The manager was still around and looked like he had swallowed something bitter, but skulked away to do something else.

I hope that we made that retail slave's day. I hope he didn't get growled at by his manager later. Seriously dude, he made the customers happy enough to thank him a second time for his customer service. Isn't that worth more than enough for the cost of (OMFG) the second plate? It's cheap plastic shit disposable in the trash. And the way I phrased it, the manager COULD very well have simply assumed it was a weird customer request that his slave complied with. 

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

 

This Will Make You Angry: Teenagers Think It's Funny To Trash Stores and Film It

From Cosmetics Hellhound: Don't you just want to beat them until they are black and blue in the face? Or curse them so that they have to work the rest of their lives in retail? Where are their parents!! Or where WERE they when these two were being raised? Ugh.

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

 

Doogie Doo Game: Hot Seller or Markdown?

 

From Bookstore Slave:

Dear god, who thinks of this "shit"? Yes, it's a game where your little hellspawn feed a toy dog play-dough rolls, squeeze a hand pump according to a dice roll and the dog eventually shits it out. Your child "wins" if they collect more "dog shit" than their friends. PLEASE tell me you would never EVER let your children THINK of collecting dog shit, much less buy this fucking game!

May all your hellspawn never get a "whiff" of this new toy...

--Bookstore Slave

 

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

 

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

 

Glam Tampons: Hot Seller or Markdown?

Ladies and gentlemen, I, Bookstore Slave, have never, ever, imagined that this day would come. I have included a slightly blurry but altogether REAL picture taken at my local Hell Mart.

"Punk Glam Tampons: Limited Edition Designer Series"

I shall now quote one of my favorite web comedians...

WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?!

I understand that it's nice to have feminine products that don't LOOK like feminine products, especially since they can be located in your purse along with your wallet, ID and check book, but for the love of god that time of the month is NOT a Glam worthy event that needs to drew attention to it.

PUNK GLAM worthy event to be exact. Like Punk Glam is more awesome than regular old run of the mill Glam even when applied to feminine products and biohazardous fluids? 

And no, I can't altogether blame the people who would buy it, because... yes... if it doesn't look like a tampon then it's less embarrassing to have to carry around with you. Oh no. I'm yelling at the designers who made this Piece Of Shit. Want to know why? I'll tell you.

What this picture does not give justice to is the fact that they SPARKLE like a pansy ass stripper vampire! YES! They sparkle! They have GLITTER embedded in the plastic!

Here's an AWESOME IDEA! Let's glue rhinestones and metal studs to the applicator on our next Punk Glam release! That's a money making idea right? RIGHT?! (Hint: WRONG!)

I shall now cower in a corner and think of happier things.

--Bookstore Slave

 

 

The Retail Slave Blessing

Sitting on my bed today, shuffling through old games reminded me of an experience I had while buying two of them.

See, Spyro The Dragon got me hooked. It was the first game of its time where the dragon was the hero, rather than something to slay. So when I wandered into a Gamestop some years later, I spotted Spyro: Year of the Dragon and it was an auto-buy of happy squee. I get home, pop it into my game console and...waitaminute... who the hell is that Cheetah? When did he get into the picture? Crap I must have missed something.

So it comes as no surprise that I trundled back out into the store, not overly happy that I have to make a second trip but not particularly unhappy AT anyone. I found YotD by chance, so it wasn't like I'd have the foreknowledge that it was game 3, and it doesn't say it's game 3 on the cover, so if anyone's to blame, it's the people who didn't number the game cases.

However, I was apparently whacked on the head by the ESP fairy as I walked through the doors because I could all but read the retail slave's mind.

Retail Slave: Hi, can I help you?

Me, holding up Spyro: YotD: I hope so, see I was in here earlier and...

Retail Slave tenses up: *Oh crap she's gonna complain. Brace yourself. Be ready for it.*

Me: ...when I popped in this game...

Retail Slave: *Don't fall for it, don't relax. That pleasant face will transform the second you relax. Watch for the glowing red eyes, they'll appear at any second...*

Me: ...I realized I had the third game in the series, not the second....

Retail Slave: *Don't relax. Relaxing is the slow and agonizing death upon the pointed rage of a Customer From Hell*

Me: ...So by any chance do you happen to have the second game in store?

Retail Slave: *OH THANK GOD!*

The retail slave lets out the breath he's been holding and takes a look at the game box: "Well, let me see."

He checks in the computer: "Okay, it looks like the second game in the series is called Spyro: Ripto's Rage."

The two of us wander over to the PS1 shelves and rummage until we find the game case before he retrieves the game itself from behind the counter. I pay for it and happily take both games.

Retail Slave: Have a good day ma'am.

Me: You too. (And then I confer the Chashier Blessing upon him:) May all your customers be nice.

Retail Slave: If they are all as nice as you were today ma'am, I will be very happy.

I laughed and headed home to some good old gaming. The irony of this? I was a newbie to the retail industry at the time. I'd only endured the Christmas Temp jobs, when most custys are trying to be properly "tis the season for niceness" and had only a few minor disgruntled crusty experiences. I learned my "cashier blessing" from another retail slave who had come in to shop.

Nowadays I confer this blessing upon just about every retail slave I come across, because I have the experience to know they deserve all the blessings they can get.

May all YOUR customers be nice!

--Bookstore Slave

 

 

Chain Store Sells Salmon Dinners That Expired In 2008

Bookstore Slave here, with a fail on so many scary levels I can't even count them all. As stated in a previous story, I volunteer with Wonderful Lady at a local Hospital. Due to the new hospital tower, some departments are getting shifted to new quarters.

As part of a pre-packing process, WL and I swept through the office, rummaging, trashing and cleaning things. As an "Eh, why not?" I delved into the mini fridge where WL usually stashes her microwavable lunches and sorted through the various things looking for expiration dates.

I received quite a large fright when I found three salmon dinners that expired in 2008! It being good old 2011, I threw them away so fast there was a sonic boom behind them. Fish goes from "make you sick" to "lethal" a hell of a lot faster than some other meats.

I told WL about the long expired food and she was freaked out. Apparently she had bought it last week!

LAST! WEEK!

Wonderful Lady had me tear off the expiration dates so she could return to the chain store where she bought it and shall be raising one hell of a stink. The lawsuit if she had gotten sick or killed by that expired food would have been far too little to late, no matter what the settlement had been. Normally I am against whining at employees and storming my way up through the chain of command, but this one is a legitimate complaint with honest to god consequences.

I mean, really? YEARS past the expiration and they kept it on the shelf and sold it? Our best guess was that the retail slave who stocked just kept shoving the dinner into the back every time they restocked, and nobody went through to pull expired food off the shelf.

--Bookstore Slave

 

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