Retail Hell Underground

RHU CUSTY CLARIFICATION EXCLUSIVE: THINGS THAT ARE NOT RACIST

Hello everyone, it's Book Wench, reporting in from Wastings hell.

This submission is actually a collaborative effort between myself and one of the awesome department managers-- K-Pax, who starred in one of my previous posts.

K-Pax and I happened to both be working today, and on our smoke break we started swapping crusty stories... which eventually turned into the following list. (Important note: K-Pax and I are both white as the driven snow, in a part of the country where that's actually somewhat unusual-- and boy, does that ever give some of our nastier customers fuel for their entitled, hateful fire.) I present to you, RHU, the Official List of Things That Are Not Racist. Feel free to add on!

Having a bathroom for customers only is not racist.

Having a key for that bathroom is not racist.

Making you pay for the candy you ate IN FRONT OF ME while you were in line is not racist. 

Telling you that you can't change your baby's diaper in the aisle is not racist.

Not having the product you want is not racist.

Offering to special-order you that product is not racist and I really don't understand how you can possibly view it that way.

Not having your special order in the day after you ordered it is not racist. There are over a thousand miles between us and our distribution center, which is not racist either, just really far away. 

Kicking you out when you steal is not racist.

Nor is kicking you out when you start a fight with someone else.

Nor is banning you from the store if you do either of the above.

Not giving change without a purchase is not racist.

Sending you up to the front when I don't have enough change in the back register to break your hundred is not racist. I can't go get more change, the manager up front can.

Not letting you pay for fifty-odd dollars of stuff in UNROLLED CHANGE is not racist. Go to a goddamn CoinStar. It's not racist either.

The cop ticketing you for parking in the fire lane is not racist.

I am not racist for refusing to argue with that cop on your behalf.

Late fees are not racist. Pay them.

Asking you to stop your child from opening sealed merchandise is not racist.

Putting things back where you found them is not racist, and I really wish you would start doing it.

Your card getting declined is not racist. Your bank may or may not be racist, I can't speak for them, you need to go have it out with them and not me.

Not letting you have stuff for free is not racist.

No refunds without a receipt is not racist.

Not giving you a full cash refund for what is obviously damaged merchandise is not racist.

Not buying your cracked DVDs, moldy books, and broken XBox is not racist.

Asking for ID is not racist.

Our opening/closing times are not racist and they are not changing any time soon.

It's one a.m. and we've been closed for an hour and I am going the fuck home, and I am not racist for refusing to open up the place to let you grab 'just one thing.'

"No shirt no shoes no service" is not racist.

"No animals" (except for service dogs) is not racist. Your tiny purse rat is clearly not a service dog.

Not giving you my phone number or my schedule is not racist.

Essentially, crustys, sometimes we have to tell you "no," and telling you "no" is not racist. So kindly take your massive sense of entitlement, and your total inability to behave in public, and go fuck off.

PS: That's not racist either.

--Book Wench

The High-as-Kites Custys and the Fast-Food Slave Who Just Wanted to Fly Away

Hello again, RHU, it's Mollywobbles with a harrowing tale of drive-thru woe!

First, a little backstory.  I live and work in an area in the South (yee-haw) that is, unfortunately, right at the start of the so called "Pill Pipeline" from the state of Kentucky to the state of Florida.  As such, we often deal with customers who are high.  This was one such occasion, and it took place at around three in the afternoon.

(Another little bit of backstory, our drive-thru is one of those Face-to-Face dealies, where you don't order at the menu board but actually talk to a human being while ordering.  This can be really fun as people hold cell phone conversations and flat-out sit there deciding, the whole while you're standing there holding the window open like an asshole and it's raining or snowing sideways.  Fun times to be had by all, I tell you what.)

As our location is right across the street from the middle school in town (as well as the hospital), we're particularly busy between the hours of 2:30 and 4 pm.  A truck pulls into the drive-thru with a woman (who shall be referred to as Vixen - not because she's particularly pretty, but it goes with my theme) driving and a man (I'm assuming her husband, whom I shall call Blitzen for obvious reasons) in the passenger's seat.  Right away, I can tell Blitzen is, well, blitzed out of his mind as he orders, his eyes half-lidded and his voice barely above a murmur: "a fish sandwich, add cheese" (our fish sandwiches already come with a half piece of cheese), then elaborates: "I want a whole piece of cheese on it, not the half piece."  So, I have to charge him the extra 40 cents for extra cheese.  Vixen then continues the order - or she tries to, anyway, as she herself is so stoned she can barely get out what all she wants.  To make matters worse, the stoned-off-his-ass husband is bothering her the ENTIRE TIME she's trying to order.  He's poking her, pinching her, trying to grab her hand and take a ring off her finger, and all-out being an annoying douchebag.  Vixen can't concentrate and is constantly mixing herself up, and asks me to repeat back what all she's ordered about six times, not to mention Blitzen is ALSO periodically addressing me, telling me stuff he'd already told me thirty seconds before:

Me: I've got a double cheeseburger, a ten-piece nugget, a small shake, three medium fries and two small fries.

Vixen: Okay, so two medium fries... *to her husband* Knock it off!

Me: No, ma'am, I've got *three* medium fries and two *small* fries.

Vixen: Okay, I need five small fries, so add three more onto there *to her husband* GEEZ! I'ma SMACK you!  ...and just leave the two medium fries on there...

Blitzen: I didn't want the meal with that fish sandwich, I just wanted the sandwich with a full piece of cheese...

Me: Okay, so you don't need three medium fries and I should take one off to make it two?

Vixen: No, leave the two medium fries on there. *to her husband* QUIT IT! *smacks him*

Me: -_- *goes ahead and takes one medium fry off, I guess* Now, what sauce would you like for your nuggets?

Vixen: *to her husband* I'ma smack you SO HARD! Quit! *to me* What'd you say, honey?

Blitzen: Did you get the full piece of cheese on that fish sandwich?

Me: Yes, sir.  What kind of sauce do you want with your nuggets?

Blitzen: Hot mustard.

Vixen: Hot mustard, I guess.  You know what, add a six-piece nugget on there, too.

Me: Okay, what sauce would you like with the six-piece?

Blitzen: I want HOT MUSTARD with the ten-piece...

Vixen: Yeah, hot mustard, and...you know what, could you repeat all that back to me?

By the time I finally got all their shit rung up (I did manage to wrangle what kind of sauce they wanted out of her), their total had come to $26 and my little timer on my computer said that they'd been at my window, ordering, for FOUR MINUTES.  Oh, and I forgot to add, to make matters worse, a co-worker of mine came back and practically pressed herself up against my back to stick her head out the window and talk to these people because she knew them.  So Vixen was not only distracted trying to shoo Blitzen away every two seconds, she now had small-talk to make with my otherwise wonderful co-worker (who shall be referred to from here on out as WCW).

So, the entire last 45 seconds or so went down like this: I FINALLY tell Vixen her total (which I had to do three times thanks to WCW distracting her), and she gets out a debit card.  She sits there a good 10 seconds, just holding her card in her hand, slapping Blitzen and chatting it up with WCW.

Meanwhile, my timer has hit and passed the four-minute mark, I'm getting antsy and so is my manager, who only sees her drive-thru time going up and *nothing* else whatsoever, causing her to yell back at me and ask "You need help!?  We're out to the road!" (Yeah, I've worked here for three years and I need fucking help doing my job. -_-) 

Thankfully, this makes WCW shut up for two seconds and Vixen hands me her card.  Now, on an order $25 or higher, two receipts print: one a copy for the customer's records, and one they have to sign for our records.  Once again, between Blitzen and WCW, Vixen adds another 15-20 seconds to our drive-thru time, just sitting there.  By the time WCW actually gets Vixen to sign the receipt and get THE HELL OUT OF OUR LINE, no shit, the timer said 4:37.

I have NEVER in my 4+ years in fast food had a nearly five-minute order.  I have never seen a five-minute order.  NOT. ONCE.  EVER.

When it was finally all done, and the truck had driven off to pick up their food (which was probably cold by the time they got up there), WCW turns to me and says, without a hint of irony, "...They were stoned out of their minds, weren't they?"

...

NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.  YA THINK? Then she continues: "And with their kid in the backseat, too. *tsk tsk*." I really have no faith in humanity anymore. May all of your custys be as grounded as high-voltage electrical wire, --Mollywobbles

Special Day Off Request

 

 

RHUer Gets Nursery Apprentiship

Hi everyone!

Just a quick update from Cookie Girl - I don't know if any of you remember the apprenticeship I was going for? Well, I got it! yay! I start tomorrow at a really nice local nursery, on a very flexible course. I am officially out of the retail world! *happy dance*

I'm not sure I'll be free of abuse entirely though - before I even had the interview, I was doing a 'stay and play' so they could see how well I interacted with the kids, and as I'm sitting on the floor building a car from wooden blocks, a kid comes out of nowhere and slaps me round the back of the head!

I found out later that he's autistic, and they're working on his behaviour, but it was quite a surprise!

Well, thanks for all your support RHUers. Stay strong!

--CookieGirl

Queer Geek's Custy Hell: The What Are You Question

Since the dawn of time, Man has asked any retail slave the inevitable question:

What are you?

In all seriousness folks, since I’ve been in retail this question comes up many times which puts a damper on ol’ Queer Geek’s day when a custy decides to break out the million dollar inquiry. To answer the custy’s question:

It’s none your damn business!

Let me say that it’s rude to ask that of someone especially from a complete a stranger. Secondly, what does that have to do with me servicing you? Does knowing a retail slave’s background going to positively impact your shopping experience? HELL TO THE NO!

Now before I go any further let me explain my background. I consider myself a bit of a mutt with this interesting exotic appearance. For those that love to fill out those long applications that require you to check off the race portion on the paper, I cover all the bases: INDO-EUROPEAN ASIAN PACIFIC ISLANDER SPANISH CREED WITH A JUST A DASH OF ANGLO-SAXON AFRICAN AMERICAN DESCENT. Hence, check off OTHER!

To illustrate my point, I will refer to colors to get a better understanding on how rude it is to impose the What are you? question. Unfortunately, all are true instances that have happened to me over the years in retail.

Custy: What are you? Are you purple?

Me: Yes, I’m purple.

Custy: I’m purple too! Do you think you can give purple a discount?

Me: Sorry no.

Custy: Come on. We’re both purple. We purples stick together. Give me a discount.

Me: I’m sorry but no.

Dealing with this for years, I resorted to lying to avoid the question. Here’s one that blew up in my face.

Custy: What are you?

Me: I’m pink.

Custy: No you’re not! You’re too big and too dark to be pink. I know many pinks and they look nothing like you! You’re not pink! (WTF? One, you insulted my weight! Two, you made it sound like my skin tone is a bad thing! Well fuck you buddy!)

This last one took the cake for me. Once again I used a lie which turned into this weird backhanded compliment.

Custy: *Starts speaking to me in a blue language* Don’t you speak blue?

Me: I’m sorry I don’t.

Custy: I thought you spoke blue. You must be red then? I mean you reds look all the same. (We reds look all the same? Do dumbasses look all the same because I’m talking to one.)

Me: No I don’t think so.

Custy: What do you mean you don’t think so? You don’t know if you’re red or not? I mean what are you?

Me: Well you see I was adopted. (Again this is not true but I’m hoping this will shut the custy up.) I don’t know who my real parents are. It’s a long sad story so truly I don’t really know. My adoptive parents didn’t get much information from the orphanage about my birth parents.

Custy: No, you definitely look like a red. Maybe a little bit of green you. It’s the eyes. Greens are known for having those type of eyes and you’re big and dark so that means you might be a green...

To make a long story short, this custy went on and on to trying decipher my background constantly making gross assumptions based on my physicality. Over time, I’ve learned to ignore these ignorant asses and simply say to them in my head as they constantly keep asking me: What are you?

IT’S NONE OF YOUR DAMN BUSINESS!

--Queer Geek

Entitled Bitches and Dumbass Teenagers Create Pet Store Hell

Hey fellow slaves, it's Register Pony again.

I had to write because yesterday was full of Retail Hell moments.

First, a little schedule drama: I glanced at the schedule when I clocked in to discover that I was supposed to work during my usual classtime next week.

I grabbed my Awesome Manager and told him about it, to which he said, "I thought you changed your availability?" I didn't remember doing anything of the sort, so I went to check the availability binder. Lo and behold, someone actually had the chutzpah to write additional days and times in pencil into my availability sheet!

Did they think I wouldn't notice? I still don't know what to do about this, RHU. It wouldn't bother me so much if that piece of paper didn't have my signature on it. I told Awesome Manager that I didn't pencil in those times, and he said he would look into it, but I'm still a little worried about it.

Later in the day, two incredibly obese chicks came through my checkout lane (I'm not exaggerating; they were bitching and griping about how small the lane was because they had a hard time fitting into it!). They both had little fluffy white dogs with them, and as I rang them up, Fat Entitled Bitch #1 decided to put her dog on the conveyer belt so she could use both hands to rummage through her laughably small Louis Vuitton clutch.

Seriously, her fat hand barely fit into it. I politely asked her to take the dog off the conveyor belt, because I was afraid it might get hurt.

Her response?

"Don't you tell me what to do with my dog!"

Fat Entitled Bitch #2 instantly plunked her dog onto the belt just to defy me. Because I was still ringing them through, the dogs were sliding around, falling down, and tripping over the rest of the crap they bought.

At that point, I just sighed and switched the belt off so I wouldn't hurt the dogs. I thought I wouldn't have to deal with any more bullshit at this point, but alas, the retail gods were not kind to me.

FEB#1: This store is the devil!

RP: I'm...sorry you feel that way?

(Um...WTF?)

FEB#1: I can't believe they let you tell people what to do with their dogs.

RP: I just didn't want her to get hurt. This belt moves pretty fast and --

FEB#2: THAT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!

RP: I apologize. I'm just doing my best to make sure no one gets hurt.

FEB#1: I'll decide what's best for my dog blah blah blah rawr rawr rawr!

RP: Here's your receipt have a nice night thanks bye.

Although it was kind of funny when it took them five whole minutes to waddle the ten feet out the door. I have seriously never seen anyone that fat and still walking.

*    *    *    *

And finally, a custy whose stupid defies gravity:

A girl who had to be at least 16 came in today with a plastic baggie full of four or five dead Silver Dollars. Nothing really seemed too out of place (at Petfarts, animals can be returned if they died within 14 days with a receipt), but when I took her receipt, I noticed it was dated 2/16/2012.

Yesterday.

Register Pony: You bought these little guys yesterday? What happened?

Brainless Teenage Girl: They died.

RP: I see. (No shit, Sherlock!) What do you suppose happened? Maybe the water was too cold? (We've had freezing temperatures recently.)

BTG: No, they were fine until I played with them.

RP: ...Played with them?

BTG: Yeah, you know, took them out of the water and played with them.

RP: You took them out of the water!?

BTG: Yeah. It was only for like, five or ten minutes. How was I supposed to know they were going to die?

MAYBE BECAUSE IT'S A FUCKING FISH AND IT FUCKING NEEDS WATER TO LIVE!?!?

RP: You...took fish out of water and were surprised when they died.

BTG: Whatever, just give me a refund.

RP: Ma'am, I can't give you a refund for fish that you killed by taking them out of water.

BTG: Seriously, y'all should have some kind of sign or something that says you can't do that.

IT'S A FUCKING FISH. FISHIES GO SWIMMY IN WATER. FISHIES DIE IF THEY NO HAVE SWIMMY IN WATER. I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH CLEARER IT CAN GET.

RP: Nobody does that, ma'am. (Nobody but you, apparently.) Suddenly, the cute 7- or 8-year-old heavenspawn in line behind her buying Milk-Bones had heard enough. Cute Heavenspawn: You...you killed your fishies...ON PURPOSE? BTG: Um... CH: You can't take fish out of water! They need water to live! BTG: You know what? Um, nevermind, I don't need a refund. She took her bag of fish and left, leaving me and the heavenspawn staring at each other in disbelief. Seriously, WHO DOES THAT?

Until next time!

--Register Pony

Unique Solution To Custys Not Taking Their Change

From an RHUer:

(“We” refers to the store manager and me, the assistant manager.)

Occasionally (as I’m sure it happens in all retail places), customers would not want their change—usually just a penny here or there.  We knew if we put it in the cash drawer we would be over at the end of the night and get in trouble (yes, repeatedly being a few cents over or short was a big deal), so there was a little “tray” between the register keyboard and monitor where we would put the change—in case anyone might be short a few cents.  Our district manager (DM) stopped by and said we couldn’t do that, because he didn’t want extra money “floating around the registers.”  I suggested a “take a penny, leave a penny cup” on the counter and that was a no-go as well.  We were not sure what to do with it, so there was a drawer by the cash registers containing odds and ends and we decided to toss unwanted change in there.  The next DM visit he said that was a no-no as well.  I jokingly made the comment that I’d take it home and put it in my piggy bank and he said we could get in trouble for that with loss prevention.  So we were like, “Okay.  What do we do with it?  We can’t put it in our cash drawers for fear of being over, we couldn’t leave the money anywhere near the register, we couldn’t take the money, etc.  Should we just throw it away?” 

The district manager came back with, “Make the customer take their change.” 

What were we to do? 

Chase the customer down and forcefully shove it in their pockets? 

So from then on, when someone didn’t want their change, we would please ask the customer to take it with them. 

If they didn’t, we would “accidentally” knock it off of the counter and onto the floor.

Eventually a customer would see it and pick it up.

 

 

Rude Gas Station Custy Gets Told By Author of "Gas Station Confessions'

Hey RHU!

Drive-Off Dramaqueen is back! With news! Good news! 

But first, a terrible crusty story.

I don't know if any of you remember me, but I work at a gas station up in the midwest near Canada (eh!) and I used to write in about once or twice a month about the terrible crustys I used to get.

Well, that hit the boiling point about three weeks ago, when this absolute BITCH came in, was rude the entire time, and then demanded my name, and while she was still in the store she pulls out her cell phone and calls my boss, proceeding to be super sweet and polite to him, and calls ME a bitch, tells my boss I was entirely rude to her, wouldn't get off my phone (bullshit, I don't answer the store phone [been told not to] and my cell phone stays IN MY LAPTOP BAG unless there is no one in the store), and wouldn't sell her cigarettes.

Oh HELL no.

I snatched her cell phone out of her hands and told my boss flat out, "NO. THIS BITCHY STUPID WASTE OF FUCKING SKIN "CUSTOMER" IS BEING A BITCH. I HAVE BEEN NOTHING IF NOT PLEASANT. IF I EVER SEE HER IN THIS FUCKING STORE AGAIN I WILL WALK THE FUCK OUT." and I ended the call, then turned to the bitch in question, flung the phone at her (she flung heavier shit at me prior to this, so her stupid crappy flip phone is NOTHING) and told her in no uncertain terms, "You are the biggest bitch I have ever seen. I was nothing but nice to you and then you go and do THAT bullshit. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, you ungrateful cunt, and if you ever come in here again, I will make sure you get the worst service of your life. Now get the fuck out of here before I throw something really heavy."

(She has not come back since.)

Seriously, she had come in, scoffed, huffed and puffed and demanded that I open an entire new carton of cigarettes because the pack I pulled for her "wasn't fresh." A new carton of cigarettes had just been pulled five minutes ago. I know they were fresh because I smoked a cigarette from a pack from that carton. I told her that they were fresh and I showed her my pack for proof. She gets exceedingly irritated and DEMANDS that I open a new carton.

I tell her we're out, unless there's some in the stockroom I don't have a key for. She tells me to go check, she'll wait. I repeat I DON'T HAVE A KEY FOR THAT STOCKROOM, she gets mad, flings the pack of cigarettes at me, as well as the lighter she'd grabbed AND A CAN OF RAVIOLI.

I give her a look that says what the fuck? but I ring up her items. She purposely crumples the money up and flings it at me.

I leave it on the counter, glaring at her. After three minutes of this, she sighs and uncrumples the money and hands it to me. I tell her "thank you" while thinking (omfg was that so hard you stupid cunt?) and give her her change. She demands a receipt, looks at me like I'm stupid when I ask if she wants a bag for her three items.

I bag her shit and she gets all huffy, asks for my name, and the above ensues. Now I may not have been the perfect retail drone, but damnit, I didn't do anything that should have actually pissed her off. And she threw things at me.

But I digress.

Now for the good news.

Before the end of March, I will have a published book.

I've been picked up by an Indie publishing house for a book about my experiences in Gas Station Hell.

It's called Gas Station Confessions, but my name won't be tied to it, since I do reveal relatively risque things in there that could lose me my job.

It's very exciting for me, as it's only the second non-fiction thing I will have published.

But anyway, if I'm not allowed to plug my book, please feel free to delete this, but it will be available through Amazon Kindle before the end of March. It will be $0.99, with a paperback version being released in April.

--Drive-Off Dramaqueen!

Lazy Male Coworkers From Hell

Hi all!

Long time lurker, first time poster and all that. I have made a few comments, though. I'm CrazyCatLady - not because I like cats, but because that scene in the Simpsons movie where Crazy Cat Lady scrubs her cats is just like me and my birds, apparently. Also, the "Can't Hug Every Cat" video is pretty much like me, too.

Anyway, I work in food retail. In their wisdom, whoever designed the store after we had a refit decided to remove the heating. So it's cold. Yesterday, I was pulling in our biggest delivery, which meant the back door was open - and also that it was very cold

I'm a girl. This doesn't mean I can't pull in deliveries - I'm not that sexist - but I have arthritis and doing so causes me pain. Cold makes it worse, so it's bad enough normally but when the door is open and it's freezing, well, it's even worse.

There were 3 men in the store who should help pull in deliveries, but two are deps and so higher up than me so won't help. One was busy watching football (yes, at work) and the other kept going outside to smoke, but then wandering off and leaving me again.

At one point I had to restack a whole cage as it came in with only 3 wheels and was badly loaded anyway so it nearly fell over backwards. Obviously, this was one filled with really heavy stuff. One of the other girls helped me at this point, but she shouldn't have had to. We also couldn't find anything decent to stack it onto so improvised with a milk crate - which one of the deps told us off for. 

Usually two people (at least) pull in the delivery, due to elf and safety. 

But the good bit is that the delivery driver wasn't impressed and is going to put in a complaint, which may help change things.

--CrazyCatLady

 

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)

 

Update on Hellspawn Bully and Tale of an Appreciative Student

Hi, it's Spawn Wrangler again.

Thanks for everyone's support on my last post, I feel I should clear a couple of things up; firstly that the after-school club runs within the school itself, but is technically a separate entity (parents have to pay for the service, we have our own funding etc)  meaning it's possible for us to kick kids out, but tricky as there's some rule or another stating we have to take the kids who attend the school and our supervisor is reluctant to remove them.

Secondly that all this takes place in the UK, so if I use odd terminology apologies, I will try and find the American equivalent.

We do have a time-out punishment in place for any and all kids who behave badly, we go with a standard five minutes, with a loss of outside play privileges for especially bad behaviour. Luckily we don't have to use it for many of the kids.

Regarding Tommy, AKA Satan wearing a child's skin; disorders have been suspected before since he is so badly behaved and seems to show no regret for it, but when I asked my co-workers I found out he's been tested before through school (and I do mean extensively, this school has a number of kids with various disorders so they're really awesome at spotting stuff like that) and the diagnosis is, as someone said in the comments; Tommy's suffering from a lack of parenting.

Now I'll give this mum her due, Tommy and his sister (who is a sweetie) always look healthy, are active and their school uniforms look well-kept too. Personally I think she never bothered telling him off when he was little and now she can't control him. As I mentioned before, he's a clever kid, in the same way that Dr. Doom is a highly intelligent super villain. X_X

Oh, anyone who was concerned after my last post for the Autistic boy; he's absolutely fine, his mum and dad were annoyed at what Tommy did but understanding that there's a limit to what we can do. We can keep Tommy away from their son as much as possible but realistically until we work out a way to either kick Tommy out or he starts behaving (ha!) our hands are tied. At least their son didn't seem traumatised and the few times we've had him in he's had a great time :).

Ahhh, Anyway, onto a slightly nicer tale.

The other night I was running our crafts table and we were making Valentines day cards; loads of paint and glitter were being applied, fun was had by all :) One or two of the kids were asking how to spell 'Valentines' or sometimes one of their classmates names. One little girl suddenly pipes up with 'Spawn Wrangler, how do you spell your name?"

I tell her, a little confused, but I have a slightly oddly spelt name so I've spelt it out for kids before. Cut to the end of the evening when I've completely forgotten that little incident and we're packing up, kids are being collected, etc.
This little Heavenspawn suddenly skips over, pushes a card into my hand and says bye because she's going home now. When I checked in the card she'd written 'Thank you Spawn Wrangler for reading us stories.'

Nice to be appreciated and I love that she remembered my original job as a storyteller.
 
^^ May all your Custy's heads fall off at awkward moments.

--Spawn Wrangler

 

Disneyland Hell: Drunk Belligerent Custy Gets Pepper Sprayed and Then Restrained By Other Custys

 

From Huff Po:

A Disney dream turned into a nightmare for park guests when they had to help restrain an out-of-control man.

A YouTube video uploaded on Saturday opens with a man being restrained by two bellhops from the "Tower of Terror" ride in Disney's California Adventure theme park, notes LAist.

An elderly security guard then pepper sprays him in the face, and the man throws a punch in response. Park guests step in to throw the belligerent man to the ground and help restrain him until more security arrives.

While it's not yet known what led to the fight, hecklers' comments during the film give clues that the man may have been a vulgar nuisance for some time before the pepper spray was used.

One guest shouts, "You didn't wind up being so tough anymore, huh?"

Another laughs, "I think this guy's been drinking vodka!"

It takes about 3 minutes before more security staffers arrive as backup.

A woman can be heard in the background, screaming, "There are kids here. Does this guy not get that? You're in Disneyland!"

The "Tower of Terror" ride is located next to "Francis' Ladybug Boogie" and "Tuck and Roll's Drive 'Em Buggies," attractions aimed at small children.

via www.huffingtonpost.com

  

 

 

 

 

Retail Hell Pet Peeve: Custys Who Won't Take Receipts or Change

Shywriter here, writing from my third of six consecutive days at work. Not much to some I'm sure but I'm used to working every other day or so.

I'm beginning to go insane.

I'm discovering a new huge pet peeve of mine that I don't think has been covered here. Receipts, and change, and the people that don't want them.

I work in a bookstore. It's not like a fast food place where it's the norm to not get a receipt. These are books. Sometimes they need to be returned. At the least they're something you spend a good amount of money on.

Every day I hand someone their receipt and they're like "Oh I don't need that."

What happens if the door alarm sounds because your books tag didn't get deactivated and you happen to get asked for proof of purchase? I'm sure as hell not going to be like "Yeah, I sold him that."

Especially if they're one of the people that crumple it in their hand and throw it across the counter in my direction. Or one that walks away after handing me cash with their book. How unbelievably rude. Yeah it's four cents but pennies add up. What if my drawer was over a lot and I got accused of forgetting to give change? Just cause you can't wait two seconds.

I had one guy get fourteen cents back in change and leave the four pennies, taking the dime.

Take your receipt. It might help the whole "I need to return this but I don't have my receipt" issue. Don't be rude. We can't take your five cent change as an oh so generous tip. Throw it in your pocket with that important slip of paper and don't give me attitude. Karma will get you later.

--Shywriter

 

Adult Store Stockwork Hell

 

 

Custy Ask's Shoe Salesmen For Medical Advice On Toes

Hello all!

Yeah, I've been lurking more than I should, but work at Legume's is taking more of my time and that's a good thing! The powers-that-be have increased my hours, so that means mo' money, mo' money, MO' money!

I'm going to take Freddie's advice about keeping work rants on the down-low, because I really like this job.

Buuuuuuut, something happened recently that I just have to share with y'all...

Just yesterday, two 60-ish Asian women were browsing the shoe department. After some minor language-barrier problems, I brought out several pairs of our lightweight hiking boots.

That's when the older of the two ladies took off her shoes and socks and I saw that the tips of her toes were black! (and not with dirt!)

She said something to her companion and the companion asked me, "What cause's that?"

In my head, I scrolled down the list of possible responses:

("Diabetes")

("Wearing shoes that are too tight")

("Long periods of inactivity")

("Frostbite")

and

("EEEWWWWW!")

But I settled on: "Ma'am, I'm not a doctor, but I think your friend should get that checked out...soon!"

She relayed that info, they both nodded and took their purchases up to the registers. Meanwhile, I'm thinking "Why would you POSSIBLY let a condition like that just slide? And why ask a shoe salesman for a medical diagnosis?"

I'm still shaking my head over that one.

...and the dance goes on.

Peace.

--Joe the Cigar Guy

 

Annoying Shit Crustys Say

From Bitterbookaddict:

 

ME: Hi, how are you.

CRUSTY: I’M ONLY LOOKING!

(I know you’re only looking but I’m only being polite, please be polite back)

*    *    *

ME: Hi, how are you?

CRUSTY: (doesn’t even acknowledge my existence)

*    *    *

(This happens all the time when I’ve been super nice to a crusty that comes in needing some random book desperately and they need it NOW. I’ve looked everywhere, called other stores, checked online sites and even called publishers)

ME: I’m afraid it seems that we don’t have it at the moment at this location but you can try to.......

CRUSTY: (interrupts me) Oh, don’t worry about it, I’m not in that much of a hurry.

(Could have fooled me, WTF?!?!?!?)

*    *    *

(There used to be a restaurant on the level above that closed recently so this has happened at least 5 times a shift)

I’m in the middle of serving someone else when somebody yells at me from the door.

CRUSTY: Is the restaurant up stairs really closed??

(No, we’re just kidding, GOT YA........ The elevator is not only not active there are two racks of postcards and books in front of it, same goes for every staircase in the building)

ME: (I have to be rude to the customer I’m already serving and deal with the yeller) Yes, it moved to *other location*

CRUSTY: Where is that?

(Seriously, I’m helping someone else, be polite and wait for fu***** 5 seconds)

ME: It’s next door to *well known local place*

CRUSTY: Where is that?

ME: Do you know where *bar* used to be?

CRUSTY: Yeah

ME: It’s there.

CRUSTY: (walks away without saying thank you or anything)(or says, I’m sorry I’m from out of town)

*    *    *

There is a Tourist information centre on the second floor in the summer but the sign hangs on the house all year. So when tourists come in and ask for the tourist centre and get mad at me for deceiving them. I don’t own the store, I want the sign down but it’s not my decision. I get really tired of telling people where to eat dinner or lunch or giving directions to sights around the city.

*    *    *

CRUSTY: Hi, I’m looking for a book written by some guy.....

(No shit Sherlock, this is a bookstore could you narrow it down a bit??)

ME: Ok, do you have the title of the book or the authors’ name?

CRUSTY: No, can’t you look it up in your computer.

ME: not without a title or authors’ name. Do you know if it’s new and what genre it’s in?

CRUSTY: No, you guys don’t anything!!

(Gets mad at me for not knowing anything and being stupid)

 *    *    *

Another version of this is:

CRUSTY: I’m looking for the book that was on *local TV show about books*

ME: Do you remember the name of the book or author?

CRUSTY: No, it was on about 30min. Ago didn’t you see it?

(No I didn’t see it I was working)

ME: no I’m afraid I didn’t, do you remember anything about the book?

CRUSTY: (gets mad at me because I don’t watch TV at work)

*    *    *

CRUSTY: walks to the register while on the phone, doesn’t engage me just keeps talking on the phone.

ME: (I have the rule that if someone is on the phone I don’t talk to him and if there are other people waiting I serve them before the talker)

I handle the transaction as no one was waiting.

CRUSTY: gets his product, receipt and everything in a bag. Still stands there talking on the phone not moving, 5 minutes later he ask if I put a gift sticker on his book.

ME: no, you didn’t ask for one.

CRUSTY: You’re supposed to offer, I shouldn’t have to ask.

ME: (I put a gift sticker on the book) Well even if i had you were on the phone and according to company rules I should have waited until the call was over to serve you.

(He still got mad at me for not offering him a gift sticker, he didn’t hear me when I tried because he was on the phone but it’s still my fault)

*    *    *

ME: Would you like to keep the receipt?

CRUSTY: Sorry???

ME: would you ..........

CRUSTY: yes. (stares at it for a few seconds, can you throw this away for me/ leaves it on the counter)

ME: (STOP WASTING PAPER!!!!)

*    *    *

(where I’m from we use Good day and not Hi, how are you to greet people)

ME: Good day

CRUSTY: Good EVENING!!

*    *    *

(I work inside, it’s always bright for me and I know social conventions say that after 6 we change from good day to good evening but as I say; I’m inside and I don’t have my eye on the clock)

CRUSTY: Is this marked down?

ME: No, I’m afraid not

(if it doesn’t have a sticker on it advertising a lower price then no, it isn’t marked down!!)

 

--Bitterbookaddict

 

Server Art

 

 

Retail Slaves As Custys: Having a Dumbass Custy Moment

From Zombrarian:

I was in a major chain pet store buying aquarium chemicals and tried to use my "rewards" card at the checkout.

The cashier kept scanning it and scanning it, but it wouldn't go through. I turn it over, it's for a major pet store chain, but apparently a different one.
 
I say, "This isn't PetXXXt??", still looking at the card.

"No, ma'am, it's PetYYY."

I actually said to him, "Are you sure???"

I slowly look up at him, with a "OMG did I just really say that??" look on my face.

He is looking at me with a "WTF, did you really just say that" look on HIS face, and a smirk. 

I just filled out for a new card for that store, and proceeded to apologize for my senior moment. We shared a sympathy laugh, and I went on my merry way. 

I knew he was going to share this with his co-workers when I left, and hopefully they'd have a good laugh and at least be glad I apologized and realized my own mistake. Gads, I'm a dolt sometimes. But it was early and I hadn't had enough caffeine yet.

--Zombrarian

 

Retail Memories: Game Store District Managers Make Racists Statements About The Custys

From Desk Jockey:

I'm a desk jockey now (damn economy...), but I spent a few years working retail - first in a big box store, now famous for its cheap designer clothing (that vultures snap up and hawk on eBay), then in a Game Store that shared floor space with a Video Chain (now bankrupt, thank god).  Honestly?  I loved working retail.  Maybe it was sheer luck, but I had tons of sweet customers and only a few bad bosses along the way.  I ended being fired from my last stint with the game store, but through no fault of my own.  If it paid living wages ($50 to $60k a year), I'd go back without a second thought, I really would. 

Today's story is "Racist District Managers from Hell (And Chicago)"!

This story takes place during the middle of my tenure with the Game Store Chain, after I'd settled into a familiar groove of thirteen to fifteen hour shifts, six days a week (Also known as "Absentee coworker syndrome").    

I'd also gotten a chance to get to know all the regular customers, which was important since this was the only game store in the absolute worst neighborhood in the city (the kind of place cops only show up to check out long-dead murder victims), and the difference between success and robbery was knowing the community.  

Anyway, one of my regulars is in the store checking on the stock of our Nintendo Wii units, wanting to know when we'll get more, etc.  The guy easily drops $300 a week in my store and has two adorable, well behaved kids, so we're on fantastic terms.

Unfortunately, our District Manager is visiting our store (she's just across the state border in Illinois), and brought her Chicago DM friend with her for advice on how to run our store.

It's worth noting one more fact.  I am the sole white employee at this store.  The neighborhood in question is predominantly filled with those of darker complexion than myself (African, Latino, etc).  Both of the DMs in my store are, you guessed it, whiter than Jim Gaffigan.

Anyway, I'm chatting up my regular when I get pulled over by the District Managers to a corner out of earshot, where the following exchange takes place.

District Manager: What the hell do you think you're doing?!

Me: Uhm, my job?  What do you mean, did I do something wrong?  He already has the Premium Membership card...

Chicago DM: Not that.  Why'd you tell him when you're getting more Wii consoles?

Me: Because he asked?  I don't get it.

DM: We don't give that information out to people like that!

CDM: Exactly. When you give them that kind of information, you either get robbed, or you get more of them.  That's not the image we're trying to culti

vate here.

DM: Yeah, we're trying to bring in more..."profitable" clientele.

Me: I don't...I don't understand.  What do you mean, "them"?

DM, CDM in unison: Blacks.  

CDM: We want bleach-white soccer moms, not a bunch of sooty street rats.

My eyes must've popped out of their sockets in horror at what they just said, because my DM immediately began trying to backpeddle.

DM: What he means, is that middle class people tend to spend more money...

The incredibly racist conversation continues for a few minutes, before I promptly excuse myself back to my store and help my customers.  Still, that little bit pretty much eroded any respect I had for Senior Management.  Luckily, the parent company (which controlled two video chains and my game chain) went belly-up post-Christmas, and both District Managers lost their jobs overnight.

Me?  I went on to a Data Center Internship that paid more, and was a ton of fun.

I still miss my custy's, though

--Desk Jockey

 

Naked Man Walks Into Hellmart and Steals Socks

From Huff Po:

EXTON, Pa. -- A hefty southeastern Pennsylvania man is behind bars after police say he walked naked into a Walmart and stole a pair of socks.

Thirty-two-year-old Verdon Lamont Taylor was arrested Wednesday night after police say he stripped off his clothes in the parking lot of the Exton store and went inside.

Police say surveillance footage shows the 6-foot-4, 300-pound Downingtown man walking around the store. Authorities say they used a stun gun to subdue him after he refused to comply with officers' orders.

Taylor was arraigned on charges including aggravated assault and indecent exposure. He's being held on $50,000 bail at Chester County Prison.

Online court records do not list an attorney for Taylor.

via www.huffingtonpost.com