When Bad Custys Act Up in This Hosiery Dept...

 

 This was one of the first reader photos to grace the Underground, sent in by Leyla in 2008.

Checkout more funny signage here.

 Retail Hell Underground continues on Instagram, I will be posting many archive RHU photos as well as new Retail Hell I may encounter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Mistaken Identity: FIRED FROM A JOB I NEVER HAD

 

C

From August, 2011, Ilia's first post as Bookstore Slave:

Hello all, you can call me Bookstore Slave. 

Now on this day, I was a fellow customer in this store. I had no uniform, no name tag, and a purse over my shoulder. I was carrying a basket of books I was planning to purchase, and stopped frequently to READ the goddamn excerpts on the inside cover.

Custy: Can you tell me where to find [insert obscure book title here]?

Me: Unfortunately I can't. I'm not an employee. You can ask them at the information desk though.

I point out the info desk, which is a whole 15 feet away.  

Custy: I don't want to walk that far! Just tell me where it is!

Me: Lady, I don't work here.

I walk away and select another book that catches my interest.

Custy: HELLO! EXCUSE ME! HELLO! HELLO!

She follows me down the aisle, yelling and banging her fist on the shelving.

Me: LADY! I don't fucking work here! Ask a goddamn employee!

The woman goes fucking ballistic and a manager arrives at a dead run, probably thinking somebody's getting murdered. 

Custy: Fire this bitch! She swore at me and refuses to help me!

The manager looks at me, looks at the customer and then says: Ma'am, this is not one of our employees.

Custy: This woman was rude to me and I won't stand for it! You fire her right now or I'm calling your corporate office!

Manager to me: You're fired.

The woman strutted off like it was her birthday and I got a coupon for the trouble. To this day I don't know whether she was stupid, or just that goddamn determined to get SOMEBODY fired that day.

--Bookstore Slave

 

read more from Bookstore Slave here

read more Bookstore Hell here

for more Mistaken Identity tales go here

 

 

 


Crook’d Hearts, Tight Wallets: another day in retail hell

 

Jason 011

From Benjamin Kissell:

 

Picture it: Autumn 2015 …

 

“Boy! Boy, c’mere!”

I look up from my crouch, a box-cutter in my hand; it’s 9:04am on a Monday morning – we’ve barely been open long enough to clear the boxes we’re stocking from the truck into a passable path for shoppers and now? This?

“Boy!”

               A tall, inelegantly draped woman in polyester and rayon – her wish-it-were-ash-blonde hair thrown into the laziest of chignons – snaps her fingers impatiently from eight aisles (some forty feet) away. You have got to be shitting me.

               “Ma’am?” I slip the cutter into my vest pocket and stand up. I’m also trying to keep my tone neutrally audible, non-confrontational but hearable from SUCH A DISTANCE as I begin to pick my way towards her. I’m also trying to avoid the natural impulse to snarkily raise an eyebrow and lower my lips into a disapproving scowl. It’s not easy right now. There isn’t enough coffee coursing through my veins to cope with this for long today.

“Boy,” she continues, snapping again, as I cautiously approach. Custys, and especially entitled ones, in the wild are easily spooked and tend to go immediately on the offensive. Also – ‘boy’? Really?  I’m a dark-haired (usually kempt, but not always), bearded gay man very obviously in his 30’s (despite my best efforts to appear otherwise), and not (generally) easily confused with a diminutive form of a tow-headed youth … even from ruddy forty feet away.

Bless this entitled wannabe rich bitch’s heart.

Jason 009               “What can I help you with?” I ask, as placidly kind as I can muster, approaching her as she stands in the middle of our Fall Seasonal Valley which is filled with faux pumpkins and maple leaves in bright oranges, muted reds and brown-toned golds.

               “Do you have any more of these,” she thrusts an ad copy in my face – our Sunday ads often vie with magazines for their heft and abundance – and points to the Christmas trees display. The photo features a large, pre-lit and flocked tree photoshopped into absolute (unachievable) Winter Wonderland perfection. It also has a bright red-and-white bubble declaring ‘Introducing our newest tree, coming November 1st:  today is October 19th.

               “No, ma’am – I’m sorry,” I try and have a kind tone and apologetic smile as I look her in the (obviously contacts-because-that’s-not-a-natural-shade-of-blue) eyes. “We don’t have those trees in yet – we’re expecting them on one of the coming trucks; either next Monday or the Monday after.” I pause, then continue, “I’m sorry about that,” just to drive home the retail-politeness they brow-beat into us.

               You’d think, from her expression and shift in demeanor, that I’d just slapped her or stabbed her firstborn in front of her before bathing in its blood.

               “Ex. Cuse. Me?”

                “Ma’am?” I’m reeeeeeeally hoping that my irritation bubbling beneath the surface isn’t readable because this woman is working my nerve.

“It’s right here – in. Print. – That you have this tree. Why would you advertise it if you don’t. Have. It?” She speaks in clipped, slow tones as if I were an errant toddler who had just soiled the rug with a mud pie.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but if you look closely at the ad,” I try to keep a non-toothy smile pasted on my face as I meet her steely, rather inhuman gaze. An old manager drilled into our heads that ‘showing teeth is a form of aggression in the wild; always smile with your whole face, instead’, so I try to smile with my eyes and the freckles and dimples above my beard.

“See, here? There’s an announcement bubble,” I point to the bright spot of color hoping the heat in my cheeks aren’t two more bright spots of color for her to see. “Coming November 1st. We won’t be putting up the Tree Forest until at least next week – we still have so much Fall around,” I gesture to our surroundings with a deferential – and hopefully amused, not irritated – look on my face. “But don’t worry, Christmas is coming.”

She makes a sound that can only be described as a strangled, bitchy sigh.

Excuse me?

What in gay hell? Really?

Jason 008Did this Soccer Mom Custy in wish-it-were-Pashmina with badly-dyed hair (yeah, I said it, so what?) just roll her gotdayum eyes at me? SMIZE Benjamin – like Tyra says. SMIZE.

“Ma’am?” I try and edge concern into my voice, as if I truly care about what’s bothering her; instead of mentally shoving her rude ass off a cliff in my imagination. See, if you aren’t abruptly rude for no reason, retail workers don’t have to fake caring/being nice to you; we actually will be. Instead, we have to fake it for so many, many rude Custys like this – air quotes – ‘kind soul’.

“Let me speak with your manager. This is some false advertising bullshit.”

Oh.

So that’s how this is going to be, is it? Okay.

“I’m so sorry you feel like that. Let me see if our store AGM, Ms. August, is free,” don’t show teeth. Don’t show teeth. Don’t show teeth. Don’t show teeth even if you want to yell at her dumb ass so loudly she cries and curls into the fetal position. Don’t. Show. Teeth.

“August,” I press the microphone on the radio earpiece I’m wearing. “Would you be able to meet a customer at the Fall Seasonal Valley? She has some …” I pause, searching for the right word. “She has some concerns regarding the promotional ad and our Christmas trees.”

“She does know that they don’t go out for another two weeks, right?” August’s sensible and naturally polite voice, thankfully, can’t be heard outside of the crackling earpiece by the Custy.

“I do believe that that may be the root of her concerns – she wanted to speak with you.”

Despite the years of training and her generally sweet nature, I can picture August rolling her eyes with exasperation – I’m pretty sure I can hear the eye roll, actually.

“A-and it’s already one of those days, isn’t it? Of course it is. Let her know that I’m on my way,” her voice takes on that strained, false chipperness retail workers have ingrained and branded onto our souls.

“Ma’am, Ms. August is on her way; I’m sure that she’ll be able to answer your concerns,” I smile and turn away. I’m pretty sure I bared my teeth just as I said that, despite my best efforts, but my giveafuck is suddenly broken.

And it’s not even 9:15 in the morning.

“Well, that was a giant timesuck,” August quietly mutters as she joins me in the Floral Department almost ten minutes later; I’ve done my best to be as far-as-possible from Can I Speak to Your Manager in the vain hope I won’t slip up and tell her to sod off.

“That fun, eh?”

Jason 026“How hard is it to read the bold print superimposed over the picture you’re obsessed with?”

“Judging from that wonderful Custy’s demeanor, I’d say selective literacy is her superpower.”

“With a bonus talent for being both condescending and incredibly obstinate.”

“Wow – we hit the jackpot with her, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, totally,” August starts as our earpieces vibrate.

“I need a sign check,” the nervous voice of our morning cashier carries over the radio, Lily is sweet, but oh-so-young (I guessed her at 12 her first morning – I was only 5 years off) and still easily intimidated by the hellacious attitudes of the Custys. “A customer says that Fall Baskets are supposed to be 50% off, but, it doesn’t ring that way when I scanned it.”

Both August and I turn and look down the adjacent aisle at the display of Fall Baskets.

“Want me to answer or do you?”

“I got the last one, it’s your turn.”

I stick my tongue out, cheekily, at her before answering (as August stifles a giggle).

“I’m over here and the signs say ‘Buy One Get One 50% Off’ – did she get two or just one basket?”

“Okay, hold on,” she’s still holding her mike button down as I hear a tinny, angry voice declare that ‘that isn’t what the sign said’.

“If you want, I can grab a second, cheap, basket and bring it and the sign up to you?”

“Um,” I can hear the indistinct voice of the Custy in the background being abrasive and impatient.

“Just to be safe, I’m on my way,” I roll my eyes to August as we exchange a world-weary look. Okay, not so much world-weary as Custy-weary; asshat-weary; rude-as-all-get-out-people-weary.

 In other words, retail-weary.

I pass several milling customers as I make my way up to the front of the store, all smiles and determined shopping; they’re in their own worlds and happy to be there. Although, I almost stopped in my tracks when I saw the sticky-with-candy toddler holding one of our foam model kid displays – the Haunted Mansion – his mother had pulled down for him to drool and possibly chew on.

Eww. Just plain eww.

Jason 034“Here you go, Lily.” I set down both a small basket and the sign at her register as I pass behind her doing my best to not catch her rude Custy’s eye.

“Oh, of course you’d be the one.”

The way she said ‘you’d’ makes me look up – oh.

That makes sense, doesn’t it?

Don’t show teeth.

“Hullo again.”

It’s the only thing that comes to mind that isn’t a biting retort or scathingly-delivered, profanity-laced rip. So, I continue on past Lily, offering a quick (and hopefully reassuring) shoulder squeeze as I step up to the counter to type my codes into a register.

“I’ll help the next guest on five,” I loudly proclaim and get lost in the queue and shuffle.

If I can ignore her, and the other rude Custys who seem to emerge from the circles of Retail Hell, today, perhaps I’ll make it through this morning and escape without snapping. I’m on autopilot; smiling, scanning, smiling, faux small-talk, smiling, bagging, smiling, and wishing customers a good day out there in the real world when a sharp intake of breath breaks my lack-of-concentration as the last of my customers walks away.

“Excuse me,” a woman with hair the color of sallow dishwater and a sour expression on her face – like she constantly was getting whiffs of sour milk or burnt hair on her upper lip – suddenly stood in front of me. She appeared, like a badly mimeographed apparition.

“Yes, ma’am? What can I help you with?”

That young lady,” she pointed at Lily. “I want to complain that that young lady said these copic markers weren’t on sale, and yet,” she pauses and suddenly glares, all beady eyes and pursed lips, to gesture emphatically with the tin in her hand. “When I went back there, the sign clearly said that the packs were indeed eight dollars and not seventeen.”

She thrusts the package at me.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am – let me scan it and see what’s going on,” I pull the scanner and watch my screen to see what it says.

Jason 028“Ahh, here we go,” I point to the large screen above her head where the results are displayed. “On our side of the screen, until we hit ‘TOTAL’ it won’t show the sale price, but if you look at the price as it shows on your side, it has the sale pri-.”

“Well, why doesn’t it say that on my receipt?” She interrupts. “Eight dollars really is a huge difference in price. It really is – I don’t know why it wouldn’t; that’s such a difference.”

“Well, let me see – we can scan the receipt and return it so that-“

“Oh.”

Her frozen movement reminds me of a computer locking up – she was halfway to handing me the receipt when she simply stops.

“Well then,” she reboots. “It says right here on the receipt the sale price.”

Of course it does.

I really must not show teeth.

“As I was saying, she probably could only see the screen on our side of the register which shows the-“

“See, you were wrong,” she interrupts (again); this time waving the receipt at Lily – her hand inches from Lily’s shocked face. “You said it was full price and it wasn’t. You were wrong.”

“Ma’am, as I was trying to tell you-“

“She really doesn’t know what she’s doing,” she turns back to me, her beady gaze boring into me. “She needs a LOT more training.” If her puckered face could look more like an angry dog’s behind, I don’t want to know.

“As I was saying, she could only see-“

“Eight dollars is really a big difference,” she waves the receipt at both of us as she turns towards the doors.

The line gone, and the queue empty of customers, all we can do, Lily and I, is stare at her as she triumphantly waves the receipt while she walks out into the parking lot. Neither an acknowledgment nor an apology would ever pass those puckered lips.

“Wow.”

“You have that right, Lily – just another fun day in Retail Hell.”

--Benjamin

 

 read more tales from Benjamin Kissell here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Holiday Hell Memories: Queer Geek's Bloodsucking Big Fancy Tale

 

Xmas2009 220

From December, 2010:


Hey there RHU! Queer Geek back again with another delightful holiday story.

Now many of you may not realize this but good ol’ Queer Geek here not only solves custy problems at his job but moonlights as a free therapist as well.  Just call me Dr. Pill because I’d rather swallow a bottle of Prozac than deal with any more crazy custys this Christmas!

What do I mean by that?  Well let me explain.

Being a Big Fancy office slave, I help my store with menial tasks from answering idiotic custy questions like can I return used underwear to can I get an 80% discount on a defective item to researching lost custy shipments.

On this particular day, I got a call from a custy who I shall refer to as Drama Queen because she literally kept me on the phone for an entire hour trying to solve her problem.

“Thanks for calling the Big Fancy, this is Queer Geek.”

“Hello, my name is Drama Queen and I’m very upset," she told me, "Your employee did not ship me out my make-up order, my free gifts with purchase, and my free samples.”

Now let me mention here that I have sympathy for anyone who works in the cosmetics industry. Beauty Slave, if you’re reading this. I feel your pain. Ever since the make-up companies decided to do gifts with purchases and offering free samples to consumers if they bought some of their make-up products, custys have been trained to have a sense of an entitlement where they can get anything free from cosmetic samples to makeovers.  Basically they are wasting the make-up person’s time and money by not really buying anything and asking for a handout. Drama Queen was no different but more on that in my story.

Xmas2009 218“I’m sorry about that,” I tell her.  “Let me fix the problem. What is it you ordered and I’ll see about getting you your gifts with purchase and samples and ship them out to you ASAP.”

“I ordered the Such and Such make-up but I was specific about my samples and gifts with purchase,” she informs me. “I wanted the blah blah sample with the blah blah gift with purchase that does the blah blah blah. I don’t want the blah blah sample because I didn’t ask for the blah blah blah when I particularly ask for the blah blah blah…"

At this point my eyes roll to the back of my head from her demands. “Miss Drama Queen, we can replace the order you originally had and ship it out but some of those free requests and gifts you may no longer available so I can substitute it with something comparable.”

“I DON’T WANT THOSE GIFTS! I WANT THE SAMPLES I ASKED FOR! THAT IS WHAT YOUR EMPLOYEE PROMISED ME!” screeches Drama Queen.  “I WANT THE BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH…”

Appalled at how unreasonable she is being, I try to rationalize with her with trying to resolve her issue but she is not having it so I tell her on the phone that I’ll see what I can do but then the conversation turns bizarre.

“I’m sorry but I’m just really depressed,” she starts off. “I just lost both my parents passed away this month and my dog is sick and I’m struggling financially. Did I mention my parents had passed away and my dog is sick?”

Okay I can understand her displaced anger toward me but then she starts bawling on the phone and that is when the therapist gene in me kicks in and she has to tell me her whole life story.

“I have to work two jobs just to make ends meat,” she cries.  “It is so difficult with the economy being the way it is.  You know people are struggling right now. You know everyone needs a job so I can to work two jobs to support my family. That is why I’m going to apply part time at another retail store so I can pay for school and have Christmas dinner for my family. Then my parents passed away this month and now my dog sick. Did I mention that my parents passed away and my dog is sick?”

Xmas2009 217This conversation turns into an entire hour of her repeating herself and I’m trying desperately to end the call but like a leech she keeps sucking me back in to which I politely inform her.

“Okay Miss Drama Queen, I work on your issue and get this taken care off.”

“But I didn’t tell you about my son who is going play at his high school concert. He is a really good musician…”

*CLICK*

Epilogue: I finally ship her replacement package and samples (which I had to hunt tothe ends of Earth to find for her) and leave her a message hoping I wouldn’t have to deal with her.

Everything would have been fine until she called me back….

“QUEER GEEK!” she screeched on the phone, “DID YOU SHIP MY PACKAGE AND MY BLAH BLAH BLAH SAMPLES?”

“Yes I did,” I replied. “It’s arriving this week.”

“Good,” Drama Queen responds. “Did I tell you my parents passed away this month and my dog is sick right before Christmas too?  Oh and that I’m struggling with money like everyone in the economy?  Oh and my foot is starting to ache. I think it's gout? Do you think it is gout?  It could be cancerous..."

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

--Queer Geek

 

 

read more Holiday Tales here

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


Convenience Store Retail Hell Memories

 

CONVIENHELL

From Rat Lady:

Working at the store 7 to 23 o'clock was so much fun I had to share a few of the things that happened while I worked there.

I worked the grave shift and I still remember some of the weird ones. There was the girl who came in to buy beer and presented a driver's license that gave her age as 19. In California, you had to be 21 to buy alcohol. The following conversation ensued:

Underage Buyer: Why can't I buy beer? I'm from Nevada. We can buy beer in Nevada when we're 18!

Me: You're not in Nevada, you're in California and you can't buy beer here until you're 21.

UB: I don't understand! I'm from Nevada! Why can't you let me buy beer?

Me: You are not in Nevada! You are in California and have to follow the laws of California!

UB: But I don't understand...

This went on for about 20 more minutes. Finally I told her to leave or I'd call the cops. She finally left. Without her beer.

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Carolanne2 101Wintertime. Young women come in dressed in short shorts and halter tops. I always kept the door open because I got so warm running around unpacking groceries, mopping the floor, etc. One of the girls is leaving and asks me, "Aren't you cold?" I look at her and what she's wearing and say, "No, I wear clothes."

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I've got the store spic and span for the morning rush. Coffee is fresh, creamers are out, counter is clean. Guy comes in and pours his coffee into a cup and proceeds to put sugar and cream into it. By the time he's done, the counter is covered with sugar packets, empty creamers, napkins, coffee, and stirrers, even though we have garbage cans to the left and right. His wife wouldn't put up with that crap and neither do I. I charge him 99¢ for a 79¢ cup of coffee and smiling sweetly at him, tell him to have a nice day.

You want to be a slob at my store? Go right ahead. Sometimes we'd make $5 in extra slob fees before the morning rush was over.


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Multi-million dollar lotto night. We have customers lined up around the store and out the door. The machine starts smoking. I decide to open it up, whereupon a huge cloud of smoke arises from the innards and the smell of burnt rubber assaults everyone's senses. Obviously the lotto machine is down for the night.

I tell everyone I can't sell any more tickets because the machine is burning up. Most people groan and start to leave. But one man has to ask me while I'm standing there in front of a smoking machine, "Can't you print out just one more ticket for me?" I ask him, "What part of 'the machine is on fire' do you not understand? NO!"

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Carolanne2 104Our cash registers sat sort of in the middle of the store with the freezer behind us. One day across the street, some kids decide to videotape a guy who is juggling balls. The guy sees the kids and demands their camera. The kids hightail it across the street with the guy in hot pursuit and run into our store. Around and around our little island they all run with the kids screaming and the guy right behind them and yelling. My coworker, who is a stickler for things being in absolute order, is totally unhinged by this. He's standing with his hands clenched into fists and at the top of his lungs, he's shouting, "NO! GET OUT OF MY STORE! GET OUT OF MY STORE!"

I would have helped resolve the situation, but I was laughing too hard to do anything.

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Guy came in one night when I was on grave and hands me a temporary check with no pre-printed name or address on it. He starts telling me a sob story about how he just moved here and he has no money for gas or food, so can I please cash his check. Yeah, no.

I'm off at 7am the next morning and my manager is a little late coming in, so I stay for an extra half hour. A lady comes in and lo and behold, she hands me the same check I saw last night and gives me a sob story about just moving and she needs to get gas to get to work and the banks aren't open and can I please cash the check for her. I tell her I told the guy last night I couldn't cash that check and I still can't cash it now.

Later on, one of the swing crew calls in sick and I say I'll work her shift. So 5pm, in comes the guy from the night before, same check in his hand. Walks in the door, looks at me and says, "Don't you ever go home?", and then turns around and walks back out the door.

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Night shift. I can't sell alcohol to anyone I think is intoxicated, especially if they're driving. So I tell the two dudes in front of the counter that I won't be selling them their beer. Of course they argue about it. I tell them as clearly as I can that they should leave and probably not drive home. They argue. Finally they get the picture when one of them turns around and sees the two cops who have been standing behind them the entire time. Cops tell them not to drive. Guys say, "Sure, we won't drive!" and walk away down the street, leaving their car in our parking lot.

Five minutes later after the cops have left, the guys are back and getting into their car and pulling out of the parking lot. Of course, one cop has waited patiently across the street for this very thing to happen and pulls them over. "Like shooting fish in a barrel," he says.

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Carolanne2 116Two kids walk in and get beer. They come up to the counter and throw down some laminated card. "Military ID," one says to me. Well, no. It's a laminated Red Cross card. I took the beer down behind the counter and told them not to let the door hit them in the butt on the way out. Like I don't know what a military ID looks like. Sheesh!

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About midnight one night, a BMW comes into our lot, more or less parks, and out steps this woman. She couldn't stand straight 

even holding onto the car door. I sigh and pick up the phone and start dialing the cops, a number I know by heart by this time. My customer is standing at the counter telling me to just "Give her a break. She's just trying to get home. Why do you have to call the cops on her?"

By this time, the woman has fallen back into her car and she slams the door and tries to take off. Now the same customer in front of me is having hysterics. "She's not gonna stop! She's gonna hit my car! Call the cops! Call the cops!"

The cops eventually stop her and it turns out she's almost 3 times over the legal limit and she has a $10,000 DUI warrant out on her. She refused to do the sobriety test, so ended up at the jail and had to be carried in because she refused to walk.

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3am. I had a guy come in and just stand there and look at me. I ask him if I can help him and all he does is start licking his hands without saying anything. Fine, I already know how this is gonna go. So he turns around and walks out and with the hair standing up on the back of my neck, I'm on the phone to the police like white on rice. As I'm putting the phone down, the guy comes in again with his friend this time. The friend is acting super hyper, running around the store, and the first guy is still standing there without a word and licking his hands again. Neither one is actually buying anything and they refuse to leave.

Then come the police. Unbeknownst to me, they had all been helping the cops in another area with a hostage situation and had gotten the call on their way back, just a block away. The two guys in my store had apparently been pestering the other town merchants all day and my call was the straw that broke the camel's back.

One police car after another came zinging into the lot, until I swear there were at least 7 of them there. The guys in my store turned white. BUSTED!

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Carolanne2 102Guy comes in one morning and starts immediately complaining. "All I did was just look at the money!" We have an inside ATM at our store and the guard was filling it. When this guy came in, he leaned over to look at the money and the guard raised his gun at him. The customer was aggrieved. "All I did was just look at the money!"

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The cops used to sit across the street and keep an eye on the store. I was flattered until one of them told me that when it comes to convenience stores, when they get a 911 call, they never know if the victim is going to be the clerk or the customer. I said ha ha ha.

Anyway, they were across the street when a car comes careening into the parking lot, backs up into the space in front of the door, and idles there while a guy jumps out and runs in. Cop was there in one second flat. Customer is having a hissy fit. I tell him, "What do you expect? You back in in getaway position, leave your car idling, and run into the store. No cop worth his salt is gonna ignore that!" Customers, I swear!


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After 2am when the beer run ends, things are sort of quiet. I've already checked the aisle in front of the beer cooler for money people may have pulled out of their pockets and dropped while trying to decide how much beer they can buy.  Instead of money this night, I get four younger men who come in and while one is asking me something at the counter, two of them grab a bunch of sandwiches and run out the door. Of course I go out the door after them, but stop and think about what I'm doing. Decided it wasn't that smart of an idea to run after them, so I pull the door keys out of my pocket and lock the other two in the store. Then I step to the phone booth we have right next to the door and call the cops.

Cops caught the thieves right away. They were still sitting in their car up the street, waiting for their two friends to show up. Their friends, of course, were still locked in the store. One of the cops told me they were just going to give the guy who stole the sandwiches a warning but he was such a smart mouth, they decided to take him to jail.

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And last but not least, my favorite story, although it didn't happen to me. One of the clerks at another of our stores caught a little kid shoplifting. He saw the kid was wearing brand new Nikes. He tells the kid to either give him the Nikes or call the cops on himself. The kid calls the cops on himself.

You retail slaves hang in there!


--Rat Lady

 

 read more Convenience Store Hell stories here