10.Of all the things I’ve seen in 2 years and change working retail, this next one takes the cake.
In walks a mother and 3 kids. One’s a boy about 10 years old. The other is, I assume, his sister – about 15, and dressed in an unholy convergence between goth and emo. The final kid is a little older, maybe 17 or 18, and he looks normal too. I assume it’s a family.
I ask if I can help, then resume doing odds and ends behind the counter. The counter is along the wall, perpendicular to the browsers. This means I can look down one entire aisle, and though your body would be blocked to me, I can see every head in the store.
To my left, in the aisle along the wall, the only one of which I have an unobstructed view, I see in my peripheral vision, an enormously fat person. He’s like…two people wide.
I turn my head, realize I just observed an intimate moment, and guiltily stare straight in the opposite direction. Then I look again. It’s like watching a train crash in slow motion, Technicolor. The goth girl and the ten-year old are…ahem…facially bonding…at a subatomic level. Nothing obscene…yet…and I’m here to tell you it could’ve gone that way quickly. Frisky does not begin to cover it.
Meanwhile, the mother of one or possibly both of these little twits, and one of their siblings are standing next to them, whilst calmly discussing DVDs, completely aware that one or both of their children, one of which is barely out of diapers are…uh…doing a function check on the human anatomy in front of them.
Finally the family makes their selection, comes up to the register, and then the oldest boy darts off, exclaiming about forgetting something. He returns a few seconds later with a marijuana poster in hand. Whereupon, the mother informs the two star-crossed lovers that they should each get one too.
Some people remark upon my dim view of human nature from time to time. I think this could be part of the explanation.
Showing posts with label Tales From Retail. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tales From Retail. Show all posts
Monday, May 07, 2007
Monday, April 23, 2007
Tales From Retail Pt.9
9.It’s a common shoplifting trick to steal something, bring it back to another store, and plead “Gift” when trying to return it without a receipt.
One man who eventually got foiled at this was a fifty year old Mike Tyson lookalike who rolled into store one day in a wheel chair, jerking like he had a car battery taped to his behind. The store manager advised me to stick to this guy like a magnet – he’d stolen $300 dollars worth of DVD box sets (walking them out in foil lined bags), and attempted to return them to another store, which had phoned us and asked us if our inventory for those movies was one off (it was). Oh yeah, and he had been walking at that point, so we’re fairly certain the wheelchair was either a ruse or a cosmic spank for leading a life of crime.
So where was I?
Ah yes, Mikey rolls into the store with a friend. His friend is about the size of a refrigerator, has the stature of a bodybuilder, is covered in tattoos, and dresses “ghetto rich” if you know what I mean and I think that you do.
According to the manager, Mikey’s new shtick is to roll to the back of the store, ask people to look stuff up on the computer, and then stick DVDs under his legs.
Mikey does not disappoint in the lookup department, and I’m kept running back and forth between him and the computer. I return the final time to find him and his…bodyguard?…having a one-sided conversation. One sided because all the friend can do is grunt.
Though I’d never had chance to notice before, I believed (at that moment) that this was because of the mass of scars covering his neck. Not only is he grunting, but he’s also playing with the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and down. He’s not retarded or anything, it looks like he’s trying to A. Reassure himself that something’s in his pocket, and B. Cover it up.
On one of the up-tugs of his ridiculously expensive football jersey, I notice metal in his pocket. And leather. And…good God, this guy has a freaking bowie knife in his pocket!
Now, I’m not one to be talking about preventing people from carrying whatever it is they dang well please. I’ve always got a knife close at hand, and at that moment was trying to figure out how to deploy it and which parts of his anatomy to stick it into should he pull his knife.
But quite frankly, it scares me when a guy covered in gang tattoos, with knife wounds on his neck starts flashing a knife.
They did leave, eventually, without incident. But every employee we hired from then on, and all the ones on staff were warned to stay at least 10 feet away from these guys. I hate shoplifters. Theft is an affront to God, and I suspect if they’re also criminally engaged, the weapons they keep are not for defense.
One man who eventually got foiled at this was a fifty year old Mike Tyson lookalike who rolled into store one day in a wheel chair, jerking like he had a car battery taped to his behind. The store manager advised me to stick to this guy like a magnet – he’d stolen $300 dollars worth of DVD box sets (walking them out in foil lined bags), and attempted to return them to another store, which had phoned us and asked us if our inventory for those movies was one off (it was). Oh yeah, and he had been walking at that point, so we’re fairly certain the wheelchair was either a ruse or a cosmic spank for leading a life of crime.
So where was I?
Ah yes, Mikey rolls into the store with a friend. His friend is about the size of a refrigerator, has the stature of a bodybuilder, is covered in tattoos, and dresses “ghetto rich” if you know what I mean and I think that you do.
According to the manager, Mikey’s new shtick is to roll to the back of the store, ask people to look stuff up on the computer, and then stick DVDs under his legs.
Mikey does not disappoint in the lookup department, and I’m kept running back and forth between him and the computer. I return the final time to find him and his…bodyguard?…having a one-sided conversation. One sided because all the friend can do is grunt.
Though I’d never had chance to notice before, I believed (at that moment) that this was because of the mass of scars covering his neck. Not only is he grunting, but he’s also playing with the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and down. He’s not retarded or anything, it looks like he’s trying to A. Reassure himself that something’s in his pocket, and B. Cover it up.
On one of the up-tugs of his ridiculously expensive football jersey, I notice metal in his pocket. And leather. And…good God, this guy has a freaking bowie knife in his pocket!
Now, I’m not one to be talking about preventing people from carrying whatever it is they dang well please. I’ve always got a knife close at hand, and at that moment was trying to figure out how to deploy it and which parts of his anatomy to stick it into should he pull his knife.
But quite frankly, it scares me when a guy covered in gang tattoos, with knife wounds on his neck starts flashing a knife.
They did leave, eventually, without incident. But every employee we hired from then on, and all the ones on staff were warned to stay at least 10 feet away from these guys. I hate shoplifters. Theft is an affront to God, and I suspect if they’re also criminally engaged, the weapons they keep are not for defense.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Tales From Retail Pt.8
8.Stoners are funny to watch. They’re not violent and they do the dumbest things.
A kid I’ll call Red The Stoner (because of his perpetual red shirt) was a frequent customer. Well, shopper. He never figured out, in his constant pot-induced confusion, that he could actually buy anything.
The first time I interacted with him, he was wandering aimlessly at about 5 in the evening. I pulled my usual shpeel about helping him find stuff, and he half-heartedly waved me off.
Over the course of the next FOUR hours – one sixth of a day – he circled the store endlessly.
At 9pm, I advised him that the store was closing and he should bring his purchases to the register for check-out.
He arrives at the register, and I’m overjoyed. Not only has he displayed brain activity, but he’s buying something. He puts his CD on the counter, I scan the barcode, and inform him of the price.
He looks at me blankly.
For the next sixty seconds, I continue to remind him of the price. He finally rouses himself from his stupor and utters a line I will remember forever: “You mean…I have to pay for it?”
When I gently advise him yes, federal reserve notes are accepted in all merchandise sales, he stares off into space, for a few seconds, and then ambles quietly outside.
He came back in several times over the next few months, but never bought anything.
A kid I’ll call Red The Stoner (because of his perpetual red shirt) was a frequent customer. Well, shopper. He never figured out, in his constant pot-induced confusion, that he could actually buy anything.
The first time I interacted with him, he was wandering aimlessly at about 5 in the evening. I pulled my usual shpeel about helping him find stuff, and he half-heartedly waved me off.
Over the course of the next FOUR hours – one sixth of a day – he circled the store endlessly.
At 9pm, I advised him that the store was closing and he should bring his purchases to the register for check-out.
He arrives at the register, and I’m overjoyed. Not only has he displayed brain activity, but he’s buying something. He puts his CD on the counter, I scan the barcode, and inform him of the price.
He looks at me blankly.
For the next sixty seconds, I continue to remind him of the price. He finally rouses himself from his stupor and utters a line I will remember forever: “You mean…I have to pay for it?”
When I gently advise him yes, federal reserve notes are accepted in all merchandise sales, he stares off into space, for a few seconds, and then ambles quietly outside.
He came back in several times over the next few months, but never bought anything.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Tales From Retail Pt.7
7.The most inventive (and stupid) shoplifter I ever saw came into the store on a bright summer afternoon. He was wearing an ice-denim jumpsuit of the style (if not the fabric) favored by car mechanics, and he set his backpack next to our registers and said “I’m going to leave this here so you don’t think I’m going to steal anything.”
The assistant and I exchange glances, offer to help him, and spend several minutes ruminating on how society is finally turning itself around.
After about half an hour of hanging around the anime DVDs, our shoplifter walks up to the counter, grabs his backpack, and strides purposefully out, to a chorus of alarms. The assistant takes after him, but loses him in a crowd.
Four months pass. It is now the Christmas season. I’ve finished my dinner in the back room and come up to the registers. A backpack is laying on the counter, and a full Chinese gong bad starts playing in the Bad Things Are Going On section of my brain. I ask around, and one of the Christmas temps said that a guy (who I was able to determine matched the description of our shoplifter) had left that on the counter so we wouldn’t think he was a thief.
He’s got 15 CDs in hand when I catch up to him, and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no and walks off. I follow. I trail him at 5 feet up and down the aisles. He finally realizes that this isn’t going in his favor, drops his CDs in a display, and walks out.
Right before the store closed, he came in again. Multiple customers, and Dave’s the only one there beside me, yours truly being engaged at the register. I told Dave to forget everyone else and be the guy’s personal shopper. Dave stood right next to him and riffled CDs in the racks everywhere he went. Eventually the guy wised up and left.
I see him occasionally at my current job. He no longer dresses like a rap video reject, and is usually inquiring about textbooks and historical films. I’d like to think he turned his life around.
The assistant and I exchange glances, offer to help him, and spend several minutes ruminating on how society is finally turning itself around.
After about half an hour of hanging around the anime DVDs, our shoplifter walks up to the counter, grabs his backpack, and strides purposefully out, to a chorus of alarms. The assistant takes after him, but loses him in a crowd.
Four months pass. It is now the Christmas season. I’ve finished my dinner in the back room and come up to the registers. A backpack is laying on the counter, and a full Chinese gong bad starts playing in the Bad Things Are Going On section of my brain. I ask around, and one of the Christmas temps said that a guy (who I was able to determine matched the description of our shoplifter) had left that on the counter so we wouldn’t think he was a thief.
He’s got 15 CDs in hand when I catch up to him, and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no and walks off. I follow. I trail him at 5 feet up and down the aisles. He finally realizes that this isn’t going in his favor, drops his CDs in a display, and walks out.
Right before the store closed, he came in again. Multiple customers, and Dave’s the only one there beside me, yours truly being engaged at the register. I told Dave to forget everyone else and be the guy’s personal shopper. Dave stood right next to him and riffled CDs in the racks everywhere he went. Eventually the guy wised up and left.
I see him occasionally at my current job. He no longer dresses like a rap video reject, and is usually inquiring about textbooks and historical films. I’d like to think he turned his life around.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Tales From Retail Pt6
6.When last we left the good (or would he prefer “bad”) Rev, he was giving me grief for not processing his CD purchases for his Satanic church as tax exempt.
Fast forward. It is now January, and we have hours before been informed that we are going to be closing our gates forever in just a few weeks. Not only that, but our store is going to be occupied by a women’s clothing store, which sets everyone’s teeth on edge.
So. With a few days left before the clock strikes midnight, who should come waddling through the door, but the one man guaranteed to cause a few laughs…Rev.
He rolls his girth up to counter and demands that we refund the discount card that one of our staff forced upon him…back in September. A few words on his discount card. He’d used it between then and now. He’d benefited from it. He had renewed it of his own free will for the fourth year in a row back in September.
He doesn’t have a receipt. He has no transaction number, absolutely nothing to make our job of returning this discount card any easier. And he’s being a jerk about it besides – making repeated references to how we knew about closing long in advance (back in September, if he was to be believed), we forced him to take it, we lied about not closing the store, we’ve been lying to everyone who comes into the store, and isn’t it humiliating to be run out of the mall by a women’s clothing store.
I said no, I wouldn’t return it. I said I’d go get another manager. That manager said no, and laughed at this fat, little lisping ball of indignation. The assistant manager gets called, and after all three of us listen to Rev whine and carry on, she finally returns it to get him out of the store. She shouldn’t have.
The next day, he came in, grabbed a Texas Chainsaw Massacre DVD, and ran out with it. Aside from making me extremely mad, I find that quite funny - this little blob of Danny Devito shaped lard bobbling out of the store like a bat ouf heck with a DVD tucked under his arm like a running back. I wasn't there, but I can picture it greatly.
Oh yeah, and he tried to cast a spell on the store manager.
So I start work at my new job (the one after the cell phone gig), and according to the store manager (who had come over a few months before from my old job), Rev is now shopping there, complaining loudly and vociferously “I’m thick of thith. I’m thick of the way you treat me here.”
No matter what he’s doing when next I see him, I’m calling the managers and reporting that he stole something. Even if he didn’t.
Fast forward. It is now January, and we have hours before been informed that we are going to be closing our gates forever in just a few weeks. Not only that, but our store is going to be occupied by a women’s clothing store, which sets everyone’s teeth on edge.
So. With a few days left before the clock strikes midnight, who should come waddling through the door, but the one man guaranteed to cause a few laughs…Rev.
He rolls his girth up to counter and demands that we refund the discount card that one of our staff forced upon him…back in September. A few words on his discount card. He’d used it between then and now. He’d benefited from it. He had renewed it of his own free will for the fourth year in a row back in September.
He doesn’t have a receipt. He has no transaction number, absolutely nothing to make our job of returning this discount card any easier. And he’s being a jerk about it besides – making repeated references to how we knew about closing long in advance (back in September, if he was to be believed), we forced him to take it, we lied about not closing the store, we’ve been lying to everyone who comes into the store, and isn’t it humiliating to be run out of the mall by a women’s clothing store.
I said no, I wouldn’t return it. I said I’d go get another manager. That manager said no, and laughed at this fat, little lisping ball of indignation. The assistant manager gets called, and after all three of us listen to Rev whine and carry on, she finally returns it to get him out of the store. She shouldn’t have.
The next day, he came in, grabbed a Texas Chainsaw Massacre DVD, and ran out with it. Aside from making me extremely mad, I find that quite funny - this little blob of Danny Devito shaped lard bobbling out of the store like a bat ouf heck with a DVD tucked under his arm like a running back. I wasn't there, but I can picture it greatly.
Oh yeah, and he tried to cast a spell on the store manager.
So I start work at my new job (the one after the cell phone gig), and according to the store manager (who had come over a few months before from my old job), Rev is now shopping there, complaining loudly and vociferously “I’m thick of thith. I’m thick of the way you treat me here.”
No matter what he’s doing when next I see him, I’m calling the managers and reporting that he stole something. Even if he didn’t.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt5
5.It’s Christmas Eve, and the store has been off-and-on busy all day. I got in at about 8:45am, I’m scheduled to be getting out at 6:00pm, and I’m wearily wondering why on earth we can’t just close the store so all these people can go spend some time with their families.
It’s about 4pm, and a biker gang walks in. Or should I say, they look like a biker gang. 5 BIG guys wearing jeans, denim and leather letter jackets, their hair is a mess and they’ve all got huge scraggly beards. I think “Ok, biker gang,” and my trouble radar perks up.
Yes, I know, bikers are usually nice people. I will say that I believe stereotypes usually exist for a reason, and it doesn’t ever hurt to be cautious.
Following these scruffy bikers are about 5 of the richest-looking women I’ve ever seen. Now, I’m not one spend lots of time hanging out in the women’s clothing department, but if any one of their coats cost less than $1000, I’d be surprised. Jewels, expensive hairdos, expensive shoes, the works…didn’t look like they’d ever shopped at Walmart.
So my night’s just gotten a little weirder, and I figure “What the heck, these guys aren’t going to do anything funny with this crowd of women in tow,” so go up to the first guy, who looks like a grizzly bear trying to walk among mankind for a day, offer my hand and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no, and I move on to the next biker. The rest have scattered throughout the store, and when he says no he’s not looking for anything, I let him pass and turn to watch them. All the men’s letter jackets are labeled with a rose and a guitar, and say “Trans-Siberian Orchestra World Tour 2005-2006.”
This is not unusual. TSO was playing the arena two days later, and lots of people are wearing their merchandise. So, I decide to shmooze a little. I find the first guy and say “Wow, a Trans-Siberian fan! Gonna be at their concert on the 26th?”
His reply, “I should hope so, otherwise they won’t have a drummer.”
It is to my credit that I had the presence of mind not to kneel down and start praying in his direction. Looking at the band photos, I’m pretty sure I shook hands with either John O. Reilly or Jeff Plate.
They didn’t buy anything, but did ask where we kept the TSO CDs. I VERY politely informed them that we had sold out of everything except Beethoven’s Last Night. Then they left, and I felt like little ol’ me again.
So, ‘bout an hour later, two women enter the store. Late teens, early twenties, college age. One’s dressed like Han Solo, jeans, white button-up shirt, black vest. They’re not looking for anything, but I do note that they both have heavy European accents and it’s obvious English is not their first language, nor likely second or third.
After about 5 minutes, the Han-Solo-dressalike calls me over and requests a Beatles DVD. Now, it’s about 8 hours till Christmas and the store has been thoroughly cleaned out of everything except marijuana posters, CDs in the Finnish language, and novelty lip gloss on the Jessica Simpson label.
But, I found a DVD by A Beatle. A George Harrison DVD. I recall it was orange, and evoked psychodelic sensations in the eyes.
I bring it over to her, and notice she’s doing something with her hands. What the heck, over, she’s undressing…
She had her shirt unbuttoned down to her navel by the time I gathered up what senses hadn’t deserted me, handed her the CD, and had beat feet to the farthest corner of the store.
Oh yeah, and the registers choked at store closing, so I had to call the store manager at home (this is on Christmas Eve) at 7 at night to figure out how to find a “lost transaction.” I finally got home around 8pm.
It’s about 4pm, and a biker gang walks in. Or should I say, they look like a biker gang. 5 BIG guys wearing jeans, denim and leather letter jackets, their hair is a mess and they’ve all got huge scraggly beards. I think “Ok, biker gang,” and my trouble radar perks up.
Yes, I know, bikers are usually nice people. I will say that I believe stereotypes usually exist for a reason, and it doesn’t ever hurt to be cautious.
Following these scruffy bikers are about 5 of the richest-looking women I’ve ever seen. Now, I’m not one spend lots of time hanging out in the women’s clothing department, but if any one of their coats cost less than $1000, I’d be surprised. Jewels, expensive hairdos, expensive shoes, the works…didn’t look like they’d ever shopped at Walmart.
So my night’s just gotten a little weirder, and I figure “What the heck, these guys aren’t going to do anything funny with this crowd of women in tow,” so go up to the first guy, who looks like a grizzly bear trying to walk among mankind for a day, offer my hand and say “Welcome to *redacted*. I’m *redacted*, anything I can help you find?”
He says no, and I move on to the next biker. The rest have scattered throughout the store, and when he says no he’s not looking for anything, I let him pass and turn to watch them. All the men’s letter jackets are labeled with a rose and a guitar, and say “Trans-Siberian Orchestra World Tour 2005-2006.”
This is not unusual. TSO was playing the arena two days later, and lots of people are wearing their merchandise. So, I decide to shmooze a little. I find the first guy and say “Wow, a Trans-Siberian fan! Gonna be at their concert on the 26th?”
His reply, “I should hope so, otherwise they won’t have a drummer.”
It is to my credit that I had the presence of mind not to kneel down and start praying in his direction. Looking at the band photos, I’m pretty sure I shook hands with either John O. Reilly or Jeff Plate.
They didn’t buy anything, but did ask where we kept the TSO CDs. I VERY politely informed them that we had sold out of everything except Beethoven’s Last Night. Then they left, and I felt like little ol’ me again.
So, ‘bout an hour later, two women enter the store. Late teens, early twenties, college age. One’s dressed like Han Solo, jeans, white button-up shirt, black vest. They’re not looking for anything, but I do note that they both have heavy European accents and it’s obvious English is not their first language, nor likely second or third.
After about 5 minutes, the Han-Solo-dressalike calls me over and requests a Beatles DVD. Now, it’s about 8 hours till Christmas and the store has been thoroughly cleaned out of everything except marijuana posters, CDs in the Finnish language, and novelty lip gloss on the Jessica Simpson label.
But, I found a DVD by A Beatle. A George Harrison DVD. I recall it was orange, and evoked psychodelic sensations in the eyes.
I bring it over to her, and notice she’s doing something with her hands. What the heck, over, she’s undressing…
She had her shirt unbuttoned down to her navel by the time I gathered up what senses hadn’t deserted me, handed her the CD, and had beat feet to the farthest corner of the store.
Oh yeah, and the registers choked at store closing, so I had to call the store manager at home (this is on Christmas Eve) at 7 at night to figure out how to find a “lost transaction.” I finally got home around 8pm.
Monday, December 18, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt4
4.The first time I saw the man I call Rev, I thought he was literally retarded.
He was about 4 foot nothing, and equally sized through the x and z axis. He had a face and head like Danny Devito, except Danny Devito doesn’t have eyes that bulge out like a victim of strangulation. He was pushing a shopping cart loaded with CDs, and when I asked him if I could help him, he talked in a high, squeaky voice like Alvin The Chipmunk, speaking really fast and with a major lisp.
He was looking for parody Christmas CDs, and I kindly offered to order them for him. He accepted my offer, and after ringing up his transaction with nary a word of complaint, he rather rudely asks me if I’ve exempted him from the sales tax.
I didn’t know your average Joe was exempt, file the data away for future use under Taxes: Avoidance Of, and go get a manager higher than myself to help me figure out what to do when someone’s asking for something I can’t legally give them.
The manager OK’s it, and I process everything as tax exempt. He pays with a check. Labeled “First Church Of Cain.”
Now, I’m the first in line to say nobody should get special breaks on anything, but I find it even funnier when I have to give a Satanist priest tax exempt status on Christmas comedy CDs.
To be continued…later…
He was about 4 foot nothing, and equally sized through the x and z axis. He had a face and head like Danny Devito, except Danny Devito doesn’t have eyes that bulge out like a victim of strangulation. He was pushing a shopping cart loaded with CDs, and when I asked him if I could help him, he talked in a high, squeaky voice like Alvin The Chipmunk, speaking really fast and with a major lisp.
He was looking for parody Christmas CDs, and I kindly offered to order them for him. He accepted my offer, and after ringing up his transaction with nary a word of complaint, he rather rudely asks me if I’ve exempted him from the sales tax.
I didn’t know your average Joe was exempt, file the data away for future use under Taxes: Avoidance Of, and go get a manager higher than myself to help me figure out what to do when someone’s asking for something I can’t legally give them.
The manager OK’s it, and I process everything as tax exempt. He pays with a check. Labeled “First Church Of Cain.”
Now, I’m the first in line to say nobody should get special breaks on anything, but I find it even funnier when I have to give a Satanist priest tax exempt status on Christmas comedy CDs.
To be continued…later…
Monday, December 11, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt3
3. Being a manager, I frequently wound up closing the store with only one other employee after the Christmas rush died down. Usually it was with a guy around my age who I’ll refer to as Dave.
Dave was probably the best worker I’ve ever seen who didn’t get promoted to management. Absolutely unimpeachable character, but with an oft-alluded to shady set of friends.
Dave finishes checking out a line of people and comes to find me out on the floor. He says “If the police come here, I need you to back me up, ok?”
I might’ve not known to turn electrical appliances off before spraying them with cleaning solution, but I do know A Clue™ when I hear one. I asked what happened. He’s literally shaking he’s so mad. He says “I can’t talk about it right now, I’ll tell you later.”
The police don’t show up in the interregnum, and at the end of the night he tells me that a person from school, with whom he shares a mutual hatred pushed their way past customers to the front of the line.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked.
“Hey buddy, can you sell me some pot?” The person replies. He asked twice more and got rather loud and insistent about it while Dave was helping customers. Apparently, their long-standing feud had escalated to the point where the nemesis was attempting to get Dave arrested by hoping someone would phone in that he was a drug dealer.
Dave was probably the best worker I’ve ever seen who didn’t get promoted to management. Absolutely unimpeachable character, but with an oft-alluded to shady set of friends.
Dave finishes checking out a line of people and comes to find me out on the floor. He says “If the police come here, I need you to back me up, ok?”
I might’ve not known to turn electrical appliances off before spraying them with cleaning solution, but I do know A Clue™ when I hear one. I asked what happened. He’s literally shaking he’s so mad. He says “I can’t talk about it right now, I’ll tell you later.”
The police don’t show up in the interregnum, and at the end of the night he tells me that a person from school, with whom he shares a mutual hatred pushed their way past customers to the front of the line.
“What are you doing?” Dave asked.
“Hey buddy, can you sell me some pot?” The person replies. He asked twice more and got rather loud and insistent about it while Dave was helping customers. Apparently, their long-standing feud had escalated to the point where the nemesis was attempting to get Dave arrested by hoping someone would phone in that he was a drug dealer.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt2
Sorry for the lack of updates. School's winding down (which means finals) and work is winding up (because of Christmas) and they're both combining to prevent me from writing very much either here or elsewhere. That said, for a while at least, there'll be a new Tales From Retail every Monday.
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2.I hate heights. My old store had high ceilings. With 2 banks of TVs attached. Those TVs needed to be cleaned about once every two weeks, or so I found out after Christmas. Guess who wound up doing that?
I haul the ladder out of the back (which is 3 times my height and weighs 3 times as much.) I only manage to drop it twice setting it up. I carry the paper towel and Windex up, and watch the music videos from closeup while I’m spraying and dusting the screens.
Hindsight is 20/20. I should’ve been intelligent enough to know then what I was about to learn.
The first bank of TVs goes ok. I haul the ladder to the second bank, and set it up. The placement is a little awkward since there’s a long browser of CDs right under the TVs. It strikes me that if I were to fall, I’d fall into the CDs.
I climb up with my cleaning supplies, dust the first TV, and spritz the second. I’ve wiped the screen half clean when I hear what sounds like a handclap. Both my hands spring open and I drop the Windex and paper towel, and I jerk backwards. I don’t know if my knees went weak, but I managed to grab the ladder and wedge my feet into the rungs enough to stay upward. I immediately come down, check myself for burns and other damage. My mouth tastes like iron.
When I told the manager about the incident later he laughed and said “I should’ve told you to turn the TVs off first.”
So yeah, that’s how I electrocuted myself on the job.
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2.I hate heights. My old store had high ceilings. With 2 banks of TVs attached. Those TVs needed to be cleaned about once every two weeks, or so I found out after Christmas. Guess who wound up doing that?
I haul the ladder out of the back (which is 3 times my height and weighs 3 times as much.) I only manage to drop it twice setting it up. I carry the paper towel and Windex up, and watch the music videos from closeup while I’m spraying and dusting the screens.
Hindsight is 20/20. I should’ve been intelligent enough to know then what I was about to learn.
The first bank of TVs goes ok. I haul the ladder to the second bank, and set it up. The placement is a little awkward since there’s a long browser of CDs right under the TVs. It strikes me that if I were to fall, I’d fall into the CDs.
I climb up with my cleaning supplies, dust the first TV, and spritz the second. I’ve wiped the screen half clean when I hear what sounds like a handclap. Both my hands spring open and I drop the Windex and paper towel, and I jerk backwards. I don’t know if my knees went weak, but I managed to grab the ladder and wedge my feet into the rungs enough to stay upward. I immediately come down, check myself for burns and other damage. My mouth tastes like iron.
When I told the manager about the incident later he laughed and said “I should’ve told you to turn the TVs off first.”
So yeah, that’s how I electrocuted myself on the job.
Monday, November 27, 2006
Tales From Retail Pt1
This will supplement the Random Reflections until I gather up some new material. It's sort of like doing 5 standup comedy routines per week. I don't want to just keep hitting the same easy-to-ridicule targets (victim disarmament, stupid trends, bad government) over and over. So here's something completely different.
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1.In another part of my life, I sold cellphones. Not very well, mind you, but I did sell them. The staff of which I was part (and indeed the entire industry) refers to cellphone services in a sort of ambiguous personal way (they, who, etc.).
So, I’m working one night and two (rather attractive, if I do say so myself) teenage girls come into the store and start looking at Sprint phones. I amble over, and as per my training, the first thing out of my mouth is a qualification about which provider they currently use.
I hope you can see where this is going.
Yup. I walk over, and start the conversation by asking “So, who are you with currently?”
There’s that moment of dawning comprehension between the time when you’ve finished a sentence and when you realize what you’ve committed to saying where this little, calm voice in your head states, very matter-of-factly “You idiot.”
They both looked at me like I was pondscum, and I managed to save face by laughing and saying “Yeah, that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.” They left shortly thereafter. I wish I had a surveillance tape of the incident, because I think that for about 5 seconds, the looks on all 3 of our faces were probably priceless.
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1.In another part of my life, I sold cellphones. Not very well, mind you, but I did sell them. The staff of which I was part (and indeed the entire industry) refers to cellphone services in a sort of ambiguous personal way (they, who, etc.).
So, I’m working one night and two (rather attractive, if I do say so myself) teenage girls come into the store and start looking at Sprint phones. I amble over, and as per my training, the first thing out of my mouth is a qualification about which provider they currently use.
I hope you can see where this is going.
Yup. I walk over, and start the conversation by asking “So, who are you with currently?”
There’s that moment of dawning comprehension between the time when you’ve finished a sentence and when you realize what you’ve committed to saying where this little, calm voice in your head states, very matter-of-factly “You idiot.”
They both looked at me like I was pondscum, and I managed to save face by laughing and saying “Yeah, that didn’t come out the way I wanted it to.” They left shortly thereafter. I wish I had a surveillance tape of the incident, because I think that for about 5 seconds, the looks on all 3 of our faces were probably priceless.
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