Thursday, February 19, 2009

So much for "Respect Thy Neighbor"...

My store has recently decided to, yet again, take up donations for a local charity. I don't mind the actual idea of it....the problem lies in making the poor cashiers stop our entire routine to ask a question that 9 times outta 10 will be denied. It really throws us off. The register needs a routine. Otherwise, you're just floundering around with your head us off. A friend of mine is a waiter, and he tells me everyday that good waiter will get a routine and stick to it. Cashiering is the same way.

In these hard economic times, it is like asking for your first born. I love the grunts, the excuses, the glares, and most of all, the rants about money. Trust me...we no more enjoy asking then you enjoy hearing the pleas.

This time it was for March of Dimes. I did my usual routine. Managing to get several kind citizens, I felt like I had done my job. Until SHE showed up.

"Hello Ma'm! How are you?"


*I silently scan her items* "Would you like to donate a dollar to the March of Dimes?"

Before I could finish my sentence this old, hateful women, released her walker....through her hands up in the air and screamed til she was blue in the face, "NOOOOOO MAAAAAAAA'M!!!!!"

It was so loud, that my manager ran from the back of the store to the front to see what the commotion was. My face contorted into a swirl of confusion and "Piss off lady!". I finally handed her her bags and watched her scoot away into the sunset.

It took me a good 5 minutes t0 fully digest what had just occured. Charity got me yelled at.

Life's great irony.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

My Sticky...sticky shoes....

It's finally happened. I have a cold. I've managed the whole season to avoid the symptoms, but alas, I finally caught it.

Most of my shift went as smoothly as possible. In between customers, I popped cough drops and tried to get some fluids down.

A large man, wearing overalls that were 4 sizes too small with no shirt underneath, trudges to my line. Covering my mouth to shield unwanted floaters, I cough.

The man stops dead in his tracks and wide-eyed, stares at me with dismay.

"It's all clear, sir! I promise."

Like a deer caught in headlights, he keeps his eyes on me. Finally, he grunts and proclaims, "I'm not going through YOUR line. Your germ-y! You should be ashamed of yourself coming to work to give all these folks your germs!"

He waddles to the next line and refuses to take his eyes off of me until he is out the door.

Who knew my cold would turn out to be my blessing. Perhaps I should be like Pheobe off of 'Friends' and make some money off of it. (Remember that episode?)

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