Scanning your eyes out...one pupil at a time!

I hate my job. Truly, I do. I wish this job death. Friday the 13th, was indeed the shittiest day at my store. I was cursed out by one old fart and told I disgrace my family with my body 'defacement' by another.

The bad part is...there's no where else for me to go. I truly feel that my A.D.D won't allow me to work on the floor. I can't even shop without stopping a thousand times to look at things that are shiny/sparkly/glittery/metallic/etc. I think floor work will only bore me to tears.

What does that leave? Why, yes! Cashiering. In my store, this is known as 'punishment'. Anyone who does something bad, but not Donald Trump, "YOU'RE FIRED!" bad, they are sent to the cubicle of suffering A.K.A....the register. Most either quit or become nuns.

On top of everything, the new store rules are killing me. I can't pass gas without 'Bob' the manager, asking me how that affects the team...and remember kids, "There is no 'I' in 'Shut the Fuck Up You Dumb Ass!'"

*sigh*

I will hanger-whip the next customer who dares tell me to go to church because I have an eyebrow piercing. All you'll see is the zebra print of my uniform spider monkey over the desk and the blurring of a hanger.

*double sigh*

The whole Friday the 13th story later....for now, I need to watch something calming, like 'Little Miss Sunshine' or 'Cloverfield'.

-Cashier-

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?"

*Grunt*

*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.

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?)

Burn my bra! It's gonna be one of those days!

I absolutely LOVE the people who blame cashier's for all the problems in the store.  If the dressing room is messy, it's the cashier's problem.  If the coke machine is out of Diet Coke, it's the cashier's fault.  

A large, sweaty man with one lazy eye walks through my line with Shout cleaner and something man-like for cars. Scanning both, I read out the total to him.  At first, he begins to thumb through his wallet for the cash, but then, as if his internal lightbulb prematurely flickered, he demands that I do a price check on the Shout.

"There was a HUGE sign in the back that said $2!  What kinda scam are you trying to pull lady?"

Without any emotion, I trudge to the phone and call housewears.  Before I can even explain the product, the man turns a rare shade of purple and storms to the back, shouting at me to hold his spot the whole way back.

The poor people waiting behind him, nervously shuffle and sigh knowing this is going to be one of 'those' types of customers.

He returns empty handed while I'm on the phone with the associate who explained to him that the $2 was for a generic brand next to it.  The man takes one look at me and unleashes a river of hatred towards me.

"It's not a MAN's job to have to read signs. It's a woman's!  I had to have some BOY tell me that you all are crooks.  This place is ridiculous!  You have MEN doing women's jobs all around here!  Folding clothes and scanning shit!  Why...if times were like that of my grand-pappy, I would have a women tell me the price and I would get the Shout for $2 because it's obviously a mistake made by her to get my hard earned money!  I'm a bread winner, so I won't put up with this kind of thievery!"

Needless to say, it was nothing but a scene to say the least.  It didn't help that after all that, the lady behind him and to say, "I agree whole heartedly.  The man should do the man's work and the women...women's."

After giving him his 'hard earned' change, I monotonously do my usual, "Have a nice day, sir."

My friend at the register behind me had to literally put a hand on my shoulder to keep from lunging at his face when he smirked, "Wow, I really got you hot and heavy, didn't I?"

I hope a women is the one to take him outta this world....because that is a WOMEN's job! ;)

Something says High School Musical won't pick this story up...

This story will seem unreal and down-right crazy to 90% of the people who read this, but I can assure you, I shit you not.

I punch in at 10:30, thrilled to even be working. Even better, the other two cashiers are friends of mine. Yeah!

My first customer is a girl about my age (18-19) who purchased a variety pack of Trojan Condoms. From the get go, she seemed a bit twitchy, but really? Isn't everyone a bit twitchy when buying condoms at 10:30 in the morning??? Anywho, she pays for them and leaves.

An hour or two later, a boy no older the 5, comes through asking if he could return something. I redirected him to the Customer Service desk and thought nothing of it. My manager comes racing towards my register and says,

"Did YOU sell a 5 year old condoms???"

I must have given my "Huh?" face, because she burst into a grin and explained. The 5 year old that had come through was returning condoms that had been bought through my line earlier.

Now, I don't memorize who all buys what, but I know that I had only scanned one box of THAT particular item. Yeah...cashiers remember those sort of purchases.

Later on, we were able to get the story out of the boy. Turns out that the sister had bought the Trojans for HIM!!! The boy decided he'd rather have the money for a video game and that's where the return came in.

Crazy, isn't it? We live in a world where 5 year olds are bought condoms. Looks like parents are bringing a whole new meaning to the word, "Over-Protective".

There's no need to fear! Underpaid is here!

Thursday morning, I drag my corpse of a body to my last class of the day. The whole campus resembles a scene from "Dawn of the Dead". Groans of anguish echo throughout the hallways.

Opening the door to my Prob & Stats class, I hear a familiar voice beckoning from behind me. Turning, I see the face of one of the few coworkers I like. He, like myself, seems to live to be the reject of our store.

"Hey hon! I haven't seen you in forever. Where you been?"

"They cut my hours. Amazing, isn't it? The holidays arrive and we are worked to the bone. Then it leaves, and we're pushed to the side like bad puppies. They've got to hurry up and get our schedule back to normal."

"I know...I am thinking about looking elsewhere. I mean, I can't afford to pay for tuition, my car payment, and rent with 9 hours each week."

"Trust me. I understand. If all else fails, I say we storm the place and blackmail them to work us. It's an unusual approach, but someone has to do it, right?"

He chuckles a little. His good humor allows him the ability to see right through my sarcasm. Others might have reported me to the authorities, but this guy, is on to me.

"D, you should have a blog about the things that go on in your life. It would amaze people at the complexity you call, "Everyday"."

Now it's my turn to laugh. I keep this blog as secretive as possible. I don't want anyone to know who I am or where I work for fear of getting fired....or worse...dealing with the managers.

"You're completely right. Luckily, I'm just not into 'blogging'. I guess you'll have to pitch your idea to someone else. How about "Bob"???"

"As if he even knows what the internet is! His blog would be on stone and read by Moses and the baby Jesus!"

We exchange farewells and part ways, leaving only the feeling of being some sort of secret agent left in my creaking bones. Student by day, Cashier by Dusk, Blogger by Midnight. There's nothing she can't do....or make into a humorous paragraph!

Alex, I'll take "Things that cross the line" for $200.

"I know, right? As soon as she said she was getting her lip pierced, I couldn't resist!"

My co-cashier worker friend and I were chatting it up a couple minutes before the store closed.   The topic of choice?  My decision to get my eyebrow pierced.  When a customer would walk through, we'd immediately hush, but that didn't stop one lady from giving her views.

"You're getting your eyebrow pierced?" 

I look at her a bit skeptical of where this conversation was going, but I'm like the Indiana Jones of cashiers. 

"Yeah, tomorrow I'm going with a friend. I'm a bit nervous about the pain, but I think I'll be fine."

In an instance, the middle aged women cups her breast and says like a true saint, "Last year, I had both my nipples done!  It was the BEST decision of my life!"

Red faced, I give her the change, and fake a Customer Service desk problem that needs my assistance.  If I've typed it once, I'll type it a thousand more times...cashier's like talking to you, we just don't want to know EVERYTHING about you.  We're perfectly content with knowing the bare minimum.