Random Thoughts And A List Of Things That Scare Me

.  So here I am, in a much better mood, still using my daughter's IPad to write my blog posts and still needing to charge the Bluetooth keyboard that she has for it. So many things in this apartment needs to be charged that one of the first things you notice when you walk in the door is this massive pile of chargers by the door plug, which we never use for anything but charging various devices. Silly, but there you have it.
   I'm in a better mood because, despite my fears, I was able to manage to pay all my bills by their due date. Late bills are just a real fear for me, I guess. Until this last month, it was a fear that I wasn't really aware of. I mean, I knew I didn't like to be late, but I didn't realize that late payments would throw me into massive panic and an emotional breakdown. And it's fine if that makes you roll your eyes, because trust me, mine are rolling away. Good grief, Marie. And on that note, I'm releasing in today's post, a list of the ridiculous fears that I harbor, because why not? If you can't make fun of yourself, then really, you shouldn't dish it out, and I like to mock ridiculous things, so there you have it.
   And here's my list.

• The dark
• Lice
• Late payments of bills
• Working self check
• Register 6
• Dolls
• Strong body oders
• The check lady who goes through my line and acts like the girl from the exorcist when ID her
• Demons
• Ghosts
• Rats
• Too much perfume
• The church guy who chased after me while I was trying to pay rent to give me his church's business card
• Aggressively friendly people who smile too much
• The person who comes through with 10 WIC checks, and they're all wrong
• Everything else

   At any rate, those are real fears. And in closing, and completely unrelated, but who cares, my daughter has gotten really into the Sims. And I know that nothing competes with the computer versions, but my computer is garbage. So for Christmas, I got her a Sims Pets for the Xbox 360, which was mine and in the living room, but somehow ended up gravitating to her bedroom. I digress though, Sims Pets, that was what I was talking about. My daughter is making a crazy cat lady with her Sims game, and I was cracking up, because it's a real thing on the game. You have to make a woman with traits of insanity and cat lover, she has to have 5 cats and she has to become best friends with all of the cats and she has to declare the social services person her arch nemesis. Why does that crack me up so much? Whatever, it does.

   Have a good day, folks.

Bad News, Cashier-Brain, and Books (Yay! Books!!!)

   Currently, I'm on vacation, or staycation, because we are just staying home in our apartment, with no travel plans, nor any other plans, come to think of it. The only hard and fast plan that I did have was to go see Divergent, and to spend the night at my sister's and watch some scary movies, and I've done both (I loved Divergent!). So I have a line of empty days ahead of me and my daughter, who is on spring break.
   And that's a good thing, because I was seriously suffering from a strong case of cashier-brain. I was seeing PLU numbers (price look-up codes) every time I shut my eyes. I was hearing that blasted beeping even when I had left the stores, and my last two vivid nightmares had both been about work. That's too much; that is a sign. Marie needs a break, clearly written across my psyche.
   Of course, come time for me to take my break, everything starts happening. I have had a shit-storm of bad news that I can't really do anything about, which is one of the worst types of bad news there is. Not being able to do anything kinda makes you feel like a glass of ice water in the North Pole: redundant. All I can do, over and over again, is say how sorry I am and that I'll pray, when I would much rather charge in, fix everything, and have us all live happily ever after. But all I can do is sit here and worry.
   And then on top of that, every nuisance task that can manage to rear it's ugly head comes along, such as having to fill out paperwork and provide documentation that your daughter really is your daughter, so that your insurance won't drop her as a dependent on your coverage. I mean, yeah, that's easy enough to prove, but I didn't exactly want to take time from my worry and fret to mess around with my damn insurance, for a matter that I think is a bunch of bullshit at any damn rate. Even if my daughter wasn't my daughter, I still feel that I should be allowed to cover her on my insurance if I want to. But she is my daughter, so the whole mess is just minor aggravation that I'm just shrugging at.
    But this is my vacation, so I am making effort to do things that I like, so last night, I stayed up and read Night Broken, which is book number eight in the Mercy Thompson series, and which also happens to be my most favorite urban fantasy series ever. I love Patricia Briggs, and yes, I did sit down and read the book from start to finish, secure in the knowledge that I am on vacation and would be able to sleep in. Most times when I sit down and read a book from start to finish, I read with the guilty knowledge that I am going to be a cashier-zombie in the morning.
    My daughter's pretty happy as well, because since we are on vacation, I just feel that she should have new material to read, so she's been coming to me with her Kindle, waiving the thing in my face with books already pulled up on the screen and ready to purchase, begging with her puppy-dog eyes, "Momma, please? Please, Momma?" I'm a sucker for this type of request, so she has scored The Fault With Our Stars, and all three of the books in The Maze Runner trilogy, so far. We are not even halfway through our vacation. She knows that when she asks me for a book, getting a yes is almost guaranteed, unless I truly am broke, and then, I guess I am lucky that she's a good kid, and doesn't give me a hard time about getting a no, because I know that I have spoiled her so far as getting knew books are concerned. I don't feel too badly about this, because I also know that I can be very strict about other things, and I do feel that while we really need to provide rules and boundaries for our kids, a small amount of spoiling never hurt anything, especially when you are talking about books.
   I did think I would write a little more than I have, but honestly, right now I am at a bit of a loss for topics. My mind keeps circling around that bad news that I have received -- my damn mind is like a freaking vulture and it's pissing me off, but what can you do when you get pissed at your own mind? And these topics are topics that I don't really feel at leisure to discuss, because frankly, they aren't my business to discuss, and if there is one thing I want to avoid, being the writer who writes about everyone else's business is one of them. I do NOT want people - friends and family - to feel like they can't talk to me about private things because they are worried they will show up in my blog. But at the moment, this does leave me without a topic, and thus you all get treated to this wandering ramble.  Happy staycation to me, and if nothing else, may I be cured from the cursed cashier-brain. 

Those Who Steal...

   I'm feeling rather relieved at this moment, having just learned that my cash drawer (till) is not unbalanced. Is my till usually unbalanced? I hope not; if it is, no one is telling me, but I don't think so. That would typically be something that your boss would come and talk to you about, especially when taking money is one of the main duties of your job.
  So why was I worried? Well, I was hit up by a short-change artist. A short-change artist, for those of you who do not know, is someone who comes along, buys something from a cashier, and then attempts to really confuse them and distract them, in order to get more money back. While I cannot remember exactly the entire conversation, I am going to recreate the conversation that we had, and while you read this, I want you to also keep in mind the speed of the conversation; while you can read this at whatever pace you want, this entire conversation took less than five minutes.
   The short-change artist had just bought a travel size foot powder, that cost less than a dollar, and had paid with a fifty. I was counting out her change when she said, "Can I have one of those dollars in quarters?"
   "Sure," I replied, and took back a dollar, putting four quarters on the stack of change (I lay the change out on the counter as I count, so that the customer can watch.)
   "What are you doing? I'll give you a dollar in a minute, one thing at a time, one thing at a time," the customer said, so confused, but going with the flow, I took back the quarters and put the dollar bill back. She picks up the money, looks at it, and in a shocked voice, says, "What did I give you? A fifty?"
   "Yes ma'am, you gave me a fifty."
   "Oh no, take this back, I need that fifty, I think I had a phone number on it."
   So I take the change back, and get out a fifty. "There isn't a phone number on this bill." I say as I hand the bill to her. "That's fine, that's fine, I want to give you another fifty and get a hundred from you."
  "I need another dollar, this is just $49," I say, because she just gave me back the change bills (two twenties, a five, and four ones), and I had given her the fifty.
   "Sure, sure," she says and gives me another dollar, and then gives me the fifty dollar bill that I had just handed her, "And I am going to give you this as well, so that I can get a hundred dollar bill."
   "Wait," I say, "that's not right..."
   "Yeah it is, I gave you that fifty, and now I am giving you this fifty, and I want a single bill back."
   "But this fifty is the one I exchanged for you."
   "No, that fifty is in your drawer, remember, I wrote a number on it. This fifty is different, it doesn't have a number; I wouldn't lie to you."
   "But you have to give me two fifties to get a hundred back," I say handing her back the fifty, and keeping the fifty dollars worth of change in my hand.
  "No, I gave you that fifty in change that you are holding. This fifty makes one hundred." And she puts the bill on the counter and pushes it towards me.
  "Nooooo," I say slowly, because I am starting to get confused, this conversation is happening really fast, and I also have other customers in line calling out things like, "Just give her the money already!" So I am confused, but I hold on to the fifty in change, and push the single bill back to her.
   "No, you used a fifty to pay for your foot powder, and then wanted it back, so we exchanged, you didn't give me a fifty."
  "No, look," the lady says, and points to my till, which was still open (foolishly), "You have a fifty in your till. That's the one I gave you for the powder."
  "Noooo," I draw out again, because I am trying to think. "You used this to pay for your powder." And I kinda wave the fifty in change that I am holding.
   She takes out another dollar, lays it on the counter and says, "Look, this can be for the powder. Now take that fifty you're holding that I gave you, and take this fifty, and give me a hundred. I have given you two fifties."
 At this point, I say what I should have said in the first place, "Hold on, I need to call a Lead." And after I say this, the woman takes the fifty she was trying to hand me, says never mind, and walks out of the door. I tell the lead clerk (shift supervisor type position) what happened, and she takes the receipt, which I still have, to give to the manager. Because our store has security, they are able to watch the whole exchange on the cameras, and having the receipt makes this easier, because the receipt is time-stamped, so they know exactly when to look. But there was so much money pushed back-and-forth between us that security can't tell if she got extra money or not, which is a very, very nerve wracking thing to hear. When you are a cashier, and you hear that, you think, "Holy. Shit." And then you worry, because you know you made mistakes. I kept my drawer open the entire time, when I should have slammed the thing shut. Also, we were passing bills back and forth, and all in just a short period of time; during certain points of this bill passing, I was distracted by other customers who thought I should have just giving her the hundred, and were being vocal about it. Also, I should have called the Lead as soon as this started. I am not a newbie, all of these things are things that I know, so I was kicking myself for not following procedures that are designed to prevent this type of problem. I was fairly sure that I had not given her extra money, but there was a smaller part of me that was completely sure that I did, or else I kept HER money, which is something that I equally don't want to do.
   This woman knew what she was doing. 'One thing at a time' is a saying we have when we are dealing with issues like this. We do one thing at a time, fulfill one request at a time, so that we don't get mixed up and confused. It's a method taught to us in training, and her saying that at the beginning of the transaction was a way of throwing me off guard; short-change artists get you to give them extra money often by overloading you with requests so that you mess us and can't remember what you were doing, which makes it easier for them to get extra money  off of you, so with this woman saying 'one thing at a time' it seemed like she was trying to help me out. Then the supposed number on the bill was a distraction, something that would get stuck in my head so that later, she could bring it up and hopefully get me to say, "Oh yeah, there was a number." Because this was not a slow, careful conversation, this was rushed and hectic, and if that number rang a bell to me, I might have gone with it and been like, oh yeah, you did give me that, even though she didn't. In fact, one of the saving graces was that while the bill I handed back to her did not have a number, it did have a star drawn on it, and so when  I saw that same star on the bill when she tried to give it back, I remembered that this was the fifty we had traded for, and that we were even. If she had given me that fifty, and I had given her the hundred like she wanted, my till would have been fifty dollars short. But, in spite of my recognition of the bill that she was trying to hand me back, I was still a little nervous about what had happened. Honestly, this is a condensed version of the conversation, as I said, I can remember the gist, and some of the key points, but I can't entirely recall word for word, and we went back and forth a little more than I felt like typing, but all of that back and forth really confused me, which was the point after all. She wanted me confused, but I had a death grip on that fifty in change; I wasn't giving that up.
   So how did we find out that I hadn't given her extra change? Well, I had to wait for the till to be counted down, and that is how we found out I did not give her money that I shouldn't have, nor did I take money that I shouldn't have, because my till balanced out. Can you say relief? Huge relief. I deserve a cookie and a pat on the head.

      ((**NOTE** Later that same day, I found that the same lady had tried this with two other cashiers, but they followed procedures, and she didn't get anywhere with them. I was the only one, unfortunately for my nerves, yet fortunately for the store, that she had managed to get that far with. She was easily described and recognized, because she was walking around with a half-smoked, crumpled cigarette hanging out of her mouth.))

Child Haters And The Public

   While at work the other day, there was a little girl. She was a rather loud and exuberant little girl, but she was a very happy little girl as well. She very cheerfully, and somewhat forcefully, shouted "HI!!!" to every single person who passed her by. As her parents were in one of the checkout lines close to the door, she had access to every single person leaving the store, and she used that access to gleefully (and loudly) greet them all from the confines of the shopping cart, grinning and waving like a princess on parade.
   Most customers cheerfully, if with less volume, greeted her back. But because I tend to attract the crazies, I got the customer who was just pissed beyond belief by the racket. "That stupid kid," the lady complained to me, "Can't you shut her up." Because cashiers are in the business of 'shutting people up'. That's gonna go over well; I think I'll skip the legal charges that shutting a kid up, one who isn't even mine, one who isn't even misbehaving - I think I will pass those charges up. I mean, I can just see the headlines now: Cashier facing time for shutting up a little girl greeting people. I don't think so. Not this cashier.
   Unfortunately, this woman is a regular of mine. I am not sure what bad karma I wracked up, but obviously, I am paying for something, because this woman always, ALWAYS bitches about the kids in the store. They all need to be left home, apparently. And because I am on the clock, I can't tell her to piss off. I'd loose my job, hence the suspicion of some bad karma.
    But, she isn't alone in her child hating. I hear complaints about kids in the store all the time. "Shopping isn't a family experience, people need to leave their kids home." "Can't those people find a babysitter?" "They need to get that kid out of the store." "Can't someone shut that kid up?" "My kids were never allowed to through fits." I can go on. I've heard all this and more, child hating in multitudes. And it's past time for moms everywhere to address this issue.
   For me, I can't understand why people go into a public place and get pissed because said place is filled with... the public. Places like grocery stores, they don't cater to a certain crowd. They are not 21 and up establishments. Grocery stores are places where people go to buy food; often people who go to buy food have families. From this point, people bringing their families to that those families give input and help in the chore of planning the menu is not that big of a leap. Shocking, how that works.
   Furthermore, many moms do not have babysitters at their beck-and-call. They may not have much of a choice about bringing their kids to the store. Quality sitters are hard to find, and are often expensive, so even if they have one, they may not be able to justify the expense of hiring them to go shopping. Or they may feel that due to the fact that they have to work, their kid spends enough time with a sitter, and they want that kid with them for a while, even if they have to go shopping. Leaving kids at home is not always possible, so really, when people assume that moms with kids in tow had this option, and just dragged their kids to the store anyway,  that assumption kinda pisses me off. I never had that option. As a working mom, my daughter was in daycare a lot, but I couldn't leave her there to go to the store. The daycare had a limit of how many hours that a kid could be left there, and between my job and going to college, my daughter was there too often for me to leave her there to go shopping. Both my mom and my sister have full time jobs, so my daughter came with me, even when she was a small child, still learning how to behave in public. So no, parents leaving their kids with someone is not always an option.
   As for kids throwing fits; well that is never pleasant. Least of all for the parent dealing with all the judgey-judgersons. But a parent cannot always drop whatever they are doing and go home, just because the kiddo is having a bad day. Not always feasible. And we have no idea why that kid is having such a bad day. Maybe the kid is a spoiled rotten brat, but more likely, maybe the kid is tired, or feeling poorly, or just had a rotten day. As bad as kids throwing fits can be, I have seen adults behave in a much worse manner, so don't think kids have the corner on bad public behavior. And the kids, they are still learning about things like manners and inside voices; adults don't have that excuse.
    I would also like to point out that every single one of you, whether you have had children or are childless, you have all started out as children yourselves. Every. Single. One. Of. You. And at some point in your childhood, I am positive that you have made an ass of yourself in public. Maybe your mom is keeping your assholeyness quiet, but for the good of all the people who have to deal with you, I am begging her to stop right now, call you up, and tell you - in detail - about the time that you were an ass in public.
    I sure know I was. I can't even think of a specific time; I can remember so many that they are all blending together. A long blur of childhood assery that I inflicted on my parents, and in my household, discipline was not an issue. We got disciplined. So trust me, I don't need my parents to call me, I remember. What I can tell you is about my daughter.
    My daughter is a good girl. My mom gleefully awaited her, joked about getting back twice what  I had done to her, and then was dumbfounded when my daughter emerged as a 'good' kid. I get messages from teachers about how well behaved she is, I get told by family, I get told by her friends' families, so when  I say my daughter is a good kid, I am not just speaking from my own, admittedly biased, point of view. But even the best kids need to be taught how to behave in public, and even the best kids can have meltdowns and misbehave.
    My daughter had a major one when she was about four. She never went through the terrible twos, but she was hit with the fearsome fours with a vengeance. And one time, she had a meltdown right in the middle of Fred Meyers. I can't remember why, exactly, but I think her meltdown had something to do with the fact that she didn't want to walk, but she didn't want to get into the cart either. So she did what made the most sense of all, she threw herself right down on the floor of the store and started screaming her head off. And when I went to pick her up, she screamed as loud as she could, "Stop! You're breaking my arm!" Despite the fact that I wasn't even touching her arm, I got the evil-eye from about fifty different people, and had to deal with people tsking me and shaking their heads in disapproval. Being me, I took the high road (sarcasm here, folks) and snarled at them all, "Call CPS if you want to, but she is getting off of this floor."
   She never did that again, but  she is a perfect example of how a good kid can have a bad moment in public. It can happen to every parent. And parents can't just forgo buying food just because their kid isn't having the best day. So yes, when you go into a public place, such as a grocery store, you are going to deal with the public. The public includes small children. If you aren't in the mood to deal with and be tolerant of the public in general, than I suggest that at this time, you are the person who needs to spend the day at home. Come when you are in a better mood. And wear headphones. So many people wear headphones while shopping, and personally, I think that this is a really great option for people who don't want to hear the masses. But don't expect us cashiers to actually do something to 'shut kids up'. Not gonna happen. I mean honestly, if you are the type of person who would request this, chances are that we like the screaming, squalling kid more than you anyway. Just gonna put that out there. 

Holidays And The Public

   If there is one truth that you learn as a cashier then I have to say that this is that truth: Nothing brings out the worst in people like holidays and natural disasters. Oh, I know some of you are flapping your hands and 'pshhhh -awing' the screen, unable to believe my truth, because we are talking about holidays here, and aren't natural disasters things that bring people together? Well, as a former Southern citizen, I can tell you that I have worked retail up to the last possible minute during a hurricane. And you have never seen anything until you have seen two eighty year old women beating the crap out of each other over a 24 pack of bottled water. I mean, that was PRICELESS. And extremely stupid, but at least during a natural disaster, people are being stupid because they fear impending death. Hardship, at least, is some kind of explanation for idiocy and meanness. I am not saying that this behavior is right; I'm just saying at least this behavior is more understandable during a natural disaster than during the holidays.
   Because holidays, those are supposed to be about thankfulness, about being grateful, about friends and family and fellowship. Not about getting the best deal and nabbing the biggest turkey. Not about harassing your poor customer service representative to the breaking point. But many of you do seem to think that holidays are some kind of excuse for this type of behavior. I mean, good grief.  Yelling, screaming at other customers, screaming at workers just trying to do their jobs: holidays can really suck for someone in customer service. And yeah, we do chose to work there, because we have bills to pay and families to support, but just because we chose to work in a place does not give the patrons of that establishment the right to treat the workers like the crap they scraped off the bottom of their shoes.
   And of course, not all people are like that. So if you don't behave badly, if you treat people with respect, and deal with real problems that arise with common sense, then you aren't really part of this problem. But there are so many people that want to treat others badly. So for this holiday season, what I ask is that people think about others' feelings before they fly off the handle, that they treat people with the respect that all people deserve, and that they remember that this season is about fellowship, thankfulness, and rejoicing; not getting all that you can get and knocking down whoever you need to in order to get it.

Counterfeit Money

   Any one who has spent any amount of time handling money should know that there is a huge problem with counterfeit money. If your time handling money is part of your job, part of the way that you support your family, then you take measures to make sure that you don't take in that counterfeit money; all cashiers know this unless they are newbies.
   This need to thoroughly check the bills that pass through our hands, however, has a tendency to piss people off. Frankly, I am not sure why. I have been on the other side of that counter as a consumer/customer, and my panties don't get in a bunch when the cashier passes that counterfeit pen over my bill and then holds the bill up to the light. I know that they are just doing their job; checking for fake bills is actually part of our job and there are specific things we are looking for. The most well known is the little strip inside the bill, that says 100 if it's a 100 or twenty if it's a 20 (it's actually spelled out on the strip for the 20 and in numerals for the 100.) We also check for a number of other thinks, like color changing ink, matching faces, red and blue threads in the paper, and so-on and so-forth. The pen is a useful tool, but all the pen does is let us know that the bill is on the right type of paper, and, oh those creative criminals, they have found ways around that. So I understand that even if I just got that bill straight from the bank, the person I am handing the bill to still needs to check for authenticity. So  I don't waste my time getting all huffy and puffy about them doing their job.
    Even with all those measures, sometimes we still manage to take in fake bills. I know that I have seen fake bills in every thing from fake 100's all the way down to fake 10's. And I mean, really, if you have the time and energy to fake a 10, I wouldn't think that getting a job would be less work. But who knows what goes on in people's heads? Not me.
   But to get back to my original point, there are some people that really get steamed when we check their money. I know that I have even been told that my checking money is not legal (pure bullshit, folks, so whatever you have read online about that, disregard it. Marking a bill with a counterfeit pen is NOT considered defacing money.) I know some people think that we check because we are implying something about their character, but that is not the case at all.  We don't even know most of you. For my store, and for many others that I know of, checking money is standard procedure. We are supposed to check every single bill. So our checking isn't a sign that we are judging you, we check every one's bills from little old  ladies with glasses and polka dot dresses to big scary-looking dudes with facial piercings and tattoos (and in my own experience, the old ladies can be the meanest customers and the pierced, tatted up dudes can be huge teddy bears.) This is our job, and taking in a counterfeit bill can and often is counted as a shortage in our cash drawer, and frankly, too many incidents like that would lead to termination. I speak for myself here, but I have a child to support, so frankly, I can afford your offense, even though checking a bill is not meant to be offensive, but I cannot afford to take in those counterfeit bills.
  This is something that I do try to explain to people when they seem upset, or even just curious as to what I am looking for. Some people, once I have explained and even showed them what I am looking for in a bill, settle down and leave with an understanding that I am just doing my job. But other people: they are determined to take offense no matter what I say. But, as I just explained, this isn't something that I can stop doing. One fake 100 dollar bill in my drawer puts me over the shortage amount that I am allowed; I can't afford that. My family can't afford that. So checking for counterfeit money is something that is going to happen.
   On that note, they have just come out with new 100 dollar bills that are supposed to be much harder to counterfeit, and I actually had some pass through my hands to other day. The first one I handled just befuddled me. This poor man handed me this purplish bill with a metallic 3D strip down the center of the bill and I was looking at the thing thinking this man had handed me some weird kind of play money. After the man told me the money was real, I called to verify, and the bill was real. I felt bad for needing to check, because he seemed embarrassed, but again, having never seen the actually design, part of my job would be to verify that this was a real bill. I did apologize to him for needing to check.
   Anyway, the real point that I want to get across here is that fake money is a big problem for us people in the retail field, and we aren't looking to accuse. Even when we find fake money, we fully understand that in all likely-hood, the person who handed that bill to us had no clue and is a victim. I never look to accuse anyone of anything; that is part of someone else's job description, and they are welcome to it -- I want no part of that. But we do have to check, so all I have to say is that just going with the flow is going to be less stressful and drama filled for both of us. Isn't that something we all want?

Crazy, huh? I was thinking, "What kind of monopoly money is this?"

Dear Customer; All The Things That I Wish I Could Have Said

Dear Customer,
   You might not realize this, but when I came in to work today there were not many people shopping and work was slow. But in a grocery store, there are always things to be done, and so when they asked me to help with go-backs, I willingly turned my register light off. In case you don't know, go-backs are all the items that customers decided they didn't want and gave to the cashier or stuck on some random shelf. Someone has to put them away, and they needed some help back there because of the holiday rush. Of course I agreed, better than standing at the register and twiddling my thumbs.
   I realize that when they called me up to check that we had gotten slammed. So I didn't dither; I came as fast as I could, and I took the next person in line from the register next to the one I was assigned to. See, where I work, we don't make the announcement that so-and-so register is open. I've worked in stores that did this, and what usually happens is that the person refusing to stand in line and prowling around for a new register gets in line first, so what we do is we go take a person directly from a line. This person has been waiting in line, and deserves the chance to be next. According to store policy, this is what we are supposed to do. Of course, one cashier cannot take every next person first; we are only human after all and are not capable of cloning ourselves and running multiple registers.
   I had taken the next lady in line, as I said, and had rung her up and sent her on her way and moved on to my next customer when you came up and said, "Excuse me, ma'am, can I ask you something?"
   You were so polite, and I turned to you with a smile and a, "Sure," expecting to need to direct you to whatever item you were looking for. So you can imagine my shock when you went from polite to rude and condescending. I wasn't expecting you to condemn me for not announcing a lane opening over the intercom, and I surely wasn't expecting to be queried about whether or not I knew how to do my job and if I was new to the store. Since I am female, I can go from happy to pissed faster than the speed of light, and this happened. In fact,  I was seeing red, but I was proud of the way I kept my cool and kept the smile on my face. I explained our policy to you, and explained that I had taken the next in line on a different register for the simple fact that this register was the closest to mine, so taking from that line made the most sense as all the lines were long.
   The thing is, I could see the disappointment on your face, and while I do not have psychic abilities, I do believe that you were hoping for a stammered apology from a flustered cashier or outright defiance so that you could get management involved. My calm, collected explanation gave you no opportunity to feel superior to me. My smile and friendly manner gave you no opportunity to become indignant and feel justified in your anger. You came over not to correct what you saw as a wrong, but to bully and make someone just doing their job feel small. And I feel justified in this belief, because I heard you call me a bitch as you walked away.
   But while you did make me angry, because I do get angry whenever I see someone trying to make themselves feel better by making others feel bad, you did not make me feel bad. I know my job; I know my store's policies, and I know that I did nothing to justify such rude, disrespectful behavior. And in the long run, I am glad you came to me with that bullshit, because we do have some shy wallflowers working the registers for us; some young girls who have not yet grown the thick skin that they need to function in the role of a person who works customer service in retail. I am glad you did not go to one of them; all we need is another cashier crying in the bathroom because someone was mean to them. Poor girls, they'll harden up soon, but I've already gotten there, so as  I said, I am glad that you came and blasted me and not one of them.
   And I want you to know that I also feel sorry for you. Yes, you read that right. I feel sorry for you because I just can't imagine what you are going through that makes you able to derive comfort and/or pleasure from trying to pick on an honest person just doing their job; from trying to make them feel small and insignificant. I hope that whatever is wrong, you feel better soon. Me, I already feel better, so don't worry about that at all. I have a loving family waiting at home, I have the best friends in the world, and I work with the greatest people. My life is awesome. I hope yours gets better soon.

Sincerely,
The Cashier You Tried To Pick On

Things You Shouldn't Do To Your Cashier -- Part 4

   Oh the fun we have, us cashiers. We get a bad rap sometimes, and that is what these lists are for: to set the record straight. I've said before, and I will say again, I am not a customer-hating sales clerk from Hell sent to make your shopping experience as miserable as possible. If nothing else, if I were totally self-serving, that would be bad for the hours. But despite all my retail experience, I still like people. So when the line is moving slow, these are some of the things that hold us up. If we seem unhappy, these are some of the troubles that come with the job. That's all these lists are for; setting the record straight. So again, here's a list of things that should not be done if you want to have a smooth, trouble-free shopping experience. Or if you want to help me in my never-ending quest to continue to like people.

• Confidential Information Folks -- I don't give it out: I know you are thinking info about the other cashiers, and that is true as well. I am not gonna give out any detail about them or their life or their work schedules. But I am also talking about other customers. Namely their method of payment. I am not telling you if the person in front of you used food stamps. That is private. And if you saw the card and know, I am not going to talk about it with you. It's rude, judgmental, and if the tables where turned, you wouldn't like me chatting up another customer about your private financial matters. 
• I Am Not The Bank: Cash back; it can be an issue. I would love to give you fifty ones, but I can't. I don't have enough in my drawer and I have to be able to serve the customers behind you. We are supposed to give our supervisors at least fifteen minutes notice of money needs because they are doing 5,000 things at once, and cannot just drop everything to take our cash order. If things are running smoothly, I can take at least three big order customers in that fifteen minutes -- probably more. I need change in order to make change. Makes sense, right?
• My Eyes Are Not A Debit Card Reader: I can't look at your card and tell you the balance. Yes, people do this. If you have food stamps, you have to run your card and put in your pin. If you have debit, you have to go to an ATM, the bank won't let us check that. Seems that they think your financial information should be private. Banks are funny like that. 
• Alcohol: Don't buy alcohol and then go drink it in our public restroom. Why would you do this? Why?!?!
• I Don't Need Help: When I am scanning items, I don't need you to push more items onto the scanner. This really messes things up. Usually things get double scanned and then I have to void. If I am weighing produce and bulk and you push something heavy on there, you end up paying a lot more for that weighted item unless I void it all and redo. If I void to many times, my register locks up and I have to get a supervisor key. Which means that you and every person behind you has to wait even longer. Hope you aren't in a rush. 
• Babies Cry: What the heck am I supposed to do about it? 
• Don't Give Your Kid A Toy And Then Make Me Take It Away!!!: What is wrong with you? I am not your kids' authority figure. I am my sister's kids' authority figure, but not yours. I don't even know you, and I feel like scum. That poor kid got his/her hopes all up because you handed them a toy and then you make me take it away? And now your kid is all crying and looking at me like I am a DEMON FROM HELL. Thanks for that. 
• You're Not Smiling Big Enough: If that's all you have to complain about, you have it good. Be happy.
• Code All Bulk Food Products: You want to know a secret? I don't know white rice from jasmine rice, but one is more expensive. Please code that stuff. Bulk food sections in every store that I have ever been in, working or shopping, provide pens for that very reason. And searching for the code in my register computer; that takes forever. We have multiple pages lists, and things are not always in the spot you would expect. Unless you want to wait while I look... And wait, and wait, and wait. 

   And in case you missed the first three lists, here are the links to them: List 1  List 2   List 3

This now concludes today's list of things you shouldn't do to your cashier.

What Trauma Did You Inflict On Your Nose That Made You Unable To Smell That????

  I have a real issue with something, and my sister laughs at me and calls me strange, and well, that's not really the worst thing that she has ever called me, but I digress. This issue that gives her the giggles is my pet peeve about people buying rotten potatoes, and the fact that I won't buy potatoes bagged in plastic. If I buy bagged potatoes, they have to be in netting, and I have to be able to see every single one of them. Otherwise, I am picking through the potato bin, because to me, there are no smells that I have come across that smells worse than a rotten potato.
   I know, this is strange. I can hardly blame my sister for calling me strange and a weirdo, but I work as a cashier, lets not forget. And this is relevant because all of you little food eaters, you shop at grocery stores. And most of you buy potatoes. And I have to scan those potatoes when you come through my line with them, and when they are rotten.... it's really bad.
   Have you ever smelled rotten potatoes? This is the thing that I cannot fathom: why do people keep coming through my line with a bag of potatoes that obviously has at least one bad one in it? Because that smell, really strong. To describe the smell, I would have to say imagine a three day old dead fish left in the sun to rot, except worse. How can you not smell that? My sister swears that she can't smell that, but I think maybe she killed her sense of smell somehow, because it's really strong. Sick to my stomach strong. And even worse that the smell is the amount of liquid that bad potatoes produce. They produce pools of liquid muck that carries the smell, so that when a customer slams a bag of grody decay onto my belt, the liquid oozes into the cracks of the conveyor belt, which means that I am smelling that God-awful, sick-to-my-stomach, nose-hair-melting smell ALL DAY LONG. Not to mention that when I pick up the bag, usually some of the liquid gets on my hands, and no amount of hand sanitizer removes that smell; you need a full scrub, and I am talking a ten minute surgeon scrub, not some little rinse and dry. Otherwise, that smell is going to stick to your hands and  you are going to smell that smell wherever you go, and frankly, in my own opinion, skunk smells better.
   So good luck with that stink, but me, I'll pass. These days, I've memorized all the PLU codes (codes that we enter for produce, which pulls up the price, if you didn't know) to the bagged potatoes, so if you come across the cashier frantically saying "I don't need the potatoes on the belt!!!" Well,  there's a good chance that you've met me.
   But seriously, this is why my sister calls me weird, but I am not sure that I am willing to take that from her. This woman swears that she can smell fevers, so who's the weirdo?

Conversations With Customers

  We get all types working in customer service, and when you work in a grocery environment, that is no joke or exaggeration. Everybody needs to eat, and at some point or another, everybody comes shopping for food. This means that we cashiers/checkers get into some of the most crazy, zany conversations. I know that I have, and there are certainly some that have stuck in my mind. As I like to share, I am going to record some of them in this blog post. If you are cashier/checker you'll have some of your own, but these are some of the memorable ones that I have had.

Conversation 1: Not Human

   This one was a double act. I had two separate customers talking to each other at first.

   "Everything is going up. I guess that's how it is," she said, "Nothing's free."

   "Oh, I don't know about that," the man behind her chimed in, "A man bought me a free tank of gas once because he had just won the lottery. I was at the gas station and he just offered."

   "Things like that really show you that some people are just still human and not, well, whatever they are." the woman exclaims. 

   The man gets all sly-faced and looks at me and says,"Maybe this nice lady will show us that she's really human and give us our groceries free."

   "That'd be great!" the woman exclaims.

   "Nope," I say. "I'm not human; I'm whatever they are."

  You should have seen the looks that I got. Well, whatever, I thought I was funny.  

Conversation 2: Grandpa-faced

   For some reason, when I first started working at the place that I work now, I got a lot of people who thought that I was Russian. We have a high Russian customer base, and I do have a lot of Russian coworkers, but I am not Russian. Since I was a military brat, I started out my life being raised all over the place, but when my dad retired, we permanently moved to Mississippi. I was nine at the time, and Mississippi is the place that I identify as my childhood home. But I had a lot of customers who would come up to me and just start speaking Russian at me. This was the case with two young woman, probably early 20's. They came up and just started talking away to me in their language. I looked at them, baffled, and told them that I did not speak any Russian.

   "You don't speak Russian? You aren't from Russia?" one of the girls asked.

   "Nope."

   "That's so strange," she replied."You have the face of our grandfathers."

   Well, I have a sense of humor, so I about died laughing at that one. Good to know that I'm grandpa-faced. I'm sure this was an example of a misunderstanding due to language barriers, but it was pretty funny and never let it be said that I can't laugh at myself. 

Conversation 3: The Sheep Spy

   I have this man come through my line on a fairly regular basis and though  I can't be sure, I am pretty certain that he is homeless. He is also crazy, but when he is in a good mood, he can be a pretty fun guy. The first conversation that I had with him cemented the image of the nice guy in my mind. He was carrying the huge backpack that he always have, and he looked pretty gruff and wasn't clean, so I do admit that he did make me nervous. Especially when he leaned over my counter, with a dead-serious expression.

   "Can I tell you a secret?" he asked.  

   Being the verbal genius that I am, I responded with "Uhhhhhhhh......"

   Despite my lack of enthusiasm, he gleefully responded, "I'm a sheep spy!"

   "A what?" I asked, befuddled.

   "I'm a sheep shy. Because I'm not a vegetarian!"

   "Okay," I laughed, "Me too." 

   I finished ringing him up and he paid with coins and crumpled dollars and then he exclaimed "Hey, watch this!" And he began to juggle the oranges that he had just bought. 

    He does come in really grumpy and mean, but I try to remember that he can be really fun too. It can't be a sheep-spying, orange juggling day everyday. 

    There you go: a small but colorful peek into the working life of the cashier. 

I Don't Do Bubbly

   I recently had a customer who came through my line and insisted that I was in a bad mood. I smiled at the man, and asked him how his day was, but my smile must not have been big enough, because the first thing out of his mouth was "Oh, it's been one of those days hasn't it? It's okay, you don't have to act happy for me."
  Now, I do admit, that due to the fact that we are required to smile at people when we greet them, that I do smile a lot more than normal while I am at work. And probably, that smile can seem a bit forced, especially at the end of a shift when I have been grinning like a lunatic for eight fricken hours at people who can't even
read my name tag, and insist on calling me Mary or Maria instead of Marie, but that actually doesn't mean that I am having a bad day. It just means my face hurts. Smiling may not take as much muscle movement as frowning, but try smiling for a long period of time and tell me what makes your face feel more sore. It's not going to be frowning.
   Anyway, I explained to this customer that I was fine and nothing was wrong, but he continued to insist that I was unhappy,  and I began to feel that pissy feeling: anger on a slow burn. I don't like people telling me how I feel. I am not one of those chicks who say they are fine but really, they are hoping you will press the issue. If I say I'm fine, I mean I'm fine. Don't continue to ask me twenty more times, "What's really wrong? You can tell me." No. If sometime was really wrong, and I didn't tell you the first time you asked, then I don't want you to know. It's not your business; it's my business.
   But there truly was nothing wrong this day, and I do believe that I had given this man a decent smile. But he argued that I just didn't seem 'happy enough'. Well, what is happy enough? That's what I want to know.
    This, of course, flashed me back to another time, with another company, when I was getting my yearly review. This company reviewed you on a point system. Getting a one would probably mean that you needed to start looking for another job, and fast, and getting a five meant that you were a company superstar. As I sat there getting my review, I was pretty damn pleased to get a four, until I heard the manager's reason for not giving me a five. "You need to be more bubbly, Marie," he said, "You need to smile and laugh a lot more. Customers like you, but you would be more approachable if you have a little more bounce to your step."
   Are you kidding me? I don't bubble. And it isn't like I am running around holding a bloody axe, waiting for my next victim. I am, by nature, a quiet person. I wouldn't know how to bubble if my life depended on it. My favorite color is black, the music I listen to is mostly comprised of metal and angry women, I hate pink and little yippie purse dogs, and I don't like people touching me. This doesn't mean that I give bad customer service. This means that the person representing your company doesn't look and act like Bimbo Barbie. This is a good thing. I may not bubble, but no short-change conman is gonna pull shit with me. Who would you prefer handling the company's money?

Sick And Tired Of Being Sick And Tired

   There are just some things that should not be shared. I could be all crazy and start listing random things like herpes, dog breath, details about your crusty, calloused foot, but I won't, because today, I want to talk about the cold germ. Now, I understand that sometimes you just can't stay home. My work would have a shit fit if I called out every time I caught a cold. But there are times that you can keep from contaminating the innocent person next to you (or the one having to ring up your groceries and take your money *hint, hint*).
   See, I know that sometimes you just need to stock your fridge; you've been sick for a week and your kids are fixing to skin and eat the family pet if you don't get some food in the house. Been there, trust me. And I do go to work with a cold, because my mom never let me stay home from school when I only had a cough. Not calling out over minor illnesses is something that has been engraved into my behavior, but the thing here is that I do everything possible to prevent the passing of germs to my customers. I do the 'vampire cough', ya'know, the one where you cough into the crook of your elbow, instead of your hands, which touch everything; then I pour on the hand sanitizer and make sure I'm coated up to my elbows. Plus I always turn away from my customers so that I am not coughing over their food or in their faces. So I don't think that it's much to ask that the same courtesy is applied towards me.
   What does this mean? This means please don't lean over the counter and cough in my face, which one extremely ragged and dirty looking man once did to me. I don't know if this is related or not, but about a week or two later, I came down with a monster cold that lasted a whole 3 weeks. That's a mighty big coincidence. Also, this means not wiping your dripping nose with your bare hand and then grab your money and hand that contaminated cash to me with the same hand. That would be super nice. Another thing that you shouldn't do is crook your finger at me to come closer, so that I lean over the counter only to have you whisper to me that you have laryngitis, all the while bathing my face in your disease-ridden breath. And to top it off, be purchasing a paperback and some gossip magazines and no food or medicine in sight??? Not even necessities there, and BAM!!!!! I'm sick for a month.
   I'm not saying stay out of the store, as I said, I go to work when I'm sick. I have to pay rent and buy food and give my daughter money for those stupid fund raisers, so I know that cooping yourself up in the house for the duration of your illness is not feasible. I know that. But I never try to purposely make someone ill (okay, no one except my sister, because that shit is funny and it's payback for all the daycare germs she exposes me to.) And really, what else does all this behavior seem like? Seems like purposeful contamination to me. 

6 x 6 = 25???

   As a cashier, I know that counting every single item that you have is frustrating. You told me you have 25 packs of kool-aid, and here I am, still counting. Can't I take you at your word? Let me tell you a story.
   Summer is when this happy little story takes place, high summer, BBQ weather. Corn selling at 25 cents an ear. Great price, and people can by corn in huge quantities. Boxes of corn that I have to get placed upon my overloaded belt so that I can dig around, get those strange little corn-strings scattered all over the place, especially my apron, and spend the rest of the day feeling super-duper grimy and itchy. I hate corn season. Love to eat corn; hate to sell it. I was wondering myself why I was counting all these corns and not just taking a customer at their word. I mean, usually when a person tells you they have 50 of something, that is actually what they do have, and I just look like a jackass when I count it all out.
   Then I had the customer. It's his turn at the belt and he looks at me, and without taking a single thing out of his cart, he tells me, "I have 6 bags with 6 corn in each. I have 25 corn."
    What? Not a math whiz here, but I don't think that's right.
     "I need to count your corn, sir," I tell him, and shit, even I know that my tone is a liiiiiittle bit pissy. But, I mean, come on, if you are going to scam me, at least try to be credible. I'm not dumb, regardless of what you have been trained into thinking about cashiers.
      He hands me one bag. There is nothing else in his cart but corn, the bottom is completely covered with produce bags stuffed with ears of corn meaning there is no way he only has 25, and he doesn't know his multiplication tables, but he expects to get away with just handing me one bag of his corn. Which, by the way, has more than 6 ears in it.
   "I need all the corn on the belt, sir," and now I sound super-pissy, but if the bossman gets called because of my attitude, I'm hoping he understands my situation.
   He doesn't ask for the boss, but doesn't put his corn up either. "I told you how many I have!"
   "Need them all, sir. 6 times 6 doesn't equal 25, and also, there are more than 6 in this bag."
   Oh yeah, I'm not in a good mood anymore. He still won't put the corn up, so I stalk around, slam his corn on the belt, go back behind the checkstand and start counting. Well, he has a lot more than 25. Closer to 100. Not quite, but closer. I don't know how you are going to manage to eat 100 ears of corn before they go bad, but whatever, it's your money. But if your going to lie about quantity, giving me a number so far off that you can tell just by sight that it's wrong is really dumb. Even if, for some reason, I didn't know that 6 x 6 is 36, I would know that something was up just from sight. He paid for them,  because considering that this was obviously not a mistake in counting, I didn't even ask if he wanted me to take some off and put them away. And he has never been back in my line. Scamming some other checker, no doubt. Not me.
   Unfortunately, this tale is the reason why we have to count quantity. Most customers are not lying, and sometimes there are honest mistakes, true. But there is always that jackass: the one who ruins things for everybody else. 

Stanky Money

   We have recently voted to legalize weed, which I voted against, FYI, but I was outvoted. That's okay. This is how democracy works, and just because that stanky shit was legalized, that doesn't mean that I have to start smoking the shit. Huh-uh. Have you smelled that stuff? If you are like me, and think the smell of tobacco is bad, don't get near that grass. Weed smells like skunk on fire. Gross.
   Anyway, the day after that stuff was legalized, my old neighbors from my old place celebrated. I guess they were really happy. So happy that they created cloud cover in the parking lot of our complex. I am not kidding; it looked like the fog had rolled in. How much did they smoke to do that? I can't even figure it out, but it had to be a lot, and there wasn't really any wind that day, which I guess helped. Anyway, my sister and I were instructing the kiddos to hold their breaths because we had to get them from the car to the apartment and didn't want them suffering contact highs, and I just have to say, that was wrong. You can smoke all the skunk grass that you want, but you shouldn't be smoking in such a way that your habits affect other people. There are such things as contact highs, and if you are smoking, then you know this. Thankfully, I moved, but my mom still lives there, and if that shit happens again I am going file whatever reports I need to get that to stop. There are regulations that come with this new legalization.
   But I digress. I ranted about my old neighbor, and what I was really going to talk about was the stanky money that a customer handed me the other day. Now, usually stanky money has come out of the boobs, or the undies or socks, but this came straight from her purse. So I wasn't expecting for this money to smell. But the money did smell. And what did this money smell like? Skunk weed. Oh yeah, apparently she had been hitting that wacky tobacky. And the smell was strong. I kept expecting one of my customers to go to management and complain about the smell because every time I opened my cash door that skunk smell would waft out and overwhelm me. And if I could smell the stink, I know my customers could. What did she do with that money? Rub her stash all over it? I mean, really, what do you have to do to get your money to smell like weed? That is what boggles my mind the most. And so here I was, waiting for a manager to come over and demand a drug test, because I was sure that a customer was going to march right on over to customer service and complain, but none ever did. But really, what do you do to make money smell like that? Because that smell really lingered, and lasted all day, and probably gave our bookkeepers, who are shut up in a tiny, unvented room, a contact high. The smell was that strong, and that lingering. She had to have soaked that money in her wacky tobacky. Geez, people. Keep your bad habits to yourself. 

Judgmental Intolerance Is Bullsh*t

   If you put together a list of all the things that I hate the most, intolerance would be pretty close to the top. Child abuse and rape vie for the top spot, and frankly that should tip you off to how badly I hate intolerance. I don't care who you think you are, what religion you follow, and what excuses you can make, intolerance is a poison and letting something that is a poison have sway in your life, your viewpoints, your morals, is sheer dumbassery of the highest order. 

   I can talk about all types of intolerance, and sooner or later, I probably will, but today I want to talk about the intolerance to the disabled community, because that is what I dealt with earlier today. In the job of cashier/checker/sales person, whatever you decide to call the job that I do (think lots and lots of groceries) you run into every type of person, from every walk of life. And the store I work in gets high traffic from the disabled community. We get the blind, the deaf, the wheelchair bound, the mentally disabled, and often their caretakers, be they family or professional. 

   And today a regular and his caretaker came through my line. I know them, not very well, because I don't know intimate details from their lives, but I know his name and I talk to him every time and sometimes he likes to give me high-fives after I hand him his receipt, which happened today. 

They don't all work the same.

   I would have liked to give the moron in the back of my line who was mocking him a high-five to the face. With my divider stick. The thing about my customer is that he has some type of mental disability. I don't know what, I don't think that it's autism, because I have some limited experience with that, and I don't think it's down syndrome, but his mind hasn't developed. He is an elderly man, but he's like a child. He's gone through several professional caretakers, because I see him with one person for a few months, and then someone new. I don't know why; these are things that I don't ask customers. But regardless, whenever he is in my line, he acts like a happy, energetic child. And here is this complete asshole being completely intolerant, completely judgmental, and that just pissed me off. Made me see red; made my anger want to come out and play. 

   So here I am counting, taking deep breaths, going through the anger management motions, because no matter the provocation, if I beat a customer down with one of my divider sticks, I am gonna get fired. That's the kiss of death in single mother-land, and I can just kiss my new apartment goodbye. No job = no apartment. 

   But I need to make my frustrations known, and so I am going to post them here. This blog is open to the public, anybody can read it, so maybe, just maybe, someone will read this and think twice about being an asshat. So to the guy who was mocking my customer:

   I don't know why people get a kick about picking on people who are different than them, but even if, for some unknown, unfathomable reason you think that you are better than someone; why would you waste your time on something so asinine as making them feel bad? What is the purpose? Personally, I think you do this to cover up your fear and insecurity. Mental health is a blessing, and one day you might suffer a head injury, or dementia, or Alzheimer's, or any number of things, and then you will be on the other side. Is this how you hope that people will treat you? And disability? This is something that is going to come to most of us as we age. People lose their hearing, their vision, their function of limbs all the time. Not being impaired is a passing phase: a blessing that most people take for granted. When the time comes and you are impaired, or someone you love is impaired, is this how you want society to treat you/them? Treating people like this does not make you funny, make you strong, make you better. Treating people like this makes you weak. You. Are. Weak. 

Things You Shouldn't Do To Your Cashier Part 3

   I was going to stop. I made the first list, and then I made the second list, and that was going to be all, because I don't like sounding like a customer hating biatch. But then I went to work, and my coworkers were all, "I didn't see this on the list, and this needs to be on the list." And they were right. (Thanks for the input! And thanks for reading!) The things they mentioned are completely worthy of the list. So I promised a part three; you see, this third list is really for my coworkers..... It's not just that I like to flap my fingers on the keyboard and make my opinions known to the world. And so, in collaboration with my coworkers, part three of the list:

• We Are Not A Daycare: Forget something? Need to go back and get it? Well, take the kiddos with you. Don't leave them in the care of the cashier checking your order. (Oh, yeah, happens aaaaall the time.) Do you know daycare workers are supposed to be certified? Well, I don't know about the rest of my coworkers, but I haven't taken any STARS classes (certification classes in WA, if you are not in WA, insert correct certifications here). I don't know CPR either. You kiddo chokes, about all I can do is thump him/her on the back, but even if I did know it, we are not a daycare. Watching your kid is not a part of the job we are paid to do. And really, you are awfully trusting for this day and age. As a cashier, I do not have to pass the type of background check that a daycare worker does; I could be any kind of freak. (I mean, I'm not, but how do you know that if you don't know me?) As a parent: I don't think much of your parenting skills.
• Munchies: Hungry? Have to eat your food before you get to the checkstand? Okay, I get it, food is delicious, but could you stick to eating something that does not have to be weighed? How am I gonna charge you for that product if you're busy digesting it?
• Read The Signs: This is a bad one, and unless you are illiterate, there is no excuse. My work has a no cart zone, because all of the expensive alcohol is in this teeny-tiny area; there is a place to park your carts and signs EVERYWHERE. And still, people bring in carts. If you take out one of those shelves though, you are liable to end up purchasing thousands of dollars worth of spilled liquor. No good to you on the floor, and if I buy liquor I expect to be able to actually drink it (or cook with it, as the case may be) but -- you didn't read the signs, so your liquor is getting sucked up by the mop. The mop is thirsty; the mop thanks you.
• If Your Kid Opens It, Don't Stick It Back On The Shelf: I see this all the time: usually with candy. I get that kids are fast, and the really young ones don't quite understand what they are doing (although some of the older ones do this too, and you aren't going to convince me that they don't know they are doing something wrong). But when your kid opens up a package, I'm sorry, but you need to buy it. We can't sell it now, and it's not like this was an accident. I get that sometimes they are fast and you can't stop them in time; I'm a parent too - I've been there - but you're still gonna have to suck it up and plunk down the cash. 
• But Not On A Moving Conveyor Belt!!!: Please, why on earth would you put your money, check, whatever, on a moving conveyor belt. It's gonna get sucked into the crack! Which happens to be a black hole. I had this happen with a WIC check once, and I had my manager, my supervisor, and myself totally taking my whole checkstand apart, and we still couldn't find the dumb thing, and we can't replace that. It's gone. I have never understood why people think placing money on a conveyor belt is a good idea. (Bad!!! Bad!!!!)
• No Fighting In The Store: This is not the local bar, or the set of Jerry Springer. What kind of fool gets in a fight in a grocery store? Stop sniffing the cilantro; it's messing with your head. Or else let me film it and post it on YouTube. 
• Don't Put 300 Dollars Worth Of Groceries In Your Cart When You Only Have 50: Yeah, you're optimistic. You're not gonna be able to get all that though, so why waste your time putting it in your cart, and waste mine when I have to put it back? I understand that sometimes people misjudge, and have to take a few things off -- I'm not talking about this. Nor am I talking about the unfortunates who leave their money at home on accident. I'm talking about the people who come to the line with 3 loaded down carts, and then say that they only have a tiny amount of money. You're kidding, right?

   So thus ends Part 3 of the list. This might really be the end, but it might not. I'm not gonna tie myself down one way or the other; I've learned better now. If I get a lot of good suggestions, there may just be a part 4. Why? Because these lists make me laugh, and as I said, this one wasn't even entirely from my own head. My coworkers gave me plenty of suggestions. Meaning they are reading my stuff, so why wouldn't I write about what they want to read about? 

Things You Shouldn't Do To Your Cashier Part 2

   So I've made this list before, but as I said, I left some things out in the first list (<--- link to first list.) This was because I didn't want to come off as hating all customers, because I don't. Mainly, however, the blog was getting really long and no one wants to read a 10 page article on things that get on cashiers' nerves. Yet, in retrospect, I think that I have left some things off that I feel are major pet peeves, so here is part 2. Without further ado, enjoy the list:

• No Underwear Money: So gross. I've been handed money from bras and I can tell you this: no matter how hot you think you are, boob sweat is gnarly. Dudes are actually the ones who usually hand money straight from the underwear; they don't have bras to stash their cash, and all I can say is: guys, would you want to handle money that's been possibly rubbing up against some strange ball sacks? No? Neither does your cashier: get a wallet. Last, I am going to include socks. Not really underwear, but money that smells like funky foot reeks a cash drawer out. Keep your toe jam, boob sweat and ball sack cooties to yourself!!!
• No Flirting: I know this seems harmless, but I don't appreciate being hit on while I am trying to be professional. Professionalism doesn't come naturally to me, but if you are the type who can gracefully accept a no or evasion, then this really doesn't apply to you. I had a coworker who was hit on by a customer, and he wouldn't leave her alone, and when she finally told him to back off, he went and complained to management about how unfriendly she was. Not cool!!! Shame, shame, knows your name (did anyone else grow up with that chant?)
• WIC Checks!!!!: For those of you that do not get WIC, this program is for pregnant and nursing women, infants, and children up to 5 years of age. The checks have a specific list of items and amounts that the person can get. These checks are time consuming, even when the owner of the check gets the items right. But many people try to replace items, in order to get things that they like better. WIC does not allow this, so please! Don't do it. And if another store lets you get Fruitloops (so not allowed), don't expect me to do it; I don't work there and I wanna keep my job. Go to that other store, fruitloop, and stop slowing me down. 
• WIC Checks Again!!!!: These suckers can be a real problem. And this is an ID issue, we saw several of these issues in the first list. WIC requires picture ID or a signed WIC folder. Notice the stress that I have put on signed. The folder is not valid ID if it is not signed before you come into the store.
• Don't Tell Me An Item Is Free: An item doesn't scan the first time, the customer invariably exclaims "Must be free!" No, and I know that (most of) you are joking, but I hear this so many times a day. The joke is tired. 
• We Get Breaks And We Get To Go Home: It's always ugly when a lane closes. I understand that you don't want to wait in line, but you need to understand that by law, I get breaks. I don't come to your place of work and razz on you when you get to take your break. And I don't live at work; when the time has come for me to go, I get to leave. I have a little girl waiting at home, a sitter waiting to be relieved, and a million household cares to take (ha! -->) care of. 

   So here are the additions to things that you should not do to your checker, and a lot of you are great and wouldn't do these things. I appreciate the fact that you wouldn't! If everybody had that attitude, then I wouldn't need to make these lists! Of course, then I wouldn't be able to write up these long lists, but I can find other things to write about. So lets not do these things and I'll spend my time writing about demonic, possessed furniture and evil furbies. Shiny! (Yup, I am watching Firefly as I write this.)

The Truth About Foodstamps

   I once had a customer come through my line, and she bought a massive amount of food, almost $1,000 dollars worth of every food you could think of. The man behind her was just joking around, he had a big grin and meant no harm (which is not always the case, people can be crazy nasty), "You must be shopping for an army for a month."
   "Oh no!" she says, "This isn't even half of it either. I have 9 kids. I never knew that the state would pay me so good to have all these kids. I don't have to work; I wouldn't work in a place like this for nothing." (And thanks for shitting on my job as you feed the foodstamp stereotype.)She swiped a food card and he had a look of disgust on his face. And I really just want to thank that woman for giving all people who use this program a bad image. Foodstamps is not payment for having more kids than you can afford, and yes this really happened: no joke, no exaggeration. Foodstamps is a program for the disabled, those who are in hard times and those in crisis. They are for people who need help, not people who won't lift a finger to help themselves. And there is a stigma attached to those who need government programs; so when you treat these programs like career options, and view your children as potential raises, you feed the stereotype that contributes to the stigma that we all face when asking for help. We all get judged by the way we look and not by the reality of our situation, something that this woman had fed by her callous referral to the programs that supported her as her 'job'.
   I've been on foodstamps. For one year, and I was actually raised against them, so it was very hard for me to swallow my pride and ask for help. I cried, seriously cried, heartbroken, when I left the DSHS office. I was glad for the help, but mortified that I was in a position where I needed the help. And I am not the only one.
   One story involves another customer, a woman in a business suit, who came in with foodstamps. She had no clue how to run her card. The card works just like a debit, but she wasn't aware of that; she had never been on the program before. Her 21 year old son had suffered a brain aneurysm that left him unable to do anything for himself, permanently crippled. She was now his caretaker. She told all this to me with tears in her eyes because she had just left DSHS, and had been treated badly by the DSHS office, people who should know better. She didn't understand why. Don't judge her for spilling her guts to me, because I was, and still am, sympathetic with her plight. She had been through something hard and needed to vent. I just think that the fact that she got some empathy from her cashier instead of her caseworker is a travesty and a perfect example of the flaws with the system.
   Things can go wrong in an instant, and you can lose everything. She had nice business clothes, but this is because she had worked in a nice office. She lost that job because of the amount of time that she had to take off to care for her son, who had and then was in recovery for a brain aneurysm. She was suing for her job back, but these things take time, and in the meantime, bills were going unpaid, she lost her house, and needed to eat. Because of the income trouble, she was also having a hard time paying the lawyer, so who knows if she managed to get her job back.
   One problem that she faced was that she was being judged by how she looked. People treated her like she shouldn't need help and was taking advantage of resources that they didn't think she deserved. Sure, she had nice clothes. So what? Used clothing only sells for a bare fraction of what they cost, and if she had sold all of the clothing to fit the 'image' of poor, she probably would have had to spend the amount she had made selling her old clothing just buying new clothes, which is not cheap, even from places like the Good Will, and makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. Why buy what you already have just so you can fit a preconceived image? People were judging her only because of how she looked, and not her actions or her circumstances. Could she have been feeding me a load of baloney when she told me about her son? Sure. Do I believe her? Yes, because I have seen this in action. She was judged solely based on the way she looked, and she looked more prosperous because she used to be more prosperous. Her family, however, was in a terrible crisis, something that you couldn't see just by looking at what she wore.
   I am in the process of earning a BA for Human Services, and I can tell you that I have seen cases, true case studies for us to examine and dissect for our studies, where wrong assumptions were made based on appearance. And it's not like there aren't people out there who fully abuse and take advantage of the system, and they give everybody a bad image of what people who receive government services are like. Many of us want to be off of those services as soon as possible. And case workers: they can treat you badly. I know that my case worker made a lot of jokes at my expense, and made me feel like I was the shit that he scraped off of his shoe. I have been off of those programs for several years now, and I am heart-glad. I feel for those who are on those programs, and are not abusing them, because they have to deal with the stigma that comes along with the help, and often are judged only on how things look, like my second example, and not on how things are. My first example was an abuser, but my second, well-dressed lady, she was suffering, and my heart bled for her. I have never seen her since that one time, but I hope that she is doing as well as her circumstances allow. Seeing your grown child permanently impaired because of a brain aneurysm cannot be easy.

Things You Shouldn't Do To Your Cashier

   Everybody likes lists. I'm the most unorganized person ever, and I still love lists. I don't know why; I rarely ever follow lists -- unless it's a To Read list. (Books!!!!) And if it's a banned book list, even better - I will read every single book on the list. But this is not that type of a list. This is a list of things that you should not do to your cashier. We're people too, and we don't like being treated badly anymore than the next person. And a mean, rude customer just makes being nice to the next customer that much harder. So here's my list. Mostly the majority of you are going to read this and just think "Who would do that anyway?" But unfortunately, all these things are on this list because I have experienced them. (They are not in any real order.)

• No TMI (too much information): Yes, we ask how you are doing or how was your day, and I'm not saying don't answer. I'm not even saying don't tell me something about your life. What I am saying is don't tell me that it's been 6 months since the last time you got laid, or that your hemorrhiods are itching so badly that you want to scrape your ass across the floor like a dog. Ew. Why do I want to know this? Nobody wants to know this.
• Complain About Checking Speed: We go as fast as we can. Sometimes we are  not as fast as Cheetara (Thundercats, hoooooooo!!!!) but our efficiency is measured. They have programs that measure all that, and though I do not work at Thundercat speeds, I am always above what I need to be, yet I still get that customer that complains that I am slow. And don't complain that I am going to fast. We are required to go at at least the minimum speed and there is a minimum sales that we are required to at least hit, if not do better than. They really do have programming that measures all that. And I've had complaints both ways. What's a checker to do? What makes the bossman happy, that's what.
• Wait For the Person In Front of You Before You Start Loading!!: I absolutely hate when people start slamming their groceries down on the belt before the people in front of them are done unloading their cart. It is rude. Where are they supposed to put their groceries if you take all the room? And if the person in front of you has a short temper? Well, don't look at me, line-cutter. I'm just here to check. Mediation is not in my job description, plus, I'm not on your side on this one.
• Check Writing, Don't Get Mad: We are required to check your ID. Each and every time. Some stores have a system or something that keeps regular customer's info on file. Ours doesn't, and the only people who are kept on a file in the system are the ones who have written bad checks. Now, do you really want to convince me that you are in our system? Each store has it's own set of policies, so don't assume that because one store does things one way, that a different store will be the same. If you really don't want to whip out that ID, use your debit card or pay with cash. There are options. 
• IDs Again. What Is It About IDs That Rile People So Much? We need to card you if you are buying alcohol. Do you know the consequences of selling to a minor? Or not carding a person conducting a sting? Harsh. I need my job, and I can't afford to pay 2,000 dollar fines -- Washington's consequences When I worked in Florida, you got an automatic night in jail -- no bail. YIKES!!! (Plus, I don't want to sell to minors!) And if I don't card you? You obviously aren't under 21. There are very attractive people over the ages of 50, so it isn't a snub to your looks. But when you waste time griping me out for not carding you? The only thing I am thinking is "Really, Methuselah!?" Rude, I know, but in my defense, I was pushed to it, and I don't actually say it.
• Don't Tell Me I Don't Have A Real Job: This happens, and it's crazy rude. I say, "How are you?" Customer says, "Tired, but I have a real job." Or some variation thereof. This has happened to both myself and many of my coworkers. What exactly is wrong with my job? Checking is honest work. Not rocket science, but how many of you are actually rocket scientists? Don't judge me. I do what it takes to support my family, and being a cashier is not disgraceful. At any rate, I have never been so insecure about my work that I had to go try and make other people feel like shit about their jobs. 

Oh, I could go on, and on, and on, but I won't. I don't want to sound like all customers are bad. Most customers aren't, and there are certainly the great ones, that I love to see: my cherished regulars. But those few bad ones can ruin a whole day. I don't want to be the pissy cashier that is rude to her customers. In fact, I try really hard not to be that cashier, but we are only human folks -- we have bad days. Sometimes these bad days can be avoided. This avoidance is the purpose of this blog. I'd much rather laugh and have a good time with you than be giving you the stink eye and plotting to squish your bread and break your eggs. 

'Merry Christmas' Gets A Bad Rap

   It's the day of Christmas Eve, and like every Christmas Eve, I find myself working. Luckily, the store closes at six, and doesn't open at all on Christmas Day, and I'm thankful, because I know there are poor unfortunates out there who have to give up their holiday so the companies that they work for can squeeze in every drop of profit. My store doesn't though; we get our Christmas Day.
   All season long I've been politically correct and Happy Holidaying people left and right, because I know that there are other holidays out there, and I respect that. But today it is actually Christmas Eve, and while I'm glad that my store closes early, I could be doing other family things. I have a daughter at home waiting for me with baited breath because Santa is coming. There are cookies to bake, dinner to eat, stockings to hang by the chimney with care, sugar plums to have visions of (what the heck is a sugar plum, anyway?) and all that holiday magic. She has been waiting forever, and she wants me home, but I'm at work. And on Christmas Eve, I flat out refuse to happy holiday people. This is Christmas. Merry Christmas. This is my time for celebration, and how are you going to refuse me, on the actual days of my celebration? Even if you don't celebrate, you could just take my exuberant Merry Christmas as my heartfelt desire for you to have a fabulous day. You do not have to act like I spit in your face and kicked you in your shins. I mean, I have the temper for it, but I didn't. And for all your talk of freedom of religion and freedom of speech, you sure don't mind shitting all over my freedoms. Thanks. And congratulations, because those fanatics that you say you hate? Those delusional Jesus Freaks that you like to make fun of? Well, you're just like them, enforcing your beliefs on me by not allowing me to openly celebrate my holiday. I don't care what you believe, and I've been Happy Hanukkahing and Good Solsticing (and I don't even really know what that is) until I am blue in the face, so I think that turn about is fair play. So all I have to say to you is:

Merry Christmas!!!!

  May you have a fantastic holiday, whatever you celebrate. And may I have a very, Merry Christmas.