Hot Dog Stand Hell

   I don't like working in the food service industry. There are several reasons for that; I don't have the personality that is needed to be a server in a restaurant, and I don't give a shit whether or not you want a booth. My brief stint as a waitress has given me a lot of respect for those who are servers; they take a lot of shit and they take it with a smile. But needless to say, when I started working in retail, I thought food serving was behind me.
   Eventually, my career path led me to grocery stores. My first experience in retail had more to do with tanning salons and video rental -- not groceries. I like groceries better. Video rental died with the advent of Netflix and Redbox, and tanning salons are gross. But I did not expect to find myself serving hot food again, especially after switching to grocery and steering clear of the deli. Deli and meat departments are the two departments I have 0% experience in.
    But in the grocery store I worked at while I still lived in Florida, for some reason unknown to me, management decided we were going to have a little side business and open a hot dog stand in the front sidewalk of our store. Beats the hell out of my why anyone thought that this was a good idea, but they ran with it. Before us lowly employees had time to sneeze, management had one of those little mobile food trailers rented -- the kind of little trailers that you see at fairs and sometimes at farmer's markets.
   And I had a manager that volunteered me for everything. Need help in the pharmacy? Marie will do it. Need an assistant in floral? Marie will do that. Need someone to learn to cut up the fresh fruit bar? Well, Marie will do that too. He even put me on the early morning cleaning crew, and waking up at 3 a m to get ready to spend the early morning deep cleaning check stand sucks. But I wasn't surprised when I found out he had scheduled me for a day in the hot dog stand. As the person who had hired me, he knew that I had a food service background. He just didn't know that my food serving skills reeked worse than month-old crusty gym socks.
    But I actually try to be willing and a good sport, so after giving him the glare-of-death, I submitted to a shift in the stupid hot dog stand. Which in the first place, was an oven. Florida, remember? In the summer. Heat. So much heat that you could literally crack open an egg and fry it on a car hood. And I was stuck in a tin food trailer with a fan and a bottle of water. Thanks.
   The second problem? Guess what they gave me to cook the hot dogs with? A grill? A pot of boiling water? Nope. They gave me a effing crock-pot. Have you ever cooked hot dogs in a crock-pot? I had never done it. And when you have a line of people all happy to be getting a hot dog for a buck, cooking hot dogs in a crock-pot is not the way to do things. Crock-pots, as you all know, are slow cookers. And not surprisingly, they cook hot dogs very, very slowly.
    Which means that I kept getting yelled at by people because they wanted these hot dogs fast. And they all had issues with the toppings. We had ketchup and mustard and relish, but we also had frozen onions pulled from the freezer section. And people would scoop up the onions out of this frozen bag, and then complain that they were frozen. Which just got a disdainful "duh" from me. I kinda always thought that if something looked like it was frozen, you would assume that it was frozen. I guess I'm silly like that. Also, apparently I was under-cooking the hot dogs. Having never cooked hot dogs in a crock-pot, and having been given no guidelines, I wasn't sure how long to cook them for. Oops.
    That was bad enough, but the day got worse. Sometime while I was trapped in the metal furnace of hot dog hell, I was bitten by a spider. Spider bites are no fun. They swell to huge sizes, and they get all hot, and they hurt. Those spiders have freaking fangs, and the one that bit me must have been a good size because you could see the mark.
   In case that wasn't enough, someone drove right into the damn trailer while I was in the thing. The trailer was too big to fit onto our front sidewalk, so they put the thing out in the parking lot up front, and some asshole came along and drove right into the side of the trailer. One minute I was grumpily trying to cook hot dogs in a crock-pot, and the next minute the whole trailer was rocking wildly back and forth and hot dog water was sloshing everywhere, and then I was jumping out the side door trying to shout , "Abandon ship!!!" while I laughed my ass off. My manager was not amused, but damn it, I was free!!! I would take that freedom by any means necessary. Even if freedom meant the trailer getting rammed by some elderly person who couldn't see while I was still inside of it. (No one was hurt, not even the elderly guy.) Aaaaaah, sweet freedom. And that was my last stint in food serving service. The hot dog trailer was not damaged, but the next day was manned by some other poor soul. 

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.