The Hazards of Being a Cashier
There’s a post over at xoJane by a woman who used to be a cashier for Whole Foods and she’s telling her “tales from the trenches.”
In that article, she recounts some of the (terribly rude) ways that customers have mistreated her, and then she says this:
And I’m comfortable saying generally that Whole Foods customers are THE WORST.
Maybe the pervasive sense of entitlement is a product of their own economic insecurity. Maybe the pronounced class distinctions between the customers and employees make it easier to dehumanize the workers. Maybe shopping at Whole Foods makes customers feel so good about themselves that they forget it takes more than reusable bags to not be a terrible person.
I’m not here to dispute her experiences or get into some sort of contest over who has had the worse customer service experiences, but I am here to say that I don’t think it’s just pronounced class distinctions that give customers the false entitlement to treat store employees like the underclass.
I have this theory.
People are just so damn inconvenienced by having to be marginally polite to other human beings. It’s truly a burden to have to spend their day interacting with people in a way that’s considered socially acceptable, but there is one place where those rules can be broken down, and that place is the beautiful world of retail.
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| Finally, an end to the madness. |
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not every customer. In fact, it’s not even most customers. Most people are normal and fine and just want to pay their money and go away. Some people are not normal, but they’re chatty and happy and trying to make friends in the grocery line. That can be weird, but it’s not mean.
And I also understand that cashiers can be mean, too.
But I worked as a cashier/service desk associate/customer service manager for two and a half years during my undergraduate days. The interactions I had with people during that time were insane. They were crazier than the interactions I had with basically any other job I had before or since. (Those jobs include serving beer at a golf course, working with behaviorally-challenged kids, and serving fast food). Here is a small sampling:
- “You sure are chipper, ain’t ya?” That’s what a man said to me, glaring cruelly, as I bagged up his groceries, smiled, and told him to “Have a nice day.” It was not a compliment. He practically spit it at me, as if my refusal to be miserable was a personal affront to his shopping experience.
- The Fish Pick-Up: Ladies, let me tell you the secret to “hooking” a man. See, I was an incredibly friendly (some would say “chipper”) cashier. This is because being mean to people drags me down, and working an eight-hour shift as a cashier is enough of a drag already, so I had to balance it out. I was working the late-night shift when a man and woman came through with a bag of fish. The man is the one who sat the fish on the belt, so I guess he was sort of the one I was giving my “Did you find everything all right?” spiel to, but really it was mindless chatter they could both enjoy. As I handed him his fish, I told him that there was a 72-hour guarantee and if they died they could bring them back with a receipt. Then I told them to have a nice night. His wife leaned over the register at me, gave me her best “bitch, I’m gonna kill you” look and snarled “He’s married, so you know!” Apparently “Hey, if your fish die, keep the receipt” is the hot new pick up line. I was seriously worried that she was going to be waiting for me in the parking lot. And I’m not trying to be judgmental, but this was definitely not a man I was going to be trying to snag, married or otherwise.
- I’m Going to Arkansas! As I was working the service desk one day, a man came up with a bag of raw chicken pieces. He slapped it down on the counter and said, “Give me my money. I’m filling up the gas tank and going to Arkansas.” I asked for a receipt and he said, “Just put it on one of ‘em little cards. It’s going straight in the gas tank anyway.” I calmly explained that without a receipt he could only exchange it for food (because of EBT rules). He started to argue with me, but then he gave up and wandered off toward the grocery section, leaving me with an increasingly-mushy bag of chicken. I felt like something was off and thought about calling a supervisor, but I figured he’d just go grab some food and life would go on. A few minutes later he appears doing what can only be described as a swagger carrying a case of beer. I sigh. “Sir, beer’s not food. You can only exchange food without a receipt for other food products.” The man–I kid you not–hoists himself up on the service desk counter with one arm and swings at me with the other. Another (male) cashier was behind the counter picking up returns and got in between us, telling the man he needed to calm down. I grabbed the phone to call a manager, and the guy saw me, grabbed his chicken, and ran off. I hope he made it to Arkansas.
- Then what are you doing here? A guy came through my line and I gave him the usual “How are you today?” Instead of the expected but oh-too-rare “fine,” I got a (no exaggeration) three minute list of maladies ranging from a torn ligament in his knee to a cataract to work stress. He ended his monologue with a smug “but you didn’t hear a word of that because you didn’t really care how I was when you asked.” I was feeling snarky, so I repeated his entire list of complaints back to him, in order, and his jaw literally dropped. Puzzled by this turn of events, he took his receipt and said, “If you’re that smart, you shouldn’t be working here” and walked off. Creep.
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