I work at a “big-box” store like Target or Wal*Mart. I am a cashier. This is a pretty low-pressure, non-demanding job (the kind I can call in sick to whenever I feel like), which is perfect for me, a college student, at the moment. My co-workers (team members) are pretty much all decent enough and I get along with them just fine most of the time. The only factor that occasionally makes me hate the job is YOU. Yes, asshole customers, you come in several varieties, but you are all very much the same.
This is an umbrella term for a diverse array of predominantly female asshole customers. The Standard Bitch isn’t trying to piss me off, it just comes naturally. It’s a tone of voice, a look, or a non-response to my standard friendly greeting that makes you an asshole customer. I’m paid to ring up your shit, not deal with your attitude.
The College Bitch is generally a more ditzy kind of whore, one who is always friendly to the cashier, but displays her bitchiness in her conversation with others. A common College Bitch scenario: “Oh I’m fine, thanks.” She turns to her friend, “So, is daddy going to pay for this stuff or is it going to be mommy this time?” This is always said with a sly smile on the face and a fistful of credit cards in the hand. The College Bitch is mostly a bitch because I HAVE TO WORK IN ORDER TO GO TO SCHOOL. Do you really need another pair of novelty-sized sunglasses, Paris? Do us all a favor and get on the pole already. We’d rather see you there now when your tits are still perky than later when you’re saggy and your parents have cut off your stupid ass.
–The Kid with His Own Money
Jesus Hulkamaniac Christ, parents! Stop giving your kids money to give to me. I understand that little Timmy has to learn how to deal with money eventually, but please lets not play this little game in a busy store like mine. My job is to ring up your shit and get you out the door so I can ring up the next asshole and get HIM out the door. I don’t want to wait for five fuckin’ minutes while your snot-nosed little bastard tries to figure out that he needs to give me FOUR dollars when something is $3.95. I will not baby-talk your kid or help them in any way, and if you give me a nasty look because of that, I’ll remember it and secretly break your shit next time I’m baggin for you.
–The Confused Foreigner
If you don’t know how our money works in this country, what are you doing shopping by yourself? Every time I have to pick the correct change out of the pile in your quivering palm because you forgot that the little silver ones are 10 cents and the big ones are 25, I’m going to accidentally ring up something twice. The red bar is used to indicate separate transactions, by the way. Use it. Do not tell me that your Enfamil and Pedialyte were supposed to be on a different credit card as I am handing you the receipt for them. Oh, and your items cost a couple dollars more than the tag said because of a little thing called sales tax. Dumbass.
“The sign said it was $12.99 or something, not $24.99!” Bullshit. I used to let you slide if your lie seemed reasonable or was within about $5 of the actual price, but I’m done with that now. If you don’t want to pay full price, leave it on the shelf. And don’t raise your fucking voice like I’M the mother fucker that sets the prices. I just ring the shit up. Your other favorite lie is “The sign said 50% off.” When I inform you that ALL of our clearance items have a sticker clearly stating the clearance price including all markdowns, you panic or get angry and thrust the item at me, saying that you don’t want it in that case.
–The Indecisive Shopper
You are usually also a Bitch, and decide at the last moment that you don’t want half of the shit in your shopping cart! “I changed my mind on these, I’m going to wait on this, I don’t want these any more, I meant to put this back.” Fuck you. If you don’t really want it, don’t bring it to me! “How much is that? Really? Well I don’t want it.” Who puts things in the cart without looking at the price? Who waits until they are at the POINT OF SALE to see how much a thing is? Give me a break!
–The Slow Mother Fucker
I can see you coming a mile away. You’re old, or young, or foreign, or just plain fucking retarded and can’t seem to figure out how this whole shopping dealie works out. You generally wait until I tell you the total to pull out your wallet or purse, then have a lengthy internal dialogue with yourself about which method of payment might be best to use at this particular time. Once you have decided, you write a check or try to insert your card upside-down into the reader for about 3 minutes. After I finally get your payment passed through and hand you the receipt, it takes you a good 5 minutes to gather up your bags and finally leave the fucking register. I would like to break your legs. At least then you’d have a reason to be so damn slow.
–The Clearance Shopper
Everything you buy is on clearance. Does your family know? Do you really need 15 plastic napkin rings for $.12 a piece?
You always talk to me about how long I’ve been here, when my next break is, when I’m leaving, what it’s like working here, etc. You tell me you used to work in retail so you know how it can be, all sympathetic-like. You annoy me and I’m going to accidentally drop your things onto the dirty floor.
–The Cell Phone Talker
You refuse to call the person back in two minutes when we’re through. You insist on screaming into the phone or, worse, laughing the entire time I’m dealing with you. Hang up for a sec, okay? You can tell Roscoe P. Fuckwater about your sexual escapades when you see him at the AA meeting next week. The fact that you are distracted by conversation means that you won’t notice the double charges I accidentally on purpose made while ringing up your shit, though. So it’s not all bad, I guess.
–The Church Fuck
Nothing is worse than when churchy-types try and push their beliefs on you, except maybe when you are required by your job to be friendly to them. Generally you, a Church Fuck, will wait until I have handed you the receipt to give me two pieces of paper and tell me “I want to invite you to come to this function we’re having..” This caught me off gaurd the first couple of times it happened. I’ve gotten used to you old hags now though, and have since formulated the following response to your invitation: As I am tearing the paper in half and discarding it, I shall state “No thank you, Ma’am, I do not believe in your god.” I will then turn to the next customer and remark about how batshit nutty you must be to try and convert me while I’m on the god damn (pardon the pun) clock. If you come back and try your shit again, I’ll have you removed from the building for soliciting.
–The Last Minute Shopper
You run into the store five minutes before closing time and grab a shopping cart! You need a ton of shit and need it TONIGHT! You can’t wait until tomorrow morning because you have to stock up on pop-tarts and deodorant NOW. You make me stay in the store long after closing time, and I secrectly openly wish that you die in a car wreck on the way home. You also invariably have a problem with payment. Either you don’t have your credit card or don’t have your ID or need to take shit off the order so your cash will cover it.. it’s never just a smooth transaction! And you never realize that you’re unprepared until I have spent 10 minutes ringing up all of your shit. That’s ten minutes that you’re keeping me away from my house, my girlfriend, and my bed. You don’t know it, and obviously don’t care, but I gotta still DO SHIT after the store closes, and you’re holding me up! Die already!
–The Clothing Asshole
You buy a shitload of clothing and refuse to put it on the conveyor belt, saying that it’s too dirty. You want the hangars on, but want the clothes folded. You bitch at me about needing to wear them and not wanting wrinkles. Guess what, cheap-ass? You’re supposed to fucking wash clothes before you wear them. This means a trip to the dry cleaner for your business attire to have it pressed, or a 15-minute wash cycle when you get home. Stop being a lazy prick and just fucking deal with it. This isn’t Banana Republic. I’m not paid to fold your shit, just to ring it up, throw it in a bag, and take your money.
So there you have it, a brief look into what we, the people that ring up your shit, must deal with every day. Please do not be an asshole customer. I really don’t want to charge you twice.
Sourced from craiglist.org