Holy carp and other assorted fish! Y’all won’t believe what happened to me today!
Let me set the scene for you: I was on my way home from the range when I decided to stop by my local supermarketto grab lunch for the next few days. Ham sandwiches are boring, but they’re easy to throw together when you’re staggering out of the house at an ungodly hour of the morning. But that’s not the point. Point is, when I go food shopping, I like to use the self-checkout lines if at all possible. Nothing against the cashiers, but I prefer self-checkout because a) it tends to be faster and b) I can avoid the looks of horror/disbelief/fear/disgust/some combination thereof when I buy a firearms-related periodical from our newsstand. This area really isn’t all that 2A friendly.
Anyway, I grab what I need and head for the self-checkout lanes… and there’s a line at least 10-12 people deep. And as I get closer, I can see the backup is caused by a combination of people who can’t read the big “20 ITEMS OR LESS” signs and people who can’t follow simple directions on a touch screen. So off to the cashier lanes it is. I find one with two people in it, both of whom have relatively small numbers of items in their carts, so I tuck into the back and wait.
Customer #1 is a, what’s the politically-correct term this week?, elderly woman. Once the cashier finishes scanning and bagging her purchases, she says “I have coupons,” reaches into her enormous handbag, and pulls out an envelope that is literally overflowing with coupons. I can see the poor cashier’s heart drop into her shoes as Custy 1 starts rummaging through the envelope and pulling out coupons. None of which are for this store. I swear, this dingbat must have had coupons for every single supermarket and food store in the state… except this chain. And wait, it get’s better: she couldn’t understand why the poor cashier couldn’t accept her coupons. Actually, that’s an understatement: she got downright belligerent, yelling and screaming and hooting and hollering, to the point where both the front-end manager and the store manager came over to see what all the commotion was about. Seems Custy 1 believed that all food stores are owned by the same “Corporate masters,” (her words), therefore we should accept all coupons, even if they’re not from our store. News flash: we’re not, therefore we can’t. And there’s no way to override our computer system to let it accept competitors’ coupons.
So long story short, Custy 1 spent a good ten minutes screaming and b*tching out her poor cashier before deciding our company is staffed by “f***ing racist Nazis!” (again, her words, and she was white btw) before storming off without any of her food. So Poor Cashier, who was visibly shaken at this point, had to void out her entire purchase (which turned out to be pretty substantial actually) and call over someone from the customer service desk to re-shop everything before she could get to Customer #2.
Now Customer #2, in contrast, was a young male, my age or more likely a few years younger. Old enough to know how the world works. Poor Cashier rings up his purchases no problem, and once she finishes, he scans his Discount Club Card. And then just stands there, waiting. Poor Cashier tells him his total, he says “okay,” and continues to just stand there.
“Will you be paying with cash or card?” Poor Cashier asked.
“What are you talking about?” Custy 2 says, “I just scanned my card.”
Cue my inner facepalm.
Poor Cashier tries to explain to this guy that you can’t pay with a Discount Club Card, and that it’s not the same as a credit card, but this ignoramous doesn’t get it. They go back and forth for a good five minutes, Custy 2 becoming ruder and more irate by the second, before Poor Cashier can call the front-end manager back over. Front end manager tries to explain it to the guy, but he still won’t hear it. After another few minutes, Custy 2 pulls out his cell phone sends someone a text, and just stands they’re smugly after informing Poor Cashier and Front End Manager that “now they’re gonna get it.”
A minute later, who comes storming up to the counter but Custy 2’s Mother. Yes, you read that correctly: a grown-ass man called his mother, who was waiting for him IN THE FREAKING PARKING LOT!!!! to come to his rescue. Mommy Dearest then proceeds to scream at Poor Cashier and call her all sorts of horrible things (the r-word was among the lesser insults) before Front-End Manager can explain what happend. And what does Mommy Dearest do? Yell and scream at Poor Cashier while pulling out her credit card to pay for her son’s groceries.
All in all, it took me nearly a half-hour to get through the checkout line. I couldn’t leave because some bubble-headded bleach-blone soccer mom, who was glued to her brand-new iPhone the entire time, had pulled her cart in behind me and refused to let me pass. As in she physically blocked me with her cart every time I tried to leave the line.
Poor Cashier looked like she was ready to cry by the time she scanned my half-pound of ham. I told her, “Don’t worry, I have a brain that works, so I know which coupons work here and that a Discount Club Card is not the same thing as a credit card.” That got her to laugh a little bit, thank God. Honestly, I wish I could have done more, but when I’m not at the range or working on my blog (*snerk!*), I work at that self-same grocery store. Putting those custys in their place, even off the clock, would almost certainly have cost me my job.
But seriously, holy carp on a stick! How in the heck do idiots like that manage to survive childhood? The coupon thing I get, sort of, but that said the way Custy 1 treated Poor Cashier was totally out of line. And Custy 2? Calling his MOM, when he’s a freaking grown man, to come to his rescue?! And Mom not only backing him up, but outright verbally assaulting Poor Cashier?! What on God’s Green Earth is WRONG with these people.
Ye gods and little fishes. And my folks don’t understand why I come home from work some nights with smoke pouring out my ears.
Do my a favor: my readers who don’t work retail and won’t put their jobs on the line by doing so: the next time y’all see some arseholes treating a Poor Retail Slave like what I saw today, put ’em in their place. Cry ‘havoc’ and let slip the dogs of war, so to speak.
Until then, peace.