I once worked at a pharmacy chain. To give some idea of how long ago this was, digital photography was in its infancy — a six-megapixel photo was state-of-the-art — and one-hour photo processing was in its heyday. I worked in the photo department, which doubled as customer service and the complaint department. Managers had to do all refunds since they required a key. The problem was that most managers didn’t enjoy having to put up with the typical customer who wanted refunds and would often try to put it off if there was anybody else, customer or otherwise, who they could possibly help.
(I owe that job a certain debt of gratitude; it taught me a lot about how to deflect blame from myself to people higher up the chain of command… where it usually belonged.)
One day, the PA system decided that it was being too quiet when employees used it to page, and suddenly, any announcement we made was loud enough to be heard at the fast food drive-thru next door. (I’m guessing a software update of some sort went sideways.) I managed to figure out within a day or so that holding the phone backward but otherwise speaking normally when paging would result in the PA producing a more reasonable volume, as opposed to trying to find the right distance and vocal volume that worked. I shared this with my coworkers, and it became the new norm for paging announcements.
Thus began my reign of terror over the management team.
Nothing had changed about their lack of enthusiasm in handling refunds, but when they tried to pretend I didn’t exist, I would pull out my trump card: “Do I need to turn this phone around and page it? Because I’ll do it.” It was usually enough to convince them to stop ignoring the angry Entitled Jerks and quickly finish up with whatever they were doing.
One particular manager decided he was going to call my bluff one day. He finished up with the customer he was working with and came by to let me know he was going on break, having waited for the refund customer to be about twenty feet away looking at something. I waited for the door to the employee area to close and then went over to the customer — an entitled jerk through and through, and I honestly don’t really blame [Manager] for not wanting to deal with her. I suggested she might want to plug her ears.
I then followed through on my threat.
Me: *Over the PA* “MISTER [MANAGER] TO PHOTO FOR A REFUND.”
The entire store went dead silent for a good four or five seconds. Even the muzak was quieted for a moment while the software parsed what I had just done to the PA.
[Manager] came out, did the refund, gave me the dirtiest look you can imagine, and went back to take his break.
Fast forward a few weeks. The PA still hadn’t been fixed. Other managers, having heard that I was, in fact, not afraid to follow through on my threats of excessive volume, practically materialized from the aether — sometimes several at once — as soon as I made the page that I needed one of them to help a customer.
The one I actually did abuse the eardrums of, on the other hand, had not learned his lesson and was again taking his time in coming to my counter to issue a refund. (It was for one of my regulars, not the same customer. That would have been too poetic.) [Manager] lazily strolled right past my counter toward the stockroom, saying he’d be back in a few. I again offered the threat of turning the phone around, and he again said he’d be right back while maintaining his nonchalant pace.
What I didn’t realize was that the district manager was at the store at that time. He overheard me saying that, and I probably turned pale when I saw him come out of an aisle and head my way.
District Manager: “What did you say?”
He sounded more confused or curious than upset.
Me: “The PA only works right if you hold the phone backward and talk into the back of the mouthpiece when you page. They hear us next door if we page holding the phone normally. I’ve got a customer waiting for a refund.”
I gestured toward the aforementioned customer.
Customer: *Waving off the concern* “It’s all good; I can wait a few.”
[District Manager] wasn’t having it, and he gave me his orders.
District Manager: “Customers come first, and he’s checking on something I asked him about. Call for the refund, and don’t hold the phone backward.”
Cue malicious compliance.
Me: *Picking up the phone* “You may want to plug your ears.”
The customer thought I was joking but did so anyway. [District Manager] did not.
Me: *Over the PA* “MISTER [MANAGER] TO PHOTO FOR A REFUND.”
Again, silence.
[Manager] came out of the stockroom, ready to lay into me about having abused the PA (and his eardrums) again, but he held his tongue when he saw the district manager scowling in his direction. He did the refund.
[District Manager] apologized for the wait while still glaring daggers at [Manager] and said he wanted to talk to him in the stockroom after the customer had left. I was amused to note that [Manager] didn’t dawdle when heading for the stockroom this time, walking as fast as he could without actually running. [District Manager] took a couple of steps to follow but then paused.
District Manager: “How long has the PA been doing that?”
Me: “About a month or so, I think.”
District Manager: “I saw the fix ticket for it a ways back but didn’t realize it was this bad. I’ll escalate it.”
Then, he followed [Manager] into the stockroom.
The PA was replaced before the end of the week. So was [Manager].
And thus ended my reign of terror over the managers, though it made enough of an impact that they decided not to ignore refund pages after that — just in case I or another photo clerk decided to find more horrifying ways of ensuring their compliance.
(Okay, it was probably the reaming by [District Manager] that did that, but a lowly cashier can dream.)
