The Laziness Is Registering

, , , , | Right | September 19, 2020

The way our store is set up, the self-checkout lanes are closest to the door, then you have registers one through eleven, then a space for random displays, and then the aisles near the pharmacy that are for health and beauty products. Usually, only registers one through seven are open any given day, with the rest closed off unless we are super busy.

I am busy restocking one of the displays by register eleven. People often assume I’m a cashier when I work in this area and yell at me when I tell them otherwise, because apparently, any employee within fifty feet of a register is automatically a cashier, so I tense up when I see a young woman approach me. Thankfully, she walks past me. I don’t think much of it, since customers often use the space between the displays and the register as a cut-through to the pharmacy.

Customer: “Your self-checkout machine isn’t working!”

I look up and she is trying to scan her items at the register.

Me: “That’s not self-checkout.”

Customer: “Yes, it is.”

Me: “No, it’s not. That’s not even an open register.”

Customer: “I thought this store had self-checkout.”

Me: “We do. Down there, by the doors.”

I point to the giant signs that say “self-checkout” above each self-checkout register.

Customer: “I have to walk way down there?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Just check me out here.”

Me: “I can’t. There’s no till in the drawer.”

Customer: “I’ll use my card.”

Me: “No, I can’t check you out on this register. Registers one, two, three, five, and six look open right now, and self-checkout is just past register one. Any of the cashiers at those registers will be happy to check you out, but I cannot check you out at this register.”

Customer: “Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it.” *Huffs off*

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Unfiltered Story #208739

, , | Unfiltered | September 17, 2020

(I answer a phone call from a customer.)
Customer: So, I placed an order yesterday. But I noticed after I picked it up that the receipt was wrong. I called and spoke to Joseph, and he said that you would fax me the correct receipt. But I haven’t gotten a fax from you yet.
(My department only has three people, none of which are named Joseph.)
Me: We don’t have anyone named Joseph here… Do you possibly mean Justin?
Customer: Maybe. He said that you would fax me the receipt.
Me: Okay, let me get your information, and I will talk with a manager.
(I take down his information and hang up. I relay the story to the manager on duty.)
Manager: Do we even have a fax machine?

Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 2

, , , , | Right | September 17, 2020

The store I work at is open twenty-four-seven, but people don’t tend to start coming in until about nine am. It’s seven am, and I arrive for my shift. I’m not even inside the building yet when this guy comes up to me.

Customer: “Would you look at that?”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “That!”

He points out into the parking lot. There is a long truck, possibly a car-carrier-type truck or something similar, parked across five or six parking spots. However, since it is seven am and most of the other businesses we share the parking lot with aren’t open yet, the lot is fairly empty. The only other cars I see belong to the overnight staff and the manager who came in at six am, all of whom parked far away from the door, and two cars parked close to the door. I assume one of the two cars is his.

Me: “Oh.”

Customer: “It was nice of him to take up all those parking spots, right?”

Me: “Uh…”

Customer: “I mean, it’s not like people are going to want to park there, right?”

Me: *Thinking* “It is way too early for this.”

Me: *Speaking* “At this hour?”

The customer continues his passive-aggressive rant about the truck. I did not sleep well last night, so I am way too tired to fully explain why anyone can park there. I slowly walk away from him until I’m able to get inside the building. The manager is at the desk when I walk by to clock in.

Manager: “Running a little late?”

Me: “No. Some idiot wanted to complain about a truck in the parking lot taking up a lot of spaces.”

Manager: “Has he never seen one of the fire trucks that parks here all the time? We don’t even own the parking lot.”

Me: “I know.”

I glanced up and saw the customer heading towards the desk. I headed to the back to put my stuff away, and my manager had to explain that we don’t own the lot, anyone can park there, and we don’t care that he took up all those spots when there’s almost no one in the store.

Related:
Absolutely Trucking Mad

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Unfiltered Story #208715

, , | Unfiltered | September 16, 2020

(I work in a department that lets customers place orders online and pick them up at the store later that day. If a customer has a problem with their order, then we have to try and fix it in the office located at the front of the store. Usually they just want to add something to their order, or check and make sure that it went through. I am about as far away as from the office as possible when the phone rings.)
Me: (Store) (Department), this is (Name).
Customer: Yes, hi. I’m having a problem with my order.
Me: (Immediately starts to hurry to the office, still on the phone) Okay, what seems to be the problem?
Customer: Well, I’m trying to place an order for later today, but it won’t let me. I keep clicking on submit, but it’s not doing anything. It’s frozen I think.
(By this point, I am almost to the office.)
Me: Well, did you try refreshing the page?
Customer: No, let me try that…
(I stop right outside the door)
Customer: That worked! Thank you.
Me: You’re welcome. Have a good day.
(I hang up the phone and sigh before heading back to where I was before.)

So Much For No Child Left Behind, Part 3

, , , , , , | Learning | September 14, 2020

I am the author of So Much For No Child Left Behind. If you’ve read that, you know my dad had some behavior issues. However, this story makes me laugh because it really sets the tone for my life in general.

At thirty, I begin teaching at the high school my dad graduated from. I did some student teaching here, so I’m not unfamiliar with it. It’s worth noting that in Virginia, county and city schools are often separate, and I went to the county schools and my dad graduated from the city. It’s also very important to note that my family is not originally from here so my accent is somewhat confusing and instantly recognizable in my area.

I have been in my classroom for one year at this point, and I am rather happy with it. I had to do a lot of work to get it clean and in shape. The teacher that occupied the class before me left a mess, and the teacher who had the room before him was here for thirty years. I don’t think he threw away anything, and neither did she. There were books that had been in the closet since the seventies. I threw them away because, well, frankly, they were icky. I did notice that across the spines it looked like someone had slashed the word, “B****.” I may add that this was a glass front closet and it was just left there.

This will be important later.

Teachers have to help monitor and proctor standardized testing. I am helping an older woman I do not recognize and am later told was a teacher here and only became an administrator in her last few years to help out. It turns out she retired and was asked to help out this semester as we need a few extra people due to heavy cold and flu incidents.

After the testing, she’s getting me to sign forms necessary and she asks me where my room is. It turns out that her old room is my room! I’m so excited. I ask her if she wants to see what I’ve done and she declines, saying if she has to look at those books with “B****” on them she may scream.

Here is where I make my mistake. I say, “Oh, no, I tossed those out. They were old anyway.”

She narrows her eyes and says, “You threw out my books?!”

I am in WTF mode now. She retired! But I ask about it. She gives me this withering look. She tells me that she had a student she hated. He was loud, rude, and he somehow knew answers even when not really paying attention. She told me he once passed a test and she was sure he cheated because he skipped class several times. When she confronted him, he told her he knew his geography. She gave him some sort of detention, and in revenge, he slashed that on her books and waited.

She tells me that she called the principal the next day because he was the only one there. The principal confronted the student and told him he would have detention for a month. The student got mad, stormed out, and screamed, “I quit!” Incidentally, this was May, and they graduated in June.

She glares at me and says, “I would look at those books every day and remember that not all students are smart, and not all students are dumb, but some smart students make very dumb decisions.”

As an experienced teacher, I know you seldom forget names. So, I ask who this stunning pupil was.

She looks at me and says, “[My Dad].”

My jaw nearly drops to my toes. I tell her, “That was my father. He died eight years ago.”

Her eyes widen like she’s caught me in a lie. “I knew you had that same snotty Norfolk accent! His kid turned out well enough to be a teacher?!”

So, to sum it up, I ended up in the classroom where my dad quit school and I threw away the evidence that the teacher kept because she loathed my dad. By the end of the week, all of the teachers in the building and some of his former classmates who worked there knew about it. Then, the students found out about it.

It became a running joke to ask me who else I was destroying evidence for. It also made me super popular with the alumni, because they all liked my dad and said he was totally justified. The staff that knew the teacher always wanted to thank him for making her miserable when they could not.

So, thanks, Dad!

Also, he did go back and finish high school.

Related:
So Much For No Child Left Behind, Part 2
So Much For No Child Left Behind

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