We All Just Want To Go Home

(I am a seventeen-year-old cashier working part-time. We close at 10:00 pm on weekdays and Saturdays during the summer. This happens around 9:45 pm. At the time, the head cashier on duty is my favorite, and is one of the most genuinely kind people I’ve ever met. Because we are in New Hampshire, many customers come from surrounding states for large purchases to take advantage of our lack of sales tax. A customer comes up to my register with a cart full of small items, her husband trailing behind her with a flat cart stacked high with drywall. Before I’ve even had the chance to greet them:)

Customer: “I’m from Massachusetts and I’m ordering a fridge. I spoke to your store manager and he said that you should take $150 off the price, because there’s sales tax.” 

(There is sales tax despite this being purchased in New Hampshire because it’s being delivered by us to Massachusetts. It’s standard store practice to give a discount to offset that.)

Me: “Sounds good! I’ll just need to call him real quick to verify that, because that’s over my authorized discount limit.”

(I do so, he agrees, and we’re all good. I then begin scanning her items. Now, this is a cart crammed full with tiny electrical and plumbing items, so it takes me a little while to scan and bag them all, despite being one of the quicker cashiers in the store.)

Customer: “You know, we don’t have all night! It’s almost ten, and we have to get home!”

Me: “So sorry for the delay, ma’am! Corporate policy dictates that we scan every individual item.”

(Eventually, I get through this cart, all scanned and bagged — and sorted by function — and I ring up the drywall on her husband’s cart. He then takes the cart outside to start loading it. Technically, this is against store policy, but as it’s now around three minutes before close and I’m about five days away from my last shift before leaving for college, I really don’t care. The customer hands me the packet for the fridge order, and this is where the trouble really begins.)

Me: “All right, I’ve scanned this, and I’ll just have to wait for my manager to approve the $150 discount!”

(This is done remotely and should take just a moment, but it’s declined because it was sent to an assistant manager rather than the store manager. I reroute the request and we’re all set. Maybe two minutes total.)

Customer: “As I said, we don’t have all night! I don’t know why they hire you kids; you don’t know what you’re doing!”

Me: “So sorry for the delay. I was just double-checking that I was verified to remove the sales tax discount!”

Customer: *snorts*

Me: “Will you be paying with cash, card, or check today?”

Customer: “I just opened up a new [Store] card, and the lady at the service desk said the discount would automatically be applied. Why don’t I see it?”

Me: “I’ll have to use the barcode that came with your temporary card printed on the receipt given when you signed up, as well as your driver’s license to complete the transaction with your new card.”

(This is apparently a terrible inconvenience for her, and she has to go digging through her purse for the receipt. Eventually, she finds it.)

Me: “This’ll just take a quick moment, but I’ll have to go back and apply this coupon, and then get the total discount reapproved!”

(I do so, call my manager, tell him I added the store card discount, and he approves it. It takes maybe four minutes tops.)

Customer: “You’re taking too long, and my husband is expecting me outside, probably getting angry. You don’t wanna see him when he’s angry; he gets violent.”

(I ignore this obvious threat because it’s 10:08 and I want to go home.)

Me: “May I see your driver’s license, so I can process the payment through your store card?”

(She pulls it out of her wallet and puts it down on my register counter, ignoring my outstretched hand. I’m used to processing licenses from my state, so it takes me a split-second to find where her license number is on this style ID. Apparently, this takes too long, so she starts reading the numbers out loud for me, very loudly and slowly. Everything goes through, and no one is happier about that than me. Except there’s one final step: stamping the fridge order form to verify it’s been processed. We do this using the receipt printer at each register. All is going well until I stick the packet in the printer, press the button, and… nothing happens. I try it several times.)

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, my printer doesn’t seem to be working right now! I’ll have to call over my head cashier to see if she knows how to fix it.”

Customer: “Well, why don’t you just give me my receipt and let me go home?”

Me: “Well, my printer isn’t functioning, so I’m unable to do that, and I can’t finish the transaction until this stamp goes through. I’ll need my head cashier.”

(I call her and she comes right over. It’s now about 10:15. She tries all her tricks to fix the printer and nothing works. We replace the paper, the ink cartridge, and the toner, and it still doesn’t work. Eventually, we resort to shaking it just see, because we have no idea what’s wrong.)

Customer: “I don’t have time for your little jiggling act! I need to go! I’m just going to leave!” *begins to walk out with her cart*

Me: “Ma’am, if you don’t finish the transaction, your fridge will not be delivered. Also, I have your driver’s license.”

(She stomps her way back.)

Head Cashier: “This system seems to be down right now, so I’m going to have you go to the service desk to finish up. Unfortunately, I have no way to suspend the transaction once reaching this stage, so they’ll have to rescan everything.”

Customer: *unintelligible spluttering*

(We shut down the system, and I went outside to make sure her husband is unloading the drywall that he’d already put in their truck. I’d feel bad for the service desk employee doing this at almost 10:30 pm, but I know for a fact it was my least favorite one: a guy who would take twice as long as anyone else, therefore taking up more of their time. Also, her card may have been charged twice, but I really don’t care.)