The Price of a Deal

"Young Man, this wedding is on a tight budget, so if something doesn't ring up for the sale price we don't want it."

"Yes Ma'am," I replied, "It does look like everything you purchased was on sale so that is good—except this unity candle holder. It is $9.99."

"Well hold up! I don't want it! I will go get another one that is on sale. You just keep ringing up my stuff I'll be right back."

(Moments later)

"How about this one, is it on sale?"

"Umm—well yes Ma'am it is, for $19.99"

"That's fine! Just fine. I just needed it to be on sale!"

Clearly, this was a different type of budget from the ones I am used to.

Is God against the Return Register?

He raced into the store holding a crumpled bag and made strait for the one cashier that was open.

"I'm sorry sir, but returns are only handled at the return register," she said pointing at my line, "He will be happy to help you."

He looked in exasperation at the three people inline ahead of him. "I can't wait in line, I have to be at the church in ten minutes!"

"I'm sorry sir, but I will help you as soon as I can, " I said glancing up from the return I was currently working on, "Or—what is the date on your receipt? Because if now isn't a good time for you, you can—"

"I can't come back here! Goddammit!" In a righteous huff, he left for church.

See, now I would never presume to speak for God, but I am 95% certain that while he might not enjoy waiting in line, he doesn't actually damn them. In that line of thought, I think the people that Jesus spoke the strongest to were the self absorbed, religious people of the day. You might want to rethink your approach sir.

Granny's Fashion Police

She was staring at me directly, you know—with that uninhibited full on gaze that only curious children seem to use. "Funny," I thought to myself, "How is it that a little, blue haired, bun-sporting granny finds you this interesting?"

But was it interest? She wasn't smiling. That spot between my shoulderblades began to crinkle all the way up to the base of my neck. This was uncomfortable. She was silent, and only nodded when I asked her about her day and her shopping.

"That will be $24.99" I finally said, placing her bagged merchandice on the counter.

"Young man, why do you shave your head?"

"...umm...shave my head? Well, frankly I was loosing my hair and I was tired of looking ten years older than I really was, so I shaved it. It's worked out well so far."

"Well you shouldn't. It looks terrible."

For the record ma'am, anyone wearing a pleated, floral print jumper with a massive bun in her hair really shouldn't be throwing "fashion" advice. I suddenly realized I would have enjoyed the encounter much more had I said "Because it makes me so dang SEXY!!!" and given her a wink.

I get your point—but no.

"I'm not answering the phone anymore." My coworker told me in the breakroom, "Not until the craziness from the holidays stops."

Apparently the phone conversation went something like this:

Man on the Phone: "Hello! I make top quality swords, and I am looking for a vender. I think your store would be perfect."

Coworker: "Swords? As is actual metal swords?"

Man on the Phone: "That's right, so I would like to drop by this afternoon and show you my product."

Coworker: "Actually, we can't sell any outside product, all of our merchandise is sent from our corporate—"

Man on the Phone: "Yes you can! These are top quality swords!"

Coworker: "I can transfer you to a manager if you would like to discuss it."

Man on the Phone: "No! I don't need a manager. I am coming into your store at three o' clock. You are going to look at my swords, you will love them, and you WILL SELL THEM!"

Apparently his infomercial inspired, aggressive arms dealer attitude waned—he never showed up.   

The Endless Cycle: Zoning

I found it hysterically funny. My three year old niece was following directly behind her mother at the living room windows. For every pane of glass my sister cleaned, my niece rubbed her hands all over another—all in the spirit of "helping her momma." In seconds she had completely undone the window cleaning process.

Somehow, I missed that sense of humor when a gentleman followed directly behind me in the store rearranging the items on the shelf because I "didn't do it right." There was a small sense of cosmic justice though; he knocked over a candle jar which shattered on the floor. Apparently it wasn't as easy as he thought, so he left me to do my job. Thank you.

Artificial Earth Mother

I could not wait for her to reach the counter. She stood  a whole head taller the rest of the Soccer Moms in line, and I could just see her face serenely whispering to—nobody.  While the rest of the customers were frantically juggling merchandise, children and a hectic morning schedule, she was wide-eyed staring at a large bouquet of artificial flowers in her hands in wonder as though it were an art masterpiece.

She finally did make it to my counter, and then she hesitated. Right in the middle of laying them onto my counter she stopped and appeared unable to do it. She didn't want to let go of her merchandise.

"Did you find everything alright Ma'am?" I asked her, and I reached for her flowers. She still seemed reluctant to part with them, but she did hand them over to me. She made several quick, bird like darts as though she wanted to snatch them back from me, but caught herself in time.

"Yes, yes everything was fine. Please be careful with those. Can you wrap them gently in paper. Gently now. Gently." She began to wiggle her fingers and weave her arms above them as though she couldn't bear the anticipation of holding them again. I finished ringing up her purchase, reminded her twice of the price before she realized she needed to actually pay me.

"These are my babies." She said as I finished wrapping her flowers "My babies! Ooh how beautiful. Yes, just like that thank you. That's nice. Ooh I have my babies."

With that, she picked up her bouquet, whispered something sweet to the bundle of plastic, rubber, silk, and wire in her hands and left the store. This children, is why we don't do drugs.

Bill Engvall, where are you when we need you?

"I hope you can help me," the woman on the other end of the phone said, "I was just at your store over in [a nearby city] and it was just awful. I am driving to shop over at your store now. Listen, your "ladybug" brand items are on sale this week, but you don't carry the "ladybug" vinyl. You have a different brand. I want your vinyl at the sale price. You know the head of that department wouldn't give it to me? That is so ridiculous! I went all the way up to their store manager and even he wouldn't give it to me at the sale price."

Ooh boy.

"Ma'am, let me make sure I am on the same page as you. Currently, the "ladybug" brand is having a sale—but we don't carry the "ladybug" brand vinyl, so you want a different brand to be included in the sale."

"That is correct! I am on my way to visit your store to get them now."

"I'm sorry, we can't do that. All the sales are determined by our corporate office—"

"What do you mean you can't?! The SIGN IS HANGING RIGHT IN FRONT OF THEM!!!"

"The sign specifying the "ladybug" brand sale? Well I can't speak for how the other store is laid out, but in our store it is actually on the panel just to the left—"

"Oh I can promise you IT IS hanging right in front of the vinyl, and I don't like much being called a liar! I am going to need to speak to your manager IMMEDIATELY!"

"Yes, Ma'am, I will transfer you right now. You have a good day now."

And that boys and girls, is just another reason as to why I will never be a Retail Manager.