KillerMuffin
Seraphically Disinclined
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2000
- Posts
- 25,603
I was a Wallyhell cashier once upon a time. Really. Hated it, too. I was the cashier from hell, too.
On with the story!
Condom Cruelty
There was the particularly obnoxious man who came through my line one evening. He was purchasing a few "supplies" for the coming party evening. I was fine with that until he decided it was time to piss off the cashier. I guess it's a game with some people.
You see, it's against the law for a package store to sell quantity pacakges, like 4-packs of winecoolers, when they've been switched around. We stocked our winecoolers back by the milk and after the usual 30 minute wait in line it's a total 45 minutes to buy anything. This particular nincompoop had mixed and matched flavors in the pack and I couldn't legally sell it to him. It's a nice huge fine to the cashier and a bigger one to the store if I'm caught and the locals are zealous cause this crap goes on. Of course I got the tried and true "I did it last time and the cashier didn't have a problem with it." This was delivered in the you're-just-a-bitch tone.
I never fight, I called a customer service manager. The ChickWeasel with the red pony-tail trotted his scrawny little butt over, did his best to peek down my shirt while he explained the law to this guy, apparently for the third time.
Our friend pencildick did the whole well-fine temper tantrum and I rang up the rest of his soft liquor. We don't sell the good stuff in Wallyhell cause we're a wholesome family store. Mixed in with the chips, cereal, pop-tarts, and other assorted munchies was Country Magazine with Alan Jackson smirking on the cover. You know something's goin' on when Jackson smirks.
Dorkwhangle said he'd changed his mind about the magazine and then stared pointedly elsewhere. I could have sworn he'd break his back as rigid as he stood. Big ol' pack of Trojans were hiding behind Alan's smiling face. Party hearty dude.
The interesting thing is that Wallyhell has these loss prevention gates at the entrances. And condoms have the strip that sets 'em off. I shouldn't. No, bad Muffie. I did. I neglected to run it over the demagnetizer, dropped it happily in his bag, and charged him about 157.45. Since the check was over $150 bucks ChickWeasel had to initial it-- to make sure I was doing my job-- which made him happy cause he got to look down my shirt.
Assbeaner was pissed about the whole thing cause in addition to a forty-five minute meander through the store, there was a 15 minute wait in line, plus the extra fifteen minutes waiting on ChickWeasel to quit flirting with the girls behind the Service Desk and do his job. He called me stupid to my face.
I, of course, smiled very pleasantly at him and wished him a good evening.
A minute later the four and a half foot tall, seventy year old, korean watchdog chased him through the doors like she's not supposed to do. Everyone was staring cause the electronic voice is so incredibly loud. She's very diligent about shoftlifters going through her door. She rooted through his bags like she's not supposed to do, and found the Trojans. Of course she carries things over to the nearest unmanned register and tries to demagnetize them.
The coup de grace was the precocious seven year old child who enjoyed his reading skills while getting the obligatory happy face sticker. "Mom? What are Trojans for?" Of course he did it at the top of his precious little lungs.
The guy rather resembled the red of the ChickWeasel's chick-magnet vest.
I almost got written up. I never knew I could look so convincingly innocent.
On with the story!
Condom Cruelty
There was the particularly obnoxious man who came through my line one evening. He was purchasing a few "supplies" for the coming party evening. I was fine with that until he decided it was time to piss off the cashier. I guess it's a game with some people.
You see, it's against the law for a package store to sell quantity pacakges, like 4-packs of winecoolers, when they've been switched around. We stocked our winecoolers back by the milk and after the usual 30 minute wait in line it's a total 45 minutes to buy anything. This particular nincompoop had mixed and matched flavors in the pack and I couldn't legally sell it to him. It's a nice huge fine to the cashier and a bigger one to the store if I'm caught and the locals are zealous cause this crap goes on. Of course I got the tried and true "I did it last time and the cashier didn't have a problem with it." This was delivered in the you're-just-a-bitch tone.
I never fight, I called a customer service manager. The ChickWeasel with the red pony-tail trotted his scrawny little butt over, did his best to peek down my shirt while he explained the law to this guy, apparently for the third time.
Our friend pencildick did the whole well-fine temper tantrum and I rang up the rest of his soft liquor. We don't sell the good stuff in Wallyhell cause we're a wholesome family store. Mixed in with the chips, cereal, pop-tarts, and other assorted munchies was Country Magazine with Alan Jackson smirking on the cover. You know something's goin' on when Jackson smirks.
Dorkwhangle said he'd changed his mind about the magazine and then stared pointedly elsewhere. I could have sworn he'd break his back as rigid as he stood. Big ol' pack of Trojans were hiding behind Alan's smiling face. Party hearty dude.
The interesting thing is that Wallyhell has these loss prevention gates at the entrances. And condoms have the strip that sets 'em off. I shouldn't. No, bad Muffie. I did. I neglected to run it over the demagnetizer, dropped it happily in his bag, and charged him about 157.45. Since the check was over $150 bucks ChickWeasel had to initial it-- to make sure I was doing my job-- which made him happy cause he got to look down my shirt.
Assbeaner was pissed about the whole thing cause in addition to a forty-five minute meander through the store, there was a 15 minute wait in line, plus the extra fifteen minutes waiting on ChickWeasel to quit flirting with the girls behind the Service Desk and do his job. He called me stupid to my face.
I, of course, smiled very pleasantly at him and wished him a good evening.
A minute later the four and a half foot tall, seventy year old, korean watchdog chased him through the doors like she's not supposed to do. Everyone was staring cause the electronic voice is so incredibly loud. She's very diligent about shoftlifters going through her door. She rooted through his bags like she's not supposed to do, and found the Trojans. Of course she carries things over to the nearest unmanned register and tries to demagnetize them.
The coup de grace was the precocious seven year old child who enjoyed his reading skills while getting the obligatory happy face sticker. "Mom? What are Trojans for?" Of course he did it at the top of his precious little lungs.
The guy rather resembled the red of the ChickWeasel's chick-magnet vest.
I almost got written up. I never knew I could look so convincingly innocent.
