customer appreciation week, part 1

Y'all.  You just don't even know.

I had this crackhead come in to work Monday and she gave me all kinds of crap so naturally I wanted to write about it, okay?  Well, I never got around to it and Tuesday came along and I encountered more sewage.  So, I wanted to write about that and then on Wednesday, I had to deal with more obnoxious people.  And then Thursday!  So, why don't we just go through this week's offenders all together, shall we?

monday meth face
It wasn't even 9:00am yet when this sunken-cheeked skank straight out of an episode of COPS shows up and wants to exchange some shirts.  She looked really posh with her fuzzy pajamas and frizzy brown hair parted down the middle.  I ask if she had a receipt for the stuff she is returning and she said no.  Our policy is that we need to swipe their driver's license if they don't have a receipt.  It's that simple.

Well, you would have thought I asked her if she had a condom full of crack hidden up her twat 'cause she got so offended.  She didn't have it on her so she went back to her car.  She came back and said to her mother (who was with her), "I wish that dark headed lady was here...inaudible because I was walking back to the counter out of earshot...being made out like a thief."

Her mom didn't hear her either so she repeated herself and basically said that because I wanted to see her driver's license, I was making her out to be a thief and accusing her of stealing the stuff she was returning.  I went from zero to pissed in a nanosecond.

I looked at her with her shadow of a mustache, dangling nose hairs and sparkling nose stud and said, "Ma'am, I'm not accusing you of anything.  Our policy is that if you don't have your receipt, we need to see your driver's license.  That's just the procedure."

She looked down at the counter, scowling.  "Whatever.  My mother comes in here and shops all the time and has excellent credit."  What does that have to do with anything?

"I'm not doing anything wrong and I never said you stole this stuff.  Sorry I'm doing my job."

"Whatever."

Seconds later, as I'm exchanging this lady's merchandise, my supervisor comes up and I say, "Can you please tell this lady what the return policy is regarding merchandise without a receipt?"  She calmly told the lady what I told her and once again, her response was, "Whatever.  Fine.  Do what you gotta do."

After I finished the exchange, I bid the meth-laced lady a good day.  My co-worker was close by and heard the whole thing.  She also heard the lady still complaining in a nearby department.  Her mom was looking at dresses and she blurted out, "You better keep your receipt!  Better have your driver's license!"  What a bitch.  I mean, really, what a bitch.  Just being a bitch just to be one.

Moments later, my ultra religious co-worker came up to me and said in her low-pitched tunnel voice, "Brannon, I am so sorry you had to deal with that lady.  She was up at my counter crying.  She felt bad about what happened.  She has just gotten out of prison (OMG really? What a surprise!) and so she was sensitive about the driver's license thing.  She wanted me to tell you she was sorry."

I looked at my co-worker with a blank expression.  "Well, her being in jail is not my problem.  That doesn't give her the right to be rude.  Why can't she come apologize to me herself?"

"Yeah, she really should have," she responded.

I was still hot.  I wanted to say more, to vent my anger, but I knew she'd just look at me as a heathen.  What would Jesus do?  He'd forgive, of course, so I couldn't tell her what Bran would do, which is go slam her already busted face right into the counter.  I have no sympathy for that twitchy piece of trash.  She had no right to be so rude to me.  She ruined my day and the day hadn't even started!

I was doing my job, doing what I was supposed to do, and she comes in and gives me crap for following the rules?  I don't go to her job and knock the crack pipes out of her hands so she didn't have a reason to be so caustic with me.

If she was anxious about the driver's license situation she could have simply asked me why I needed to see it instead of storming off and assuming the worst.  But, in my extensive retail experience, when someone gets so defensive so quickly about being a thief or being dishonest, it usually means they are.  She has been in jail so point proven.

tuesday pee pants (the return of scatman)
Still reeling from my interaction with the lady the previous day, scatman came in to temporarily shift my feelings from anger to straight disgust.

To give a quick recap, he is the customer who came in a couple of weeks ago with extremely soiled pants on.  Tuesday, he shuffled in and this time, instead of smelling like dookie, he smelled like his clothing had been soaked in cat, dog, bear and bull urine and then laid out in the sun to air dry for a few weeks.  The smell was so awful that he literally stunk up my entire department although he only went to one section.  He left a stink trail so potent that it lingered long after he left.

And this time, it spread.

When he came in previously, he only affected me (of course) and two other coworkers.  But this time, he made his way to the front door and ran out of breath.  The unsuspecting coworker at the front door offered for him to sit down on the bench next to the entrance.  Soon, the smell hit her, too.  And the customers who all started making sour faces.

Meanwhile, I'm on the hunt for some air freshener.  I searched the whole store, leaving my department unattended.  I couldn't help it.  The smell had become personified, grown arms and legs and kicked me out of my work area.  I had no choice but to slay it with some smell-good spray. 

I'm really not trying to be cruel or make fun.  The man is in bad shape.  He was hunched over and couldn't shuffle very far without becoming fatigued.  And either he's so used to his own odors that he's immune to them or he's so out of it that he doesn't notice.  And that's sad.  And it seems even sadder that he doesn't have anyone to take care of his basic hygienic  needs because he clearly can't do it himself.  Even the lady at the front entrance who offered him the bench later told me he looked like the walking dead.

"Do you know his name?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"We'll probably see him in the obituary soon."

Dang.  I thought I was morbid. I never thought about him dying.  In fact, he'll probably stick around long enough to give my olfactory system a couple more good beatings before buying the farm.

This is getting too long so I'll put up a part two later so I can cover the rest of the week.