Disgusting Memories of My Life in Retail, Part II

I tried to have patience, people. I really did. Men used to piss me off when it was time for them to pay. Toothpicks dangling from their mouths, they’d grunt at me, mumble unintelligibly and literally TOSS the money onto the counter, ignoring my outstretched hand. We didn’t have conveyors then, and it was a bitch to try picking up change from that counter. I’d get so pissed off, if they had change coming, guess who slammed that shit down on the counter for THEM to pick up? Fuckers. Don’t mess with a bitch, yo.

It used to make me abso-fucking-lutely crazy when women would pile a shitload of merchandise on the counter for me to ring up, knowing they didn’t have enough fucking money to pay for all of it. I’d have to call a supervisor to void it all out and it was time consuming as hell. The women didn’t give a shit. And it always seemed to be the Sistahs that did this. I don’t know why.

Or they’d tell me, “Stop when it gets to $30.” Back in the 70’s, $30 bought a lot of shit. It pissed me off when, after I told them they’d reached that $30 mark, they’d start pulling shit out of the pile that they wanted me to VOID so they could add something ELSE instead.

I finally got smart. When they’d pull that “stop at $30” shit, I’d tell them. “How ‘bout if you pick out what you want MOST?” It worked every time. Until I added that fucked up package of chewing gum to their total.

Hehehehehe

I also LOVED their fake looks of surprise, when I’d find hidden merchandise inside other stuff they were buying—boxes of all kinds, purses, coolers, jewelry boxes (“No, it doesn’t fucking come with jewelry IN it, dumbass.”). Seriously, did they think we weren’t going to check? We weren’t TODAY’S cashiers who’d let you walk out with 100 CDs inside that opened box containing the boom box you were buying!