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impySome days I wonder, seriously wonder, why I work at a drugstore. Or anywhere where I have to come into contact with people of the customer persuasion. I don't like people. I really don't like rude [and unfunny, as funny rude is a horse of a different color] people. But what I really, really loathe is being yelled at by an extremely annoying ass who has very little, but still some, right to be yelling at me.
You see, there are regular customers and then there are the regs that most of the employees run when they see them coming. Some because, frankly, they smell, and some because they have piss poor social skills. Last night's jackass we'll call Mustache. Mustache annoys the piss out of everyone because he collects coins and two dollar bills. Which isn't annoying by itself, nor is his asking if we have any he could look at/trade for. It's a bit vexing when he chooses to try this with a line behind him, but he's pretty good about waiting for that. Thing is, Mustache yammers on and on and on and on and is a jerk for the most part. It's not even something obvious for the most part, he's just difficult to like. Not last night. Last night he drew a big giant picture in the sand of what sort of jerk he is.
I switch to reg #2 and the lone female manager comes around, uses the phone, and calls back to pharmacy to ask Steve, the pharmacist, to page her or something when Mustache leaves the pharmacy. Why? So she can go run and hide in the stockroom. Which she does seconds later when she's paged. It's all explained a few minutes later when the phone rings and it's the occupants of the stockroom. Seems Mustache got up right behind Mrs. T as she was stocking the freezer. Reports vary, but there was much staring at innapropriate places, invading of personal space, and blatant hitting upon. You'll note the "Mrs." She's married. Happily so, complete with adorable kid. She says so. Over and over. He doesn't take the hint. Another employee [one he doesn't like] comes over and rescues her by offering to help him. Blah blah, he's still in the store 45 minutes later when I switch back to the main register.
He finally decides to buy some candy, four theatre boxes. He's got a bag, a large one that's mostly empty, from pharmacy. I ring his stuff up, I tell him how much he has left on his gift card, offer a mostly sincere appology that no, we don't have anything for 29 cents, and the phone rings. I answer it and spend the next minute and a half trying to get the stupid woman on the other end to hear me. This requires a lot of attention as I try and MacGuyver the phone back into working order so that I can transfer the call back to pharmacy. I hang up and Mustache laces into me because I haven't given him a bag.
... For which I appologize. Again, almost as if I mean it, except for the part where I'm just kind of stunned that despite him REACHING for the candy in what I always thought of as the universal "No, no, I got it" sign he's got the nerve to yell at me. He goes on and on about how he deserves a bag and how he's sure I wouldn't like it if he walked out like that [what? With the candy you paid for and the reciept and the bag and oh, yeah, the LEAVING? I don't care, asshat. It's your stuff once you pay for it.] but it wasn't until he pulled out the biggest pile of BS I've heard in awhile that I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something bitchy. "I used to run a big company"- Bullshit. Bull. Shit. I call your bullshit and I want to know what big company and if it was so big, then how many overworked employees wanted to kill you for being an unbelievable, clueless ass? Buuuuut I digress. "big company and I was always under the impression you dealt with the customer right in front of you before the one on the phone." True, true, except when the one in front of you has cleared the store of all employees because he hits on them after being told to stop or because he annoys them until they look like they'd welcome an actual bullet to a body part...
By this point I have appologized at least three times. Three is my limit because the second was sincere and fuckit, if you want your drama, take it elsewhere because in about twenty seconds I'm going to say, "You're right. I am sorry. I'm sorry you're harassed my boss into hiding everytime you come into the store because you can't wrap your ego around the fact that she's not interested. I'm sorry that when you come into the store, all the other employees run screaming, sometimes literally, and the only people left to deal with you are forced to put up with your annoying questions and blatant lies that you've been caught in before. So yeah, I'm sorry. Now get your ass out of the store before I call the cops and tell 'em you're harassing people. Get!"
Instead I merely said in the sweetest voice I could muster, "I truly am sorry..." as the next customer approaches with this WTF is wrong with him look, and then I mutter, "That you're an ass."
So I feel bad for saying that to another customer... but karma kicked my ass three minutes later when someone was paged to COS to help Mustache out. Only... no one came. So I had to go over there where he acted like nothing had happened.
Should I quit, I'm gonna quit BIG.
*curls up and sleeps*
You see, there are regular customers and then there are the regs that most of the employees run when they see them coming. Some because, frankly, they smell, and some because they have piss poor social skills. Last night's jackass we'll call Mustache. Mustache annoys the piss out of everyone because he collects coins and two dollar bills. Which isn't annoying by itself, nor is his asking if we have any he could look at/trade for. It's a bit vexing when he chooses to try this with a line behind him, but he's pretty good about waiting for that. Thing is, Mustache yammers on and on and on and on and is a jerk for the most part. It's not even something obvious for the most part, he's just difficult to like. Not last night. Last night he drew a big giant picture in the sand of what sort of jerk he is.
I switch to reg #2 and the lone female manager comes around, uses the phone, and calls back to pharmacy to ask Steve, the pharmacist, to page her or something when Mustache leaves the pharmacy. Why? So she can go run and hide in the stockroom. Which she does seconds later when she's paged. It's all explained a few minutes later when the phone rings and it's the occupants of the stockroom. Seems Mustache got up right behind Mrs. T as she was stocking the freezer. Reports vary, but there was much staring at innapropriate places, invading of personal space, and blatant hitting upon. You'll note the "Mrs." She's married. Happily so, complete with adorable kid. She says so. Over and over. He doesn't take the hint. Another employee [one he doesn't like] comes over and rescues her by offering to help him. Blah blah, he's still in the store 45 minutes later when I switch back to the main register.
He finally decides to buy some candy, four theatre boxes. He's got a bag, a large one that's mostly empty, from pharmacy. I ring his stuff up, I tell him how much he has left on his gift card, offer a mostly sincere appology that no, we don't have anything for 29 cents, and the phone rings. I answer it and spend the next minute and a half trying to get the stupid woman on the other end to hear me. This requires a lot of attention as I try and MacGuyver the phone back into working order so that I can transfer the call back to pharmacy. I hang up and Mustache laces into me because I haven't given him a bag.
... For which I appologize. Again, almost as if I mean it, except for the part where I'm just kind of stunned that despite him REACHING for the candy in what I always thought of as the universal "No, no, I got it" sign he's got the nerve to yell at me. He goes on and on about how he deserves a bag and how he's sure I wouldn't like it if he walked out like that [what? With the candy you paid for and the reciept and the bag and oh, yeah, the LEAVING? I don't care, asshat. It's your stuff once you pay for it.] but it wasn't until he pulled out the biggest pile of BS I've heard in awhile that I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something bitchy. "I used to run a big company"- Bullshit. Bull. Shit. I call your bullshit and I want to know what big company and if it was so big, then how many overworked employees wanted to kill you for being an unbelievable, clueless ass? Buuuuut I digress. "big company and I was always under the impression you dealt with the customer right in front of you before the one on the phone." True, true, except when the one in front of you has cleared the store of all employees because he hits on them after being told to stop or because he annoys them until they look like they'd welcome an actual bullet to a body part...
By this point I have appologized at least three times. Three is my limit because the second was sincere and fuckit, if you want your drama, take it elsewhere because in about twenty seconds I'm going to say, "You're right. I am sorry. I'm sorry you're harassed my boss into hiding everytime you come into the store because you can't wrap your ego around the fact that she's not interested. I'm sorry that when you come into the store, all the other employees run screaming, sometimes literally, and the only people left to deal with you are forced to put up with your annoying questions and blatant lies that you've been caught in before. So yeah, I'm sorry. Now get your ass out of the store before I call the cops and tell 'em you're harassing people. Get!"
Instead I merely said in the sweetest voice I could muster, "I truly am sorry..." as the next customer approaches with this WTF is wrong with him look, and then I mutter, "That you're an ass."
So I feel bad for saying that to another customer... but karma kicked my ass three minutes later when someone was paged to COS to help Mustache out. Only... no one came. So I had to go over there where he acted like nothing had happened.
Should I quit, I'm gonna quit BIG.
*curls up and sleeps*
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-10 06:00 pm (UTC)Much sympathy to you. *hugs*
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-10 08:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-10 09:56 pm (UTC)The Pink Panty Man (PPM) would call the Clothing Dept and ask what we had for pink panties in little girl sizes. The call always started out relatively normal, like a father whose daughter decided she wanted a cute pair of pink panties and he didn't want to drive half way across town to find out we didn't have any.
Then the heavy breathing would begin, and you would realize that he was (a) masturbating (ewww!), (b) not only masturbating, but masturbating to the sound of your voice while you're at work (and you're now his unwilling sex partner and a potential part of his current sexual fantasy), and (c) he's probably a pedophile on top of that, since he always asked about girls' pink panties, and never the adult-sized ones.
If you hung up on the PPM, he'd call back and yell at your manager for the rude service (ShopKo gets a new manager about once every 3-4 months, so half the time the manager would then yell at you and not actually believe you if you told them what had really happened, because they were new idiot dipshits who didn't believe that could really happen in retail). On the other hand, if you didn't hang up, you had to listen to him climax.
Most of the time, we just hung up.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-10 10:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-10 11:32 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-09-11 08:03 am (UTC)