Again at the register, the death of my soul. Two older women are in line, one of them has a jacket standing to the side, the other comes to me when I’m open.
I ask, “Paying together?”
“Yes,” she says is derisively as if its common knowledge they’d pay together. Even then the other woman is still standing to the side–folding the jacket. As she brings it, my senses are already saying, “Run away!”
“I want hangers for all these shirts,” the taller woman throws down a pile of clothes.
“We don’t have hangers.”
She glares at me waving at the hangers on the clothes.
I try to joke, “We got a huge shipment and we need all the hangers we have.”
The women look at each other, shaking their head as if I’m an idiot. “What, you don’t have more hangers?”
“No, and we don’t give them out.” I already sense this is going to be a battle.
“Don’t you have plastic hangers laying around?”
“No, we do not.”
“Don’t they come with plastic hangers?” All the while, as the taller woman asks these questions, she continues to glare at me, shaking her head and sighing.
“No. Other stores might do that…”
“Well, we aren’t at another store! Where are your extra hangers?”
“We don’t even have any to sell.”
“I don’t want to buy them!”
I try to speak and she raises her hand.
“You know what, nevermind! Nevermind! You don’t understand.” She sighs and shakes her head looking at her friend then eying me as if, “He’s really dumb isn’t he?” Her friend just shrugs as if she’s being helpful, like she would a moment before they put a family pet out of it’s misery in a ‘there’s nothing that can be done’ sort of way.
I already know this will be a long transaction, so I immediately ask for back-up. My hands are already trembling with rage, and I haven’t even scanned a single item. I rush and fold the first item.
The short woman shouts, “Stop! Is that how you fold! Give that to me!” She snatches it from my hands, shaking her head. “Just scan, don’t fold!”
Alright, their second offense. I am actually the person who trains other people to fold perfectly in the store. For these old, white, snotty women to make such assertions about me sends me into new levels of fury. The taller woman continues to glare at me, shaking her head and sighing, as I continue to ring up the other items and fold them perfectly. The short woman just continues to grab them, shaking it–and refolds them the exact same way I just did!
“I want tissue paper for this,” she plops down a leather jacket at me. I grab one and place it on the side for the woman. “Can you lay it flat!? I can’t fold it like that!” I can’t even give her tissue paper correctly.
I’m ready to place the clothes in a bag to get rid of them, and she’s again incredulous, glaring at me, “Aren’t you going to wrap it? I don’t want it rolling around in the package!” She slams her hands down on the register as if she’s speaking to a baboon, shaking her head looking away, as if she’s being whipped like a slave–where the exact opposite is true.
I grab more tissue paper, under the assumption they want me to wrap each one individually.
“What are you doing!” She stops me. “Wrap them all together! Don’t you know how to do this? What’s wrong with you? Don’t they train you to do this right?”
I tell her we don’t wrap the clothes in tissue paper, we only have the tissue paper for our lingerie.
“Is this the kind of company you run here? Is this the kind of company you have? Stop! What are you doing! I’ll wrap it for you, you don’t even know what you’re doing!”
The smaller woman grabs the tissue paper I have. The taller woman says, “Another one. We need more than one!” She shakes her head again, glaring at me. “Where is your tape? We need tape.” I give them the dispenser, and after they take one strip, I try to move it, “Stop! Just leave it there!” She sighs at me, shaking her head.
“Do you want a paper bag?”
The tall woman just glares at me, speechless, dumbfounded as if I just asked her how old she is, or her bra size. The shorter woman answers for her, “One with handles.” So I place it on the counter already knowing I won’t know how to place it in the bag for them. The tall woman grabs it and hurries away, obviously, getting out of this hellhole of a store as fast as she can.
The shorter woman leans forward, I hope for a thank you, but she says, “And that’s your tutorial for the day!” She smiles as me as if I’m mentally challenged and she just handed me a lollipop for doing something right, and then she quickly follows the other woman away.
“I am going on break now,” is all I say as I walk away from the register and leave the sales-floor.
Customer Types: Capitalist, The Complainer, ESP, Micromanagement, Modern Slave-Owner, Tailor-Made