Adventures in Retail Hell Part 2

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More happy work related topics. Please welcome our next guest: Mr. or Mrs. Oh boy am I clever. I hate this person. I want to kill them. At the very least, stab them in the eye with a pair of scissors.


You’ve all been to a store at some point recently where they have to mark your money with what I like to call my “secret decoder pen”, or as the rest of the world calls them, counterfeit pens. They poke your money and if it stays yellow, or light brown, you’re good to go, if it turns black, you become Big Bertha’s Prison Bitch.

Side note, these pens do not work. It told me, yes, the pen turned its head and said plain as day “Hey, it’s real, come on, believe me. Would I lie to you?” Yes, yes you would magic pen. So anyways, magical talking decoder pen told me that this rather odd looking fifty dollar bill was real. It said the same thing to my manager. The bank however, did not agree.

But I digress.

Boss man told me that I had to start marking EVERYTHING except one dollar bills because there is no way to tell if they are fake. (Who would waste the time? “Woo hoo! I bet that stripper/waitress is gonna be real pissed off tomorrow.” Way to stick it to the Coca-Cola man!) So five dollar bills and up got poked and checked for a water mark before I can accept them.

Well, Mr. or Mrs. Oh boy am I clever, comes into the store, and assumes at least fifty new identities a day.

Me: Hey, how y’all doin’ today?

Clever: Purty good, you?

Me: Spiffy

I ring up merchandise, give them their total, they take out bills of any denomination, except ones. I take out secret decoder pen and mark their money. This is where my day takes a nosedive.

Clever: Oh… I just made that this morning (last night, today, last week, a little while ago…they’re exchangeable here.)

Now, if you’ve never heard this before, you’re probably thinking that it’s kind of funny, and a little clever, perhaps even ballsy. This is where you are wrong, and where I also envy you for your innocence in this matter. The first fifteen times I heard it, I could laugh. The second fifteen, I could force a laugh. The next hundred, I pasted on a slightly amused smile that says “It’s really not funny, and I can’t even force myself to laugh, so I’m just smiling to keep from hurting you’re feelings.” After that, I could only glare, which is what I’ve been doing the 1,254,349 times since then. So here’s the thing… You’re not clever. And I’m going to give you the rules about saying the dreaded statement. The only time it is acceptable to say “oh, I just made that….whenever” is this:

The store you are in has just opened its doors to the public for the very first time, and you are the very first customer and your cashier has never worked a register or done any sort of work with the public and money before. THEN you can say it, but only once, and never again. If someone has beat you to it, I am sorry, but you must forfeit your sacred right to be a stupid fucking asshole.

So Mr. or Mrs. Oh boy am I clever, this is for you.

You are not clever, it is not funny, I am a humorous and fun loving person, I love stupid jokes and I can’t even force myself to SMILE at you, in fact it is all I can do to keep from beating your head into the counter. So stop saying it, I hate you. All cashiers hate you. I want to post this at my register:

Attention Customers:

Due to recent attempts to use counterfeit money in this store, we at * place I work* will no longer tolerate jokes about making and/or distributing fake currency.

If the jokes continue you will be given a choice of actions we can take.

1. Cashier reserves the right to refuse your business. She can and will slam the drawer, throw all the change you so lovingly laid down piece by piece on the counter instead of her hand back at you to pick up and scream at you to get the fuck out.

2. We can call the local, state, and federal authorities to investigate. Meaning: We can detain you at the store while they investigate every piece of money you currently possess, your checkbook, your wallet, your credit cards, all accounts connected to these items, your car, your home, and possibly various orifices on your body, all with out the luxury of Vaseline. In short, we will turn your life upside down and leave you to clean up the wreckage. Counterfeit money is a federal offense and is not to be taken lightly. Wish you’d never even opened your mouth now?

3. I can and will stab you in the fucking eye with a pair of scissors.

I personally vote for number three. It just seems so much more satisfying. But once again, you are not clever, IT is not clever, it wasn’t clever two minutes ago when that guy said it, it wasn’t clever five hundred times ago either.

I have two different things I want to try out on these people.

1. “I’m very interested in statistics, and I have calculated that you are the forty-third person to say that to me… this hour alone. Now, we get, on average, around six hundred customers a day, would you care to do the math and figure out how many times I have to hear some “clever” person say that to me?

2. “CONGRATULATIONS! You’re the millionth customer to say that to me THIS WEEK! You’re about as clever as the dialogue in a low budget porn flick, your prize is: feeling like the dumb ass that you really are, now get the fuck out my store and don’t come back until I think I can see you and not kill you.”

I mentioned something above about putting change on the counter.

It puts me into a murderous rage.

Your total is $7.96.

You lay the bills on the counter… this is fine.

For the rest of it, you decide to pay with dimes, nickels, and pennies, which is also fine. But what is not so fine is the fact that even though you see my hand sitting right there beside yours, palm up and waiting, even though you see me scrambling to pick up the penny you just laid down so my hand will be readily available for you to put the rest of the change in it, you see me constantly moving my hand under the hand that is distributing change AND YOU STILL LAY IT ON THE FUCKING COUNTER!

It’s like the damned tango or something, I have no idea what is going on in these people’s minds at the time. They must be mentally deficient or something. They’re mostly old, but still, geriatric is not a disability. I pick up the change and put it into my hand, and then I move that hand under the one that is putting the change down, RIGHT UNDER IT! So what do they do?!?

They move their hand away from it to lay the change on the counter, which means, I have to go and pick the shit up piece by piece. AAAGGGHHH!!!!!! It drives me fucking crazy. I hate when people do this, I really, really, really just want to kill them. Mostly, just strangle them for a while, while banging their head into hard objects and shaking them.

Murderous rage. You people play a dangerous game.

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