(no subject)

[catslash]

Another customers_suck post. Sigh.

For those of you who didn't read my post yesterday: I work as a cashier at a gas station/convenience store/pizza and sandwich shop. In fact, go ahead and read it if you like, because part of it explains the relevant peeve very clearly and the last bit of it is just funny in retrospect.

Me: So not Maggie.
UB: Uptight Bitch.

Here's the situation: There's a line, a bunch of different amounts showing on the gas display, and I'm the only one on register because my two coworkers are making pizzas. All is well until:

UB, three sprogs in tow. Sprogs not looking particularly traumatized. Nonetheless, she opens thusly:

UB: "I Just had to explain to my children what 'hell' means because it's on your pistachios." (The pistachios in question are jalapeno-flavoured.



I look at the sprogs. The youngest is five, possibly even six. Floating in a cloud of amazement that these children have somehow never heard the word "hell" before, I make the mistake of being practical.

Me: "Well, they would have heard it sooner or later. Isn't it better that they learn about it from their mom?"

She is less than pleased that I missed my cue to apologize profusely and perhaps engage in a spot of amateur brain surgery to remove the dreaded CURSE WORD OF DEATH from her children's minds, but the transaction nonetheless proceeds smoothly. Until.

UB: "Oh, I have gas, too." (Yeah, I know, but exposure has deadened my desire to make intestinal tract jokes.)

Me: "Do you know how much or what pump number?"

She doesn't, of course. Not even a vague idea of how much or anything. So she points and tries to tell me about whatever damn car it is. If you read that last post, you know how much I hate that.

Me: "Ma'am, I don't have the pump layout memorized." Which is true, because it's not my job to deduce where you pumped your gas.

She she stomps over to the door, because obviously I'm simply trying to hold her up and inconvenience her and the five or six people behind her.

UB: *over her shoulder as she goes out the door* "You're a big--" At this point, she was outside, so I did not get to hear her incisive assessment of my being. I'm going to be generous and assume she said "liar," rather than, oh, "bitch."

Whatever it was, I am now upset, and kind of amused by her overreaction. At this point, the eyes that are not on her are on me. ( I must have looked quite the picture with my baffled half smirk/half stare.)

She got back quite quickly, which is a shame, because I would have liked to ring someone up and scoot them out the door. She gives me the pump number, and I go into hyperpolite mode for the rest of the transaction.

Hyperpolite mode is what happens when I am angry with a customer. I become so bright and friendly that if I poured it on any thicker it would become sarcasm. But, I stop shy of that, because it really doesn't help.

So my manner toward her as I finish ringing her up is impeccable. I say please and thank you and smile away, and am not sardonic in the least.

I finish ringing her up and say, "Don't forget your drinks!", sliding them closer. This purely unprofessional gesture incenses her so utterly that she she asks if my boss is there. Our manager works mornings, so she's long gone. I say as much, and add, "Have a nice evening!"

UB: *now speaking so loudly that everyone, already captivated by our little drama, can hear* "I hope you have a rotten evening. You have a shitty attitude!"

. . . this from the woman who flipped out over the word "hell?" Naturally, this is my fault, too: "Oh, now I've cursed in front of my children!"

She then demands my name.

Yes. Because giving my name to verbally abusive strangers is a hobby of mine.

Me: *lying through my teeth* "Maggie." God, I love not having to wear name tags.

UB: "I'm calling your supervisor. What's your supervisor's name?"

Perversely helpful, I not only tell her the right name, I tell her the full one, enunciating as clearly as possible.

Finally, she went away, and I was shaking from the adrenalin rushing wild through my system. (My smartass coworker: "Hey, Maggie, you want a cigarette break?") I certainly did, but opted to stay on register until I'd caught up on all these people who'd been held up by that nonsense.

This is where I learned how much people rock when they get the chance.

Because every single customer who witnessed the altercation sympathized with me and told me that I'd handled the situation well, and that I was not the problem. One couple, who are regulars, assured me that I've "taken care of us" every time I've waited on them. One guy pointed out gleefully that the man blocking UB's car was not moving to let her out, and then put himself in my shoes: "With customers like you, of course I have a shitty attitude!"

In short, people were so sweet that the rosy glow lasted the rest of the evening. So, Uptight Bitch, it just so happens that I had a wonderful evening, thanks to you!

As for my manager, if she actually does get a call and want to chat (it could happen, I was the only girl on tonight; wouldn't take a whole lot of brainpower to deduce who "Maggie" is), I will defend myself by pointing out those lovely people. And if I get in trouble for lying about my name, I will ask to see the written store policy or state law that requires me to give my real name to people who clearly hate me.

And if UB was just trying to intimidate, at least she remembered the proper way to back up her threat. =P



(If you get the cut-tag quote reference, you get a pizza. *g*)

Comments

[peaseblossom03.livejournal.com]

When I worked at Subway and got idiots like this, my codeword was "great". If I ever told someone to have a GREAT day, my coworkers all knew that what I was really saying was "I hope you choke on it you obnoxious patronizing mother fucker."

I'm gonna take a wild guess and say "Clerks"?

[catslash.livejournal.com]

Not quite. It's a line from MST3K. Pearl said it in the last skit in the Hamlet ep, in reference to the visit from demanding, girly Fortinbras. =) One of my favourite skits on that show.