An old lady came through my line with a package of frozen diced onions.
OLD LADY: Do you think those onions will pass for hot dog condiments? It's for a party.
ME: I'm sure they could, just throw them in a saute pan and heat them up, I'm sure that will work.
OLD LADY: Good, because I have reached the age of non-preparation.
ME: [laughs] That you have, I don't blame you.
OLD LADY: I'm throwing a pool party at the retirement home.
ME: That's so nice of you!
OLD LADY: I told the ladies if you don't like swimming and you don't like hot dogs then don't come!
ME: Was that what you wrote on the invitation?
OLD LADY: Yup!
Crap Indian
I began to check out the groceries of a very unlikely pair, an Indian woman and a man who could be one of the Trailer Park Boys.
MAN: What language do you speak?
ME: English.
MAN: HA! What are your parents?
ME: My heritage is Indian.
MAN: What's the language? Can you speak it?
ME: The language is Malayalam. I only know a few phrases. My parents did want to teach me the language but they were one of the first generations to move here-
WOMAN: You don't need to learn your parent's language. You're in America.
Hold the phone. Did I just stumble upon the one Indian person who is even worse at being Indian than me? I was going to tell this couple that my parents were worried about my education here in the U.S. and they weren't sure if I would do well learning Malayalam first, so they spoke mostly English at home. I actually do want to learn Malayalam and I want to be able to hold a conversation with my relatives. This woman wasn't interested in what I had to say as she kept cutting me off mid-sentence. I did somehow get in that I can cook some of my mother's recipes and I make meals for my friends from time to time, that Indian food is good. She said her parents were from Bombay and that she used to eat the best north Indian food. Then the man attempted a joke about how he always gets plenty of Indian and he coughed out a sleazy laugh as the woman smacked his arm.
Gross.
Ghost Protocol
A man walked up to buy something. I didn't notice what he was buying because he looked like this:
Jeremy Renner: the smoking hot guy who pretended he was some aide but turned out to be a ridiculously sexy but emotionally tortured agent in the movie Ghost Protocol. Without going into much detail for how bad I have it for James Bond types, let me just say it was a joy to look at this guy. I asked him if people tell him he looks like Jeremy Renner. He said no, and that he didn't know who Jeremy Renner was. I told him that he should go home and Google image search "Jeremy Renner" (and be flattered). I kept talking to this guy just so I could keep shamelessly staring at him. I don't remember what I said and it doesn't even matter. I wouldn't bother making a move on this guy or any hot guy I meet here and I can explain why.
Do you remember that popular romantic comedy about the incredibly handsome male customer who fell for the quirky female cashier who wore an oversized t-shirt, no makeup and rang up groceries at his local market? I don't either. Most rom-coms are unrealistic to begin with, so the fact that this plot hasn't made it into the screenplay of even the shittiest romantic comedy speaks volumes about the likelihood of Ghost Protocol diggin' a girl like me. I could throw down the fact that I'm an A.B.D. doctoral student and that I'm going to be an adjunct professor at a college in the fall and a choral director at a nearby church, but I choose not to waste my breath. For the sake of this blog, I think the behavior of many customers is far more interesting when they believe I'm just a cashier.
Chode
There is an area of our store called the Bulk section. It's a neat little place where you can take as little or as much as you want of whatever item you choose. Once you scoop out how ever much you want of an item. You are supposed to write the PLU number of the item on a tag, so that the cashier who checks you out will be able to check you out faster. Without the code the cashier will have to look up the item in a giant book and it may take forever.
Now enters this guy.
ME: [after ringing in a few groceries, I pick up a trail mix] Sir, what is this?
MAN: It's a trail mix with nuts and berries-
ME: I can see what is in it. Do you know what the name of the trail mix is?
MAN: It is $2.99 per pound.
ME: I'm sure it is, but I need a four digit PLU code. [i begin to look up codes to about 6 different trail mixes this could be]
MAN: Do you want me to get it?
ME: That would be great.
MAN: [walks off and comes back with the code]
ME: [after ringing in more groceries, picks up another unmarked bulk item, chocolate covered something] This one should be easier to find in the book.
MAN: Are you new?
ME: No.
MAN: Because I have never had this problem before.
ME: I'm not new. We actually do need codes to ring in these items.
MAN: I've never had this problem before. Do you want me to help you get this code?
ME: Are these chocolate covered raisins? (a guess)
MAN: Yes! Exactly! (smiling like an asshole, like he just taught me something)
ME: [flipping through the book to find the code]
MAN: [patronizingly] Do you want me to help you?
ME: NO!!
Was this guy trying to make me angry on purpose? Congratulations asshole, mission accomplished. How is it that 99% of our customers understand the concept of writing down the highlighted PLU code and this one prick doesn't? There are signs for this all over the department. This actually made me quite mad, leaving me in a bad mood for an hour until I clocked out. My manager had never heard me utter so many curse words before. He said, "It's nice to meet the real Miranda."
The real Miranda? What is that supposed to mean? I'm not always a cursing rage monster. I like to think I am a nice, well mannered girl most of the time. I only shed my human form when someone is really asking for it, kind of like the Hulk.
No comments:
Post a Comment