Update: Ghost Protocol
My favorite Jeremy Renner doppelganger was walking toward my line. Normally this would have set off the girly giggles in me but this time he was toting around more than his groceries. He had a beautiful Asian girlfriend with him. I would say "bummer" but again, there wouldn't have been a Taylor Swift love song to be written here in the first place. I wear an unflattering T-shirt at work and my hair has to be tied up. Why not go the whole nine yards and throw a net on my head so I can look like one of those perpetually bitter cafeteria ladies from my elementary school days? I digress.
I observed GP and his girlfriend. They didn't talk much, to me or to each other. They were the kind of couple that doesn't show any PDA. They both looked down the whole time. GP wasn't cordial like he was last time and the girlfriend stood aside while he packed the cart. Maybe GP doesn't want her to ruin her delicate hands. Maybe they were having a rough day. Maybe they are just a quiet beautiful couple. Ok, fine. I'll say it.
Bummer.
The Haters
A woman was about to wheel her cart into my empty line when her husband abruptly halted her and told her to go one line over, into O.C.Daisy's line where they would have to wait. I was baffled. I wondered if they were friends of Daisy or one of her regulars. I turned around and looked at them.
ME: Are you all having a good day?
MAN: We're fine. Thank you.
Hostility check, clear...but he spoke with a smidge of disdain. After they left I asked Daisy if she knew them. She said she didn't. I wondered why they chose to leave my line. Maybe I gave them bad service once. Maybe I forgot to hand them one of their bags that contained an important ingredient for the woman's cherry rhubarb pie recipe. Maybe that one incident alone ruined a very important dinner. Perhaps they like to get their groceries checked by a toothless old hag with bad hair. If that's the case then I totally get it. That's how I prefer my Waffle House waitresses to look.
Old Lady #7
It had been a while since an entertaining old person had walked into my line. This sassy old lady was fully clad in a track suit and matching sneakers capped off with a sun visor. She had a bunch of bulk items and like many others had forgotten the codes, but instead of watching me try to find the codes in our code book she apologized then darted off with impressive speed to the bulk section. I looked back to her with the annoyed faces of the customers waiting behind her in my peripheral. She was barely tall enough for me to see her. I then heard her shouting at the top of her lungs.
OLD LADY: DARK CHOCOLATE CHERRIES-6790!! [she walked to another item] FRIED OKRA-6110!! [and again moved to another item] CRANBERRIES-6248!!
This carried on until I scanned all 8 of her bulk items with uncontrollable laughter. She power walked back to me and said:
OLD LADY: See? We just need to work together, like on Sesame Street.
The I in Insecure
An Indian couple came into my line and after dropping their groceries off on the belt they stared at my face with inspection.
INDIAN MAN: Are you George's daughter?
I froze.
ME: Yes I am.
INDIAN MAN: We saw you direct the band last year. They were great!
I gathered that they went to church with my parents. I helped form a praise and worship band with some of the teenagers from that church for an inter-parish music competition. A competition I despised, but I was getting paid to teach them, so whatevs. All beside the point.
INDIAN MAN: Do you work here part time?
ME: Only for the next month. I got a job as an adjunct faculty member for a University and I will also be starting a job working as a choral director for a church in the same town. I finished my doctoral coursework in May. I needed something to do, you know?
INDIAN MAN: Right. Wow! Congratulations and good luck!
That was mostly the truth, but not the whole truth. I felt like such a loser for feeling the need to talk like that. I needed to work a summer job to earn money, pay bills and be able to go out and have a good time every now and then. I needed income to fill the gap between the end of my private teaching last May and the beginning of my new professional positions as an adjunct faculty member for a University and a choral director for a church in August. I was grateful for this current job. I needed it.
I have an insecure knee jerk reaction to Indian people inquiring why I am working a non-professional job at my age. Where many others are medical doctors, nurses, I.T. people, engineers, (you know, Indian people jobs) etc., I am finishing up schooling for what has been so far (and will always continue to be) an incredibly long journey of being a professional musician and teacher. This is a profession my parents refused to let me do at first. This is a profession that, when my brother went to school for Bassoon performance, some older Indian people from my parents' church laughed at him and said, "What are you going to do with THAT?" Even members of my extended family thought my parents were crazy for letting us go into music.
I guess I just wanted to let this Indian couple know that my parents didn't make a mistake in letting me pursue my dreams, that you can be successful in doing what you love. I wish I had the guts to just tell them the truth of the matter but I was afraid of judgement, afraid of how they would view my parents. I wish I had given this couple a chance to show me that they know better. Maybe next time.
Update: The Infamous Patti
Patti looked so sad today. She was sweet and kind as usual, but I could tell she was distracted. Once my shift was over she counted down my till in the office. I asked her if she was okay. She said, "No." Apparently her niece's apartment burned down to the ground. Her niece had stopped renter's insurance because she was laid off months ago. All of her belongings, destroyed, and not be replaced. Her nephew was then visiting her niece and staying over for a job interview he had in that town and many of his belongings went down in the fire as well. Patti's niece is now staying with her parents, in the same house Patti is staying in. Patti gave her niece a ton of money to get back on her feet.
This woman has been through so much in the past year and yet she still manages to be the nicest person at this store. She has shown me that none of us really have a good excuse to be anything but kind. Sometimes it requires a tremendous amount of strength, but it is always possible.
Showing posts with label Ghost Protocol. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ghost Protocol. Show all posts
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Day Fourteen
I have been working the last 7 out of 8 days and I am drained. I anticipated many mistakes being made and I lacked the energy to pretend to be friendly. I needed some really friendly and positive (or at least interesting) customers to wake me up.
Rancid Nancy
Rancid Nancy could be any woman who chose to wear as much musky perfume as this woman chose to. I refused to inhale and I had nowhere to turn without looking incredibly rude. I turned to look at the groceries Nancy was purchasing and I saw a fresh basil plant. HALLELUJAH! I grabbed the plant and dug my nose into the leaves to take the largest breath I could.
ME: Mm...I love the smell of fresh basil.
NANCY: I know! Isn't it the best?
It certainly was at the moment. I took in one more breath then I stationed the plant as close to my face as possible so I could breathe when I needed to. I held my breath in most of the time. This lady was sweet and super nice but HOLY HELL she wore too much perfume, so much that it reminded me of my time at the Indiana co-op in the hottest part of the summer. Farmers would come in during the day to drop off produce, probably right after they picked the crop and swept the cow dung out of the shed. They smelled like butt sweat. I couldn't breath and I dealt with it because these local farmers were doing saintly work. The difference is, this lady did not have to wear that perfume, or that much of it for that matter. I guessed that she didn't have any good friends in her life that are honest with her about things like scent. I have a handful of friends whose sole purpose in my life is to keep me from making dreadful social mistakes like cutting bangs, wearing t-shirts in public and dating closeted gay guys. Those are your real friends.
Old Lady #3
An old lady walks up fully clad in electric blue workout gear and a sun visor.
ME: Are you about to work out?
OLD LADY: Oh no, I just finished.
ME: Bench pressing 150?
OLD LADY: [cute old lady laugh] No way! I just finished playing a game of pickleball.
ME: What is pickleball?
OLD LADY: It's like badminton and table tennis thrown together in a pot and you play it with a wiffle ball.
ME: Huh.
OLD LADY: [points her finger at me] It's no whimpy game!
I went home and searched "pickleball" on Google. By George, it IS a real sport and it has an association. A sport is not a sport without an association, apparently. That old lady was saucy. I bet when she's on the court she throws down and makes a face like this when she scores a point:
Doogie Howser
This one little boy helped his mom put groceries on the belt. I love seeing kids help their moms.
ME: Are you enjoying your summer vacation?
BOY: Yes.
ME: Do you miss your teachers?
BOY: [nods yes]
ME: Are you ready to go back to school?
BOY: [nods yes]
ME: Are you serious? Kids never say that! What grade are you going to be in?
BOY: 3rd grade. If there was NO vacation, then I would be in a higher grade sooner. [he makes an exaggerated forwarding gesture]
ME: Then you would be in college in around 6 years?
BOY: Yes.
I laughed. Then I turned to him mom.
ME: You never have to tell him to do his homework, huh?
MOM: Nope. He is super smart. We never have to tell him to study because he wants to do it.
ME: Wow. [to the boy] What is your favorite subject?
BOY: Science. I like gravity.
I told the boy's mom she should take her son to the space center in Houston because there is a room that has zero gravity. I hope this kid gets to go. He would enjoy that so much.
Random Thought:
The songs, "My Boyfriend's Back" and "It's My Party," need to be removed from the grocery store musical canon. The out of tune scream singing makes me very angry and when I am tired "angry" has the potential to turn into "homicidal." If it weren't for the Rolling Stones' following rock song I'm sure I would have killed someone.
Update: Ghost Protocol
He returned to buy more groceries! Is this guy a regular? Ghost Protocol makes me feel like a gushing teenager moron. He is just so nice to look at. He chose to go through the shortest line (not my line at the time). "Damn," I thought. I need to find a flaw in this guy so I can stop senselessly crushing on him like an idiot every time he walks in.
Update: Elvira
I overheard a conversation between Elvira and another female coworker.
ELVIRA: You don't look like a dead person today.
FEM. CO-WORKER: I wanted to make sure you saw.
ELVIRA: Yes, it looks good.
ME: [to co-worker] What? Dead person?
FEM. CO-WORKER: Elvira told me that I look like a dead person when I don't wear makeup. I don't usually wear makeup here because it takes up too much time and I don't care, so Elvira tells me I look dead. She is fucking hilarious.
This, believe it or not, is Elvira being cool. Later in the day I would go over to help her bag groceries. She actually let me help her a little today!! Miracle of MIRACLES!!! Toward the end of her shift she walked over to me for the first time to talk to me. She asked me if I knew how to cook tofu. I told her I never tried but I took a stab at how one might cook it. I told her there are probably a bunch of recipes online, but she kept telling me that she wasn't interested in an online recipe. She wanted ME to buy tofu and cook it myself and then tell her how to cook it. She heard me once tell a customer how to make a vegetable curry. I think maybe Elvira sees me as some kind of cooking genius. I'll take it. I'm going to learn how to cook tofu.
Rancid Nancy
Rancid Nancy could be any woman who chose to wear as much musky perfume as this woman chose to. I refused to inhale and I had nowhere to turn without looking incredibly rude. I turned to look at the groceries Nancy was purchasing and I saw a fresh basil plant. HALLELUJAH! I grabbed the plant and dug my nose into the leaves to take the largest breath I could.
ME: Mm...I love the smell of fresh basil.
NANCY: I know! Isn't it the best?
It certainly was at the moment. I took in one more breath then I stationed the plant as close to my face as possible so I could breathe when I needed to. I held my breath in most of the time. This lady was sweet and super nice but HOLY HELL she wore too much perfume, so much that it reminded me of my time at the Indiana co-op in the hottest part of the summer. Farmers would come in during the day to drop off produce, probably right after they picked the crop and swept the cow dung out of the shed. They smelled like butt sweat. I couldn't breath and I dealt with it because these local farmers were doing saintly work. The difference is, this lady did not have to wear that perfume, or that much of it for that matter. I guessed that she didn't have any good friends in her life that are honest with her about things like scent. I have a handful of friends whose sole purpose in my life is to keep me from making dreadful social mistakes like cutting bangs, wearing t-shirts in public and dating closeted gay guys. Those are your real friends.
Old Lady #3
An old lady walks up fully clad in electric blue workout gear and a sun visor.
ME: Are you about to work out?
OLD LADY: Oh no, I just finished.
ME: Bench pressing 150?
OLD LADY: [cute old lady laugh] No way! I just finished playing a game of pickleball.
ME: What is pickleball?
OLD LADY: It's like badminton and table tennis thrown together in a pot and you play it with a wiffle ball.
ME: Huh.
OLD LADY: [points her finger at me] It's no whimpy game!
I went home and searched "pickleball" on Google. By George, it IS a real sport and it has an association. A sport is not a sport without an association, apparently. That old lady was saucy. I bet when she's on the court she throws down and makes a face like this when she scores a point:
Doogie Howser
This one little boy helped his mom put groceries on the belt. I love seeing kids help their moms.
ME: Are you enjoying your summer vacation?
BOY: Yes.
ME: Do you miss your teachers?
BOY: [nods yes]
ME: Are you ready to go back to school?
BOY: [nods yes]
ME: Are you serious? Kids never say that! What grade are you going to be in?
BOY: 3rd grade. If there was NO vacation, then I would be in a higher grade sooner. [he makes an exaggerated forwarding gesture]
ME: Then you would be in college in around 6 years?
BOY: Yes.
I laughed. Then I turned to him mom.
ME: You never have to tell him to do his homework, huh?
MOM: Nope. He is super smart. We never have to tell him to study because he wants to do it.
ME: Wow. [to the boy] What is your favorite subject?
BOY: Science. I like gravity.
I told the boy's mom she should take her son to the space center in Houston because there is a room that has zero gravity. I hope this kid gets to go. He would enjoy that so much.
Random Thought:
The songs, "My Boyfriend's Back" and "It's My Party," need to be removed from the grocery store musical canon. The out of tune scream singing makes me very angry and when I am tired "angry" has the potential to turn into "homicidal." If it weren't for the Rolling Stones' following rock song I'm sure I would have killed someone.
Update: Ghost Protocol
He returned to buy more groceries! Is this guy a regular? Ghost Protocol makes me feel like a gushing teenager moron. He is just so nice to look at. He chose to go through the shortest line (not my line at the time). "Damn," I thought. I need to find a flaw in this guy so I can stop senselessly crushing on him like an idiot every time he walks in.
Update: Elvira
I overheard a conversation between Elvira and another female coworker.
ELVIRA: You don't look like a dead person today.
FEM. CO-WORKER: I wanted to make sure you saw.
ELVIRA: Yes, it looks good.
ME: [to co-worker] What? Dead person?
FEM. CO-WORKER: Elvira told me that I look like a dead person when I don't wear makeup. I don't usually wear makeup here because it takes up too much time and I don't care, so Elvira tells me I look dead. She is fucking hilarious.
This, believe it or not, is Elvira being cool. Later in the day I would go over to help her bag groceries. She actually let me help her a little today!! Miracle of MIRACLES!!! Toward the end of her shift she walked over to me for the first time to talk to me. She asked me if I knew how to cook tofu. I told her I never tried but I took a stab at how one might cook it. I told her there are probably a bunch of recipes online, but she kept telling me that she wasn't interested in an online recipe. She wanted ME to buy tofu and cook it myself and then tell her how to cook it. She heard me once tell a customer how to make a vegetable curry. I think maybe Elvira sees me as some kind of cooking genius. I'll take it. I'm going to learn how to cook tofu.
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Day Thirteen
Old Lady #2
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.
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.
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