The Grumpy Grocer

Just... shoot me in the face: The holidays are here at last!

2010-11-29T13:52:00.000-08:00

So, here's a question for all of you out there in grocery land: Why do customers suddenly become complete helpless morons during the holidays? I mean, typically I think that most customers I have to assist are pretty helpless, but there appears to be some kind of universal affliction that affects common sense and basic problem solving skills with particular voracity during the holiday season. What's going on here? Is it simply a matter of stress? Concerns about family matters? Money woes? In the past, these are the issues that I have blamed for the stupifying affect the holidays seem to have, but this year I had a sort of eureka moment and I think I've finally figured out what's going on.

As I was explaining to a customer what "Kosher" is (seriously, you don't know ONE jew? WTF, lady?), I realized that she probably never cooks. Like, ever. The mystified expression on her face, as well the way she gingerly handled product (as though it might be an explosive or possibly contaminated with a foreign agent), led me to the conclusion that this was the first time all year she had been to a grocery store to buy something other than prepared meals. And then it hit me; of course! That's what's going on here! Half these people never cook! But now they're obliged to, and they have no idea what they're doing!

Obviously, this hypothesis doesn't explain away every stupid moment the holidays are sure to bring, but it certainly clears up a good number of ridiculous encounters I've had. If anything, I actually feel kind of sorry for these people. It's stressful enough to prepare a holiday meal for your whole family when you actually cook on a regular basis, but it must be downright terrifying if you basically subsist on fast food and whatever you can score from the vending machine in your office breakroom, and then suddenly everyone expects you to dust off your oven range and pretend to be domestic. Yikes. There's only so much that Martha Stewart can tell you, and once you've tapped every internet "Thanksgiving for dummies" resource that you can find, then what do you do? You ask your local, friendly grocer. So maybe I should resist the urge to roll my eyes the next time a customer asks me what cranberry sauce is made out of, because I'm obviously not dealing with the average shopper. I'm dealing with the culinary-impaired. It's a serious handicap.

... Ok, I'll probably still roll my eyes.

Anyway, your thoughts would be appreciated. I'm open to any other theories you might have, although I think mine's pretty good. And if you have any holiday horror stories/hilarious customer mishaps, 'tis the season for sharing!

2010-10-30T10:42:00.000-07:00

Gee, it's been a hot minute, huh guys? I'm sorry I've been a big useless lump and haven't written anything in a dog's year, but the truth is I just haven't been all that grumpy recently. Maybe it's because work has been relatively pleasant, or maybe it has more to do with the introduction of a man friend into my life (shut the fuck up, don't roll your eyes at me, you're just jealous!), but either way I just haven't felt all that inspired.

That is until yesterday.

When something occurred to me.

See, when I say that work has been pleasant recently, I only mean that my co-workers are fun and management is chill. But let's be honest; the holidays approacheth. Somehow, customers seem to sense this, like animals smell fear, and they tend to get... uppity. Not to mention that there's simply more of them, every day, more and more, all over the place. The combination of uppity+ increased volume= super fucking agitating customer interactions.

... K, so, obviously, I tend to think that almost any customer interaction is super fucking agitating, no matter what they say or how considerate they think they're being, but what I realized yesterday is that there are some very specific kinds of customer behavior that particularly grind a girl's grocery gears ( I really wanted that alliteration SO BAD). For example:

The Mumbler

So, you're in the midst of doing your job, whatever that may be, and there's a customer beside you who obviously wants help, but instead of just asking, they hover around you and in their lowest, least detectable speaking voice, garble something about the product they can't find, as if talking to themselves. Except you know they're not talking to themselves, they're hoping you will be attentive and caring enough to notice how vigilantly they are searching and will lend them assistance. Fuck your face, dude, I'm not biting. If you want my help, holla, otherwise you can keep staring in fained confusion until you pass out. I'm busy, in case you didn't notice, so either shit or get off the pot. For reals.

Chatty Cathy

   This is one of those moments in which I think; am I just being bitch? And it's absolutely possible that the answer is a resounding "Yes, you totally are," but I didn't create this blog so that I could not talk a bunch of smack. That being said, I can't stand it when customers make product-related small talk. It's like, seriously, I don't know why there's so much sodium in our fresh stuffed bell peppers, and I don't care. I have no control over how our products are made or what ingredients they put in them, and I don't understand why anyone thinks that I do. And it's kind of a sneaky tactic, I think, because in a sense they're sort of complaining, perhaps hoping that I'll pass their valuable tid bits onto management (not like they can really do a whole lot either). But in reality, anything they say just gets filed under the "guess what this asshole said" category in my brain and that's about as far as it goes. And there are some particular catch-phrases that have a sort of nails-on-a-chalkboard affect on me, like...

   - " Oh, looks like you guys moved everything around again..."
   - " Wow, they got you working really hard, huh? (not product related, but still really stupid... yeah, I work hard, it's my motherfucking job)
   - " Huh, this product comes from [insert undesirable country of origin here], wish you guys didn't do that..."

   Like, either complain to someone who's paid enough to give a shit, or shut your sound hole and leave me alone. I am not your grocery therapist.

The Possible Pick-up attempt

I don't know about y'all, but sexy is not a word I would ever use to describe myself at work. Not only am I in an unflattering outfit, but I'm also usually covered in something food related, or at the very least bits of cardboard are clinging to every part of my body. And I sweat. A lot. Not an attractive look. So I find it disorienting when a customer could possibly be hitting on me. You know the feeling. They usually start out as a Chatty Cathy (or Chatty Carl, whatever the case may be), but they hang out for just a little too long, or the conversation takes a turn for the creepy. Usually, creepy grocery banter involves something about how strong you appear to be, or maybe they just inquire about your schedule or ask an equally, I-might-be-stalking-you kind of question. Here's the deal; unless you're cute, and approximately within my age range, I don't need your advances. Go pick up a barista at Starbucks or something.

... So I guess I'm still grumpy after all. Good for me. I knew there was some cranky in there somewhere, and I'm sure, come Thanksgiving, I'll only get crankier. God bless the holidays.
I encourage feedback on this one: what's your least favorite form of customer banter? Please share your thoughts with the class.

Two words: Burning Man

2010-08-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

Image by foxgrrl via Flickr

So, ok, I'm not going to totally pan Burning Man outright, because it's just too easy. And some part of me sort of understands and, hell, maybe even sympathizes with these...people. A couple of weeks in the dessert doing drugs and making art and dancing and fucking does sound like a legitimately good time. So I'm not even going to talk smack, because we've all said everything we need to say, and thought everything we need to think.

No.

I'm just going to talk about their shopping habits.

I realized the other day, as I was packing a reusable hemp grocery bag with about two dozen cartons of rice milk, that Burning Man shoppers are on par with the R.S.P, or "Roomate Shopping Phenomenon". R.S.P makes me wish there was a brick behind my register so that I could knock myself out whenever it happens. It's all the joys of the Couple Shopping Phenomenon, only there's usually at least three or four of them. And they can't decide how they want to pay. Or who should do the bagging. Or whose bags to use. Or whose car to drive, or what to carry, or what to text back to the other roommate that couldn't come shopping but wants something that they forgot to grab-SHUT UP! Stop making passive aggressive comments about how the one roommate who's bagging has control issues! Stop whining about how you always buy so much junk food (because you're the FAT one) and how the Skinny Blonde Roommate (who you obviously hate) has such good eating habits and you wish you could be more like her! Stop talking about household politics, and who cleaned the fucking toilet last! Just STOP TALKING!

Jesus, it's like Golden Girls meets Battle Royal, how do you all live together? Do you sleep with a knife under your pillow, because I sure as shit would!

...Anyway, The Burning Man set is kind of like that, except they're hippies, or artsy pretentious college students, so everything they say is followed by a "No Worries" or an "It's All Gravy" or "Whatever's Clever". It's an agro headache of flaky decisions and organic food choices, coupled with the stress of an upcoming 500 mile drive to the dessert. It hurts my insides. Not to mention that they always want you to know they're going to Burning Man, as if they're setting off for some spiritual pilgrimage and it's really important that you congratulate them on being so enlightened. Guess what, hippies: I don't give a shit. Good for you, you spent three hundred dollars to go camping with a bunch of assholes just like you and fry whatever's clinging to the inside of your big rattly skull on shitty party drugs! That's Fucking Great! I never would have guessed you were doing that, since you're dressed like a fucking dragon and you won't shut up about how much you "can't wait to be out on the playa." You are such a gigantic, ill-fitting asshat, I seriously think I hate you.

... I know I said I wouldn't pan Burning Man directly, but they're begging to be judged. And when they're galavanting through my store all day long like the World's Worst Thanksgiving Day Parade, it's hard not to curl my lip.

To come back to the original roommate comparison, I think part of the weirdness of the Burning Man Phenomenon is that while roommates are usually disorganized and irresponsible at check out, Burners try a little too hard, and the transaction becomes equally frustrating. They all bring their own bags, they all try to bag at the same time, they want to divide the bill up as evenly as possible. It's like, Hi, I know you're a hive mind now, but if you could please just snap out of your utopian fantasy world for, like, five minutes and just pay for your shit and pack up your refurbished VW Minibus (why is there a shark fin attacked to the roof? Are those Rumi quotes painted in spiral patterns all over the doors?) and get the F.U.C.K out of Babylon, that would be swell. Please. There's someone behind you, and they think you smell bad.

Luckily, The B.M.P is starting to phase out. If they're not there by now, they're not going. It's been an exhausting few weeks, my chi is really worn out and my aura is a sickly shade of green. Unfortunately, now that school has started, B.M.P. is only going to be replaced by R.S.P, so the lord giveth, and the lord taketh away. To the bricklayers of America: I will accept donations.

2010-08-15T21:27:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, the skinny on my new store: It runs like a well-oiled machine. Seriously, they got a system for everything. It's utterly amazing. Even the areas that aren't perfectly organized at least make some kind of sense, which I find pretty much breath taking. I realized, however, that it's really just the little things that impressed me, like:

All front end cleaning/stock items are kept in a cabinet at the front end, easily accessable to anyone unfortunate enough to get bitch duty. Same deal in the bathrooms; everything you need to clean the bathroom is in the bathroom. Duh.
The sign team has their own room, separate from the rest of the store. None of this, lets-just-shove-a-table-in-the-backroom-next-to-the-freezer bullshit. They have complete artistic freedom within their own space. Brilliant.
The areas of the backroom that have labels indicating what backstock belongs where are actually accurate and organized. And the truck rolls in super early, they unload on the dock, and then work product before close. By nine, they only have a few choice pallets left over and enough man-power to finish the job easily.

Aside from logistics, the crew itself is pretty rad. Management is scary chill, and all of my co-workers seem to be in harmony with each other and the store. It's... kind of freaking me out, actually. Morale is... high... and I have yet to meet the... well... disgruntled employees. Maybe everyone's just putting on a pleasant face, but in my experience spotting a pissed off grocer is pretty easy. They kind of just have this look on their face, even when they're buttering up a customer. But so far, no cranks. On a more personal note, one of my co-workers looks like David Duchovny, and not Californication, I'm a sexaholic David Duchovny, but like Fox Mulder circa 1994 David Duchovny, right down to his fucking hair cut. The nerd in me is totes in love.

The customers are a little unusual. I got, like, eleventy gagillion checks my first day, and they weren't even all from senior citizens. Perfectly able-bodied, middle aged people were whipping out their check books as though there was nothing archaic about it. On the plus side, I didn't have a single customer making love to their IPhone while they're checking out or sporting ear buds. I actually couldn't believe how nice everyone was, in that small town with a terrible secret kind of way. Sacrine sweet people, I swear.

OH! AND! They have too many people working Sundays, so for the time being I get them off. Twilight Zone material right there. I went to a fucking flee market today and went for a long bike ride. THAT'S the way to spend a Sunday, dammit!

Updates to come. For now, I'm still in transition. I'm getting kind of hasty with all the enthusiasm, here.

To put it elegantly, THIS IS BULLSHIT!

2010-08-07T14:58:00.000-07:00

Ok, so, I might be on vacation, and I might not work in San Francisco anymore, but a little, angry birdie told me that hygienic policy at my old store is taking on a sort of fascist flavor. This...doesn't sit well with me. For context, at this point, I think It's important to explain that while I won't outright say what grocery chain I work for (for fear that somehow their secret police will track me down and water board my ass) I will give you some hints: We are not, a big, boring, you-can-buy-Coca-Cola-and-Lays-Potato-Chips kinda grocery store. We cater to the, um, granola-eating, I-brought-my-own-bags-and-I-biked-here, alt crowd. That being said, the employees are a little rough around the edges.

And we like it that way.

In fact, I think it's safe to say that the customers like it that way, because if they wanted bland, characterless automatons they would hit up the other guys. But they don't. They want personality along with their milk and eggs. And we've got TONS of personality. We're dripping with personality. Not to mention that our company encourages personality, they want us to engage the customers in an almost abnormal-for-a-grocery-store way. They want us to be cool and interesting and charismatic, and to utilize our individuality to create a fun, unique shopping environment (k, I feel a little ill after writing that last sentence, but you get the idea).

So...why the sudden change of aesthetic heart?

When I first started at..."The Company", I worked with a bunch of fucking freaks. Tatts, Piercings, fucked up clothes, augmented uniforms, bandannas, boxers in plain site. It was a mecca for weirdos with a creative edge. I loved it. And it has remained that way, with only minor, occasional adjustments. But apparently, in recent weeks, employees have been told that their "five-o'clock shadow is unprofessional" and that if their jeans have a hole or two in them, they can't be worn to work anymore. Now, lest you think I'm just a punk ass kid givin' shit to the Man with no professional concern for the welfare of the company, I know there are limits to how, um, "creative" you can be at work, and I've definitely witnessed examples of things you probably shouldn't wear (sweat pants and daisy dukes come to mind...). This kind of talk, however, is a slippery slope. What's next, no tattoos? No facial hair at all? Kacky pants? 'Trim those sideburns, son! This is a grocery store, not one of your rock-and-roll, free-love, pot-smokin' ORGIES!' Scary stuff, man, scary stuff...

The point is, this is a serious load of happy horseshit. And not just for the kids on the bottom, managers will be affected by this too. I know a lot of bosses that are going to have to wear long sleeves and take a lot of metal out of their face before they show up to work. It makes me sad. I feel like the fundamental spirit of the company is changing, and it pains me to see what happens when a good idea gets too big for itself.

I feel for every employee who's affected by this. And I suggest you keep dressing the same way that you always have. Your happiness is the customer's happiness, after all. That's something the Man should be thinking about...

Something to hold you over...

2010-08-03T12:58:00.000-07:00

I can't even believe it, but I've actually been receiving complaints that I haven't updated recently. I'm amazed that anyone is actually paying attention, but since they apparently are, I think I need to 'splain something (even though those of you complaining are perfectly aware of the circumstances...BO...): I am sort of on vacay right now. I just moved to Santa Cruz, and I'm not going to be back on the grocery wagon for at least a week. I'm RELAXED, guys, and when I'm relaxed you know what I'm not doing? Thinking about work. At all. Like, I don't even remember what I do anymore.

Image via Wikipedia

That being said, I don't want to disappoint, so I'm going to tell a story from grocery stores past, even though I think some of you might have heard this one already, but it's a classic.

I call it: I CAN'T READ YOUR FUCKING MIND, BITCH!

Cover of Wayne's World / Wayne's World 2

::Wayne's World-style flash back hand motions::

Picture this: It's 8:55 pm, five minutes to close. It's been a long day. I'm tired. I'm cranky. And I have night crew to look forward to. I'm on register one, an express lane, but because I'm such a charitable, understanding person I've decided to take a customer who clearly has more than nine items (in fact she has practically a whole cart). She seemed alright, a stylish little hipster chic, probably someone I would get drunk with at a party in the Mission or something and then we'd run into each other a week later and have some kind of awkward, "Hey... don't I... know you from somewhere?" kind of conversation, even though we both clearly remember but we are too mutually cool to just admit it. That kind of thing. The point is, she was a peer. This is important. I expect certain people to treat me like shit. If you're obviously outside of my tax bracket; if you're a middle-aged man with perfectly manicured hands who'd rather keep your ear buds in than have a conversation, or a woman with a Pomeranian in a Louie Vuitton pet carrier (yes, they certainly do have them, it's sick) on your fucking Blackberry, I get it. I know the score. I'm "The Help", and I expect to be treated like the maid from Gone With the Wind. But if you're just another twenty-something fuck up like me, I anticipate a certain level of camaraderie.

Apparently this was too much to ask.

So, I'm bagging said hipster chic's groceries (this should have been a warning sign; if she truly viewed me as an equal, then she would have been bagging), easily three bag's worth of groceries, and that's if I make all three bags super fucking heavy. But as I'm bagging the third one up, what does this bitch say to me?

(Hold on... I need to take a deep breath and count to ten before I commit these words to electronic paper... )

She says, while curling her stupid hipster lips at me: "You know, I only have two arms..."

...So subtle, yet so perfectly insulting. If it hadn't made me so furious, I would have complimented her on her craftsmanship. I only have two arms, bravo, bitch! Let's see those Louie Vuitton bitches top that one! What a masterful jibe, ya got me!

I remember being in sort of a state of shock for a couple of seconds, and then immediately falling into a silent rage. Here is a sampling of some of the thoughts that were going through my head: if you knew you're walking, then WHY did you buy what is clearly too much for you to carry, and then expect me to perform some kind of miracle of physics? There's a fucking parking lot! How the hell am I supposed to know you're carrying this shit home? You could be driving, or biking, or scooting, you stupid, Decemberists-listening (this was four years ago), Pabst-drinking, Timbuktu-sporting, art-school-attending cunt!"

...I obviously didn't outwardly express any of these sentiments, although to this day I wish I had. Instead, I just dumped everything out of the third bag, piled it awkwardly on top of the other two (making them almost completely impossible to move), and told the bitch to have a good night. I never saw her again. I would ask my audience to look out for a stupid hipster bitch with a dumb expression on her face, but really that doesn't narrow down shit, so I guess there's nothing to be done. I can only hope she'll discover this one day and realize what a perfect bitch she was. But probably not. they never do.

Image via Wikipedia

Ok. Updated. Happy, bitches?

k

Love (and consideration of others) is all you need

2010-07-27T11:34:00.000-07:00

While I was playing the part of register monkey one day, I had a couple in my line that got into an... uncomfortable conversation. It was one of those moments that, as you watch it unfold, you realize you can't really say or do anything for fear of involving yourself in a situation you have no business being a part of. Their discussion went something like this:

Girl: Examining food item "What is this?"

Guy: With great enthusiasm "It's new, it's mud pie! have you ever had it? It's so good."

Girl: Rolls eyes "Yeah, I mean, I know what it is, I just don't think we need it."

Guy: "Well, if you don't eat it, I'll eat it."

Girl: "No, I mean, I'll eat it, now that we have it I guess I'll eat it." Disgruntled huff "God, did you see how many calories are in a serving? That's like eating a Bigmac..."

Guy: In a tone dripping with sarcasm "Yeah, well, you really need to WATCH YOUR FIGURE!"

Girl: chilling silence. Arms folded.

Me: ...

Guy: "...It was a joke, honey!" Nervous laughter. Looks to me for moral support or a mutual giggle.

Me: Noncommittal shrug

The rest of the transaction what disproportionately awkward. I don't think any of us said anything until I handed the Guy his receipt. I'm sure their car ride home was a real treat.

This was certainly not the first ( and it will doubtful be the last) embarrassing or disagreeable couple moment I've witnessed. But to be honest, couples at grocery stores are always a unique challenge, even when they are perfectly happy with each other. If you happen to be part of a couple, mazel tov, a thousand blessings to you and yours, but please, PLEASE, for the sanity of those around you, try follow the simple Do's and Don'ts of Grocery Shopping I have compiled below:

Do:

Work as a team. I love the power couple; the couple that realizes they are actually two separate individuals and utilizes their particular strengths to accomplish a goal. It's very simple to follow this model, all you have to do is divide the work. At check out, for example, one of you can pay while the other one bags. Or while you're shopping, send each other on missions. You don't have to be attached at the hip the whole time, you can spread out. I will respect you so much more if I see you working together.
Involve your clerk in reasonable conversation. There's a fine line between involving me too deeply in your relationship and just outright ignoring me. A good rule of thumb is this: If you were alone, you would probably say "hi, how are you?", and maybe make some light small talk. This is still acceptable, and generally welcome. I know some grocers that don't really want to talk at all, but for the most part we're humans, we like moderate pleasentries. It shows us that you have manners, and we like manners.

Don't:

Argue. Please. It's a simple request: keep your drama for your mama. Seriously, I am not your therapist nor am I even a friend. If you're having a relationship problem, just wait until you're outside to discuss it. Even (especially) if it's related to groceries (ex. "Honey, why did you get this kind of mustard, I wanted the other kind of mustard."), just accept whatever folly your sweetie has made and move on. Obviously one of you will eat it, you don't have to agree on every culinary decision. Just be thankful for the beautiful gift of love that you're sharing and get over it.
Make out. It's gross. People are trying to buy food. Have some class.
Be cute. This sounds a little harsh, but please understand: while I'm on register, I hear the same things over and over and over and over again. So although you might think you're being super-original when you and your bo are betting over how much the total is going to be, or you make cutesy commentary about what a great bagger your girlfriend is ("Honey, you should get a job here!"), I've actually already heard all of it, like, a million times. It's annoying. You are not a unique snowflake. You are just like every other cute couple I've ever seen. You don't need to put on a little cute show to prove how cute you are. We all get it, you're cute. Here's a medal.
Involve a grocery clerk in debates. Please don't use me to settle a dispute. This is not in my job description. I don't want to take sides. I don't want to piss anybody off. I'm just here to put cans on shelves. That's what I do. Leave me out of it.
Completely ignore everyone around you. While you're staring deeply into each other's eyes, guess what? There's someone behind you who's been saying "excuse me" for ten minutes. I realize that you feel like you're alone on a magical love island all your own, but you're not. Please be considerate of all the miserable singles around you who just want to buy their frozen pizza and bottle of wine for one in peace.
Act useless. There are two of you. That's twice as many as one. One of you should be bagging. At least. One of you should probably be paying. Or something. Anything. So why are you both just standing there, staring at me? Groceries don't magically just jump into the bags themselves. Help a sister out and do something.

So, there's definitely more Don'ts than Do's, but I promise, if you follow these guidelines, your grocer will thank you. Not to mention the rest of society.

Tiny carts in a big world, and other horrifying moments with children

2010-07-21T11:54:00.000-07:00

My co-worker (and friend) got hit in the shins with a cart one day. Yes, in the shins. Keep that in mind. The driver of the cart was not remorseful, nor apologetic. He seemed, if anything, to be entertained by what he had done, and appeared to think that my friend's outward expressions of pain and displeasure were very funny indeed. Was he some sort of sociopath, you might be wondering. Was he mentally handicapped? or was he just a run-of-the-mill asshole getting his jollies off at the supermarket?

No.

He was a four-year-old-boy.

With a tiny, child-sized cart.

Yes, we provide tiny carts at my store. And they are, in my opinion, the worst idea ever in the history of the grocery business.

Parents love them, of course, because they're an instant license to ignore everything your child does. They keep baby occupied, so now mommy and daddy can focus on more important things, like what chardonnay will best distract them from all their obvious marital problems, which must be, if they are so plainly evident to a perfect stranger, absolute hell on wheels to live with every day of their cheerless middle-upperclass lives.

...but I digress.

The point is, baby carts are a menace. Especially on, say, a Sunday afternoon, when you literally cannot walk down an aisle without bumping butts with everyone you pass. Does it really seem like a good idea to give a child that kind of power and mobility in a crowded store surrounded by people who are much larger than said child and are generally only paying attention to their grocery list? Not savvy.

But really, the tiny cart issue is only part of a much bigger problem, which is poor parenting. It's amazing, almost spellbinding, to witness the kind of negligence that parents display at a grocery store. I've seen carts (adult-sized carts this time) fall on top of kids, I've seen whole end caps destroyed by one tiny, curious hand, I've even seem children using the fresh cooler as a jungle gym.

Now it's possible, being a twenty-something, single college grad who only has to take care of herself, that I don't understand the the finer points of parenting, but I'm pretty sure the first rule of thumb is to keep the little fuckers in your line of vision. Not complicated. If you can SEE them, then you can CONTROL them, right? So what's so hard about keeping a keen eye out while you're deciding on cereal? It's really not that difficult, and it takes a huge moral weight off of the rest of us, who can see your kid about to do something REALLY stupid and are trying to decide how involved we want to become in your family drama.

But really, I think the first step in amending these issues is to get rid of the tiny carts.

For the love of God.

Image via Wikipedia

A few winning customer experiences...

2010-07-20T11:54:00.000-07:00

I don't know what got into the drinking water yesterday, but the darling customer base of my fine grocery store was in a mood. Like, severely cranky and uptight, more so than usual. I think maybe it was the onset of, ahem, "San Francisco summer", which is pretty much some of the crappiest weather we get all year aside from the rainy winter months. I'm willing to buy into seasonal depression as a possible culprit, but really people, just pop some zanax and calm down. As a grocery clerk, I am not out to get you, I swear.

Here are some examples of yesterday's follies:

Switching register drawers takes a minute. Unfortunate, but true. As a lowly part-timer, I have to rely on management to open the register. Apparently, this process was taking a little too long for one older gentlemen, who started yelling at me to "hurry up" and that he "hasn't got all day". I love irate senior citizens, they are some of my favorite angry customers, mostly because they rarely have a realistic sense of what's going on and they can't hear very well. I decided to just play up the sappy kindness, because in my experience, that only really pisses them off more. What a delight.
A man wanted to pay for his purchase with a credit card that wouldn't scan. He told me I would have to enter it manually, and that our system never takes it. Fair enough. I would gladly enter the card manually, but we just recently changed our policy and require a physical print of the card and a form of ID. Well, that just wouldn't do at all. "I do this every time I'm here!" The man spat, "If you guys just fixed your system, I wouldn't have to deal with this all the time! You guys need to get your act together!" Keep in mind, his card expires this month.
I was giving a customer his change, and I forgot twenty cents. These things happen. It's an express lane, I move fast, and sometimes I move too fast. But instead of just casually accepting the mistake for what it was, this guy actually SNAPS HIS FINGERS IN MY FACE and says "Hello!"...nuff said.

All in all, a fascinating day at ye old grocery store. But you know what, these pale in comparison to some of the other customer experiences I've had, so really I should be grateful that it wasn't any worse.

These are brilliant

2010-07-19T11:42:00.000-07:00

www.grocerylists.org
www.mostlygrocery.com

A little inspirational material...

2010-07-19T01:35:00.000-07:00

Intros and Contexts

2010-07-19T01:22:00.000-07:00

"Hi, how are you today?”

“I’m fine, how are you?”

“Fine, thanks, did you find everything you were looking for?”

“No, actually, are you guys out of that, um, what is it, you know…do you know what I’m talking about? It has that, like, label, and it comes in a can or a box or a jar or a bag or something? YOU know what I mean…”

“I’m…not sure, do you remember what it was called?”

“No, I don’t remember…you don’t know what I’m talking about? I got it here two years ago, I remember.”

“Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re talking about…”

“Well, could you get someone to check for me? And could you double bag that, I have a long walk to the parking lot.”

“…No problem…”

Hello, my name is Gail, and I work at a grocery store. If the above conversation sounds familiar to you, than you probably to do. Welcome. This is the grand bitchfest you’ve been waiting for.

Being a grocer can be a challenge, and I think it’s important that we have a safe and supportive environment in which to vent our frustrations. I know there are other sites for sharing tails of retail woe, but the supermarket biz is a whole other animal. I think it would be safe to say that there are specific pet peeves for all subcategories of customer service, and it’s hard to understand more particular issues if you’ve never had a certain job. I’ve never been a server, for instance, so although I could relate to their problems, I wouldn’t completely understand. What I’m trying to say is, nothing personal, but if you work at the Gap, this isn’t your scene.

That being said, I encourage any and all grocers to contribute to this blog. Horror stories, worst customer experiences, shitty bosses, let it out. This is your chance to be validated.

Thank you, and have a nice day.

-T.G.G.