Really. If you're going to try to cash a fake paycheck, at least get your game face on and don't try to run game on me when you clearly couldn't fool a fifth grader. And no asking for "The Store Manager" isn't going to make me roll over. I'm right, you're wrong. Put up, shut up and leave.
The Wal-Mart I work at seems to be some sort of feeding trough for the great herds of free-range white trash which boil forth from the trailers and dilapidated row houses that bring to mind the sad and sorry mid-century Depression-era buildings of Steinbeckian woe. I don't know why they can't roll the beat-up pick-ups with dual antennas and "KICKIN KUNTRY" bumper stickers on down to the Sav-A-Lot and seriously -- save a lot.
I guess they love the Wal-Mart because there's always one or two old women standing in the big aisle by the groceries handing out little hot dogs on a toothpick or squirting cheese product out of a can onto a cracker. That or handing out free AirWick samples. Shiva knows they need something to help them smell better.
I digress. These two lovely people come up to my counter last week and want to cash a check. Now, Wal-Mart DOES NOT CASH HAND-WRITTEN PAYROLL CHECKS. I don't care if the payroll says JESUS / PEARLY GATES / HEAVEN -- it IS NOT running through my check machine unless everything on there is computer printed except the signature. And I still look the thing over for irregularities.
So the girl, who is pretty much a picture of skanky hooker trying to hold on to the last few years of youth -- dyed black hair (it was too dark and crunchy looking to be natural), denim skirt that had been either fringed or had more cut off, black fishnets, a black stretch top and white long-sleeved shirt that was tied RIGHT under her assets and about 27 bangles on each arm. And don't forget the nose piercing and multiple ear piercings. The john had on blue jeans down around his knees, red and blue and green plaid boxers (probably shoplifted from the Wal-Mart) and a wife beater which exposed his multiple tattoos -- some of which looked like a prison job. And dirty work boots. I guess you gotta make a living somehow after the cops raid the meth lab.
This "payroll check" they hand over is supposedly from a construction company -- but the paper feels funny (the ink had probably been washed) and the amount and new dollar writing had been done in bright pink ink.
And the signature was in another color ink. Really. I wonder what these clowns were thinking.
ME: "I'm sorry, I can't cash that check for you."
THEM: And the move RIGHT on top of my register and try to intimidate me. "Why not."
ME: "We do not cash hand-written payroll checks."
THEM: "We cash it here every weekend." I'm thinking - "Lying sow. No you don't. I rarely if ever get a Saturday or Sunday off -- and I'd frelling sure know if we magically started cashing these babies."
ME: "I'm sorry. We've never cashed handwritten payroll checks. You can go to the Ace Cash Express or to the Circle K."
THEM: "We ALWAYS cash this check at Wal-Mart. You better get a manager and let us cash this check."
MANAGER: "What's the problem?"
THEM: "We'd like to cash this check."
MANAGER: "I'm sorry. We don't cash those type of checks."
THEM: "We always cash it here."
MANAGER: "No. We don't accept handwritten payroll checks for fraud reasons."
THEM: "We want a store manager."
MANAGER: "I am a manager. I am the manager for the register area. This is as high as this matter goes."
THEM: "Your badge says "assistant manager." We want a real manager."
MANAGER: "No. We're not going to cash that check. Is there anything else we can help you with."
THEM: "We'll just have to go to a Wal-Mart that will let us cash our check and spend our money there."
MANAGER: "Very good ma'am."
After the unsavory duo leaves, the manager says to me "Pink writing? Nobody is going to take that check."