It has been hella busy lately, so I'm not always at Customer Service right when I go in at 2 p.m. - because that seems to be the only schedule I ever get nowadays - 2-11 p.m.
Saturday I go in and there is a new co-manager running the front end and all the supervisors are on a register. Instead of the service desk, she asks if I can watch the Self Checkouts for a while. OK. Fine. They're theft magnets and people are stupid. Sounds the same to me.
There's a new thing now where we're not supposed to actually stand at the monitoring station - with the cash register and the computer that has the monitor for all four self-checkouts. We're supposed to stand out in the middle of the Self-Checkout aisles and "be available" for customers - which generally means you get pulled four ways at once and don't get anything done.
I'm trying to help this WOACA ring up tomatoes - all the while she's insisting that "TOMATOES CANNOT COST THIS MUCH IN NOVEMBER." Seriously lady. Yes they can.
Then I see the tragedy start to unfold.
There's a hugely fat woman with not one, not two, but three screaming howler monkeys. She's got one of those Wal-Mart kid-carts, with the child seats built into the buggy under the handle. Two crotchlings are seated there; the third is clinging to the side of the buggy like a shipwreck survivor. They are howling fit to raise the dead. They want chips, candy, movies, a soda, their Nintendo DS. What they NEED is a good spanking and a lesson on how to act in public.
The cart is full. Not just full, but overflowing. Either she only shops once a month or there are additional howler monkeys at home. Dear Kali, perish the thought. Underneath the buggy, she's jammed a couple of cases of water and soda and also managed to wedge a sack of Ol' Roy dog food that sits precariously on the edge. The howler clinging to the side is repeatedly bouncing on the sack of Ol' Roy - causing it to lean further out of the buggy.
I see her come by Register 1, bend down and re-adjust the dog food, trying to jam it up under the buggy some more. Then she's distracted by the screaming howlers and yells at them to "Just shut up and wait a minute. Mommy's almost done."
She finally KICKS the dog food and pushes the buggy forward.
Unfortunately for her, those kiddie carts aren't the most maneuverable. Think station wagons - without power steering.
A corner of the sack of dog food hangs on the bottom of one of the shelf displays. I see her having trouble and move to go over, but am caught by this idiot woman who can't find the barcode on a carton of water. See people, it is NOT as simple as "scan and bag."
When I look up again, the woman and her howler monkeys are down by register five.
Unfortunately, so is half a sack of Ol' Roy - marking the trail like some bizarre Hansel and Gretel.
I yell at her "Ma'am. Ma'am Ma'am"
She doesn't here me over her howlers. And she keeps on going. Register 7. More dog food.
I yell at her "Ma'am. Ma'am Ma'am"
Register 9. Register 11. She's trying to find a short line.
She turns in at Register 13. And the woman beside her goes "What the hell is that?"
Yes. Ol'Roy.
All the way from Register 2 down to Register 13.
And it stank. I really do not know who feeds that stuff to their dogs.
Seriously people. You know what Wal-Mart feeds to people. Do you really want to know what they feed to dogs?
Showing posts with label stupid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stupid. Show all posts
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Hair today, gone tomorrow
I’m sorry. There have been *issues.* Posts have been eaten. Phones have been thrown across the room. People have been cursed. Supervisors have been requested. I'm sure that I'm on "customers_suck" on LiveJournal at this point. Comcast is the worst company in the free world when it comes to customer service. Also the worst when it comes to actually keeping their product, I don't know, WORKING! I hope every single one of their local, regional and corporate offices burn down and all their phone monkey slaves die with their idiotic, condescending and unhelpful tails tied to their chairs.
Anywhoo.
I’m slaving away, as per usual. It’s a Sunday. My feet hurt and I regret mightily eating that leftover Olive Garden takeout for my lunch because it is just causing *issues.*
Every 20 minutes I’m praying the customers leave me alone and screaming “Dequetta (my supervisor, name changed to protect the innocent, but she IS a ghettolicious superstar), can you watch Customer Service for a minute? I got to go.” That’s what kind of a day it is.
In the midst of all this fun comes one of my regulars, a hot-blooded twenty-something who seems to make a pastime out of buying and returning clothes. She’s the type of upscale consumer Wal-Mart would love to attract more of – but hates to try on clothes in the store. And she buys four sizes of everything and returns three of them.
Mizz Thing is working it today. I guess she visited the new bebe store in town. She’s rocking a pink and white bebe sport outfit today – sweatpants, tee and hoodie. Of course, the letters hit RIGHT where it would do the most good – right across the boobs and the buns. Not that this sister needs any more attention. She’s got just enough curves in all the right places.
What I do notice is that she’s rocking a new ‘do. She’s added some purple highlights to the black shag on either side of her face. Dramatic, but cute.
Today she’s returning a hair-dryer. We’re talking heavy-duty hair-dryer here. Leaves would tremble in terror at mere mention of this thing. Seriously. She slammed it up on the counter and at first I thought it was something from hardware until I looked at the receipt.
Cue the fun:
ME: “Can I help you? How are you doing today?” If I know you, I'm friendly. At least until you try to run game.
HER: “Good. I just need to return this hair dryer.”
ME: “OK. Do you have your receipt?” Almost always does. She knows the score.
HER: “It’s right here.”
ME: “OK.” Receipt is a month old.
ME: “Uh. Was there a problem with it?”
HER: “Oh. I didn’t use it. I bought it for my sister and she looked at it and said she didn’t want it because it was too big.”
ME: Looking at the box. It’s one of those clear plastic case things, and there is something bothering me.
HER: “So how have you been? It is so busy today.”
ME: Distractedly. “Fine.” Something about this box and the hairdryer is tickling my admittedly tiny brain.
HER: “That’s good. Is it always this busy on Sundays?”
ME: Still looking at the box. “Yeah. It was real busy earlier.” I finally figure out what is bothering me. Something is missing from the box. There's actually an empty space where something should be and that something isn't there.
HER: “I came in and didn’t see you earlier. I guess you were on your lunch or something.”
ME: “Um. Did this come with an attachment or something? Because it looks like there is supposed to be something here.”
HER: “Oh. It did. It had a diffuser attachment. I took that out because it fits on my other hair dryer. I decided to keep it and just bring the hair dryer back.”
ME: “Um. Um. I …” Houston, we have a problem.
HER: “I don’t want this hair dryer though. I just wanted the attachment. That’s all I bought it for.”
ME: “Yeah. I kind of need the attachment if I’m going to give you the money back for the whole hair dryer.”
HER: “But the whole hair dryer is there. Just not the attachment.”
ME: “Yeah. It’s kind of not. It comes with an attachment. And you still have the attachment.”
HER: “I want to keep the attachment.”
ME: “If you keep the attachment, you can keep the hair dryer.”
HER: “I don’t want the hair dryer.”
ME: “You can’t return it without the attachment.”
HER: “Why not?”
ME: “Because you bought it with the attachment – and you have to return it with the attachment.”
HER: “That’s not fair. I only want to keep the parts I want and return the rest.”
ME: “But they’re sold as a set.”
HER: “I think I should get to keep the attachment. I shop here all the time.”
ME: “No.”
HER: “That’s not fair.”
ME: “Well, you can’t get something for free.”
HER: “I don’t want something for free. I bought a hair dryer and I’m returning a hair dryer.”
ME: “But you’re keeping the attachment. You’re not returning everything you purchased.”
HER: “That’s what I said. I want to return the hair dryer.”
ME: “If you bring the attachment.”
HER: “But I want to keep the attachment.”
ME: “No. Hair dryer and attachment, I’ll return it. Otherwise, no return.”
HER: “That’s just not fair.”
ME: “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how it’s going to be.”
Finally, she pouts some more and walks off. As she leaves, I notice she has bebe written in pink over her rump. It ought to be "baby."
Sheesh.
Anywhoo.
I’m slaving away, as per usual. It’s a Sunday. My feet hurt and I regret mightily eating that leftover Olive Garden takeout for my lunch because it is just causing *issues.*
Every 20 minutes I’m praying the customers leave me alone and screaming “Dequetta (my supervisor, name changed to protect the innocent, but she IS a ghettolicious superstar), can you watch Customer Service for a minute? I got to go.” That’s what kind of a day it is.
In the midst of all this fun comes one of my regulars, a hot-blooded twenty-something who seems to make a pastime out of buying and returning clothes. She’s the type of upscale consumer Wal-Mart would love to attract more of – but hates to try on clothes in the store. And she buys four sizes of everything and returns three of them.
Mizz Thing is working it today. I guess she visited the new bebe store in town. She’s rocking a pink and white bebe sport outfit today – sweatpants, tee and hoodie. Of course, the letters hit RIGHT where it would do the most good – right across the boobs and the buns. Not that this sister needs any more attention. She’s got just enough curves in all the right places.
What I do notice is that she’s rocking a new ‘do. She’s added some purple highlights to the black shag on either side of her face. Dramatic, but cute.
Today she’s returning a hair-dryer. We’re talking heavy-duty hair-dryer here. Leaves would tremble in terror at mere mention of this thing. Seriously. She slammed it up on the counter and at first I thought it was something from hardware until I looked at the receipt.
Cue the fun:
ME: “Can I help you? How are you doing today?” If I know you, I'm friendly. At least until you try to run game.
HER: “Good. I just need to return this hair dryer.”
ME: “OK. Do you have your receipt?” Almost always does. She knows the score.
HER: “It’s right here.”
ME: “OK.” Receipt is a month old.
ME: “Uh. Was there a problem with it?”
HER: “Oh. I didn’t use it. I bought it for my sister and she looked at it and said she didn’t want it because it was too big.”
ME: Looking at the box. It’s one of those clear plastic case things, and there is something bothering me.
HER: “So how have you been? It is so busy today.”
ME: Distractedly. “Fine.” Something about this box and the hairdryer is tickling my admittedly tiny brain.
HER: “That’s good. Is it always this busy on Sundays?”
ME: Still looking at the box. “Yeah. It was real busy earlier.” I finally figure out what is bothering me. Something is missing from the box. There's actually an empty space where something should be and that something isn't there.
HER: “I came in and didn’t see you earlier. I guess you were on your lunch or something.”
ME: “Um. Did this come with an attachment or something? Because it looks like there is supposed to be something here.”
HER: “Oh. It did. It had a diffuser attachment. I took that out because it fits on my other hair dryer. I decided to keep it and just bring the hair dryer back.”
ME: “Um. Um. I …” Houston, we have a problem.
HER: “I don’t want this hair dryer though. I just wanted the attachment. That’s all I bought it for.”
ME: “Yeah. I kind of need the attachment if I’m going to give you the money back for the whole hair dryer.”
HER: “But the whole hair dryer is there. Just not the attachment.”
ME: “Yeah. It’s kind of not. It comes with an attachment. And you still have the attachment.”
HER: “I want to keep the attachment.”
ME: “If you keep the attachment, you can keep the hair dryer.”
HER: “I don’t want the hair dryer.”
ME: “You can’t return it without the attachment.”
HER: “Why not?”
ME: “Because you bought it with the attachment – and you have to return it with the attachment.”
HER: “That’s not fair. I only want to keep the parts I want and return the rest.”
ME: “But they’re sold as a set.”
HER: “I think I should get to keep the attachment. I shop here all the time.”
ME: “No.”
HER: “That’s not fair.”
ME: “Well, you can’t get something for free.”
HER: “I don’t want something for free. I bought a hair dryer and I’m returning a hair dryer.”
ME: “But you’re keeping the attachment. You’re not returning everything you purchased.”
HER: “That’s what I said. I want to return the hair dryer.”
ME: “If you bring the attachment.”
HER: “But I want to keep the attachment.”
ME: “No. Hair dryer and attachment, I’ll return it. Otherwise, no return.”
HER: “That’s just not fair.”
ME: “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how it’s going to be.”
Finally, she pouts some more and walks off. As she leaves, I notice she has bebe written in pink over her rump. It ought to be "baby."
Sheesh.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
This man, he returned a lot of shirts
Generally, I'm pretty much down with people returning clothes. It's the Wal-Mart. It is not a high-fashion type of place where you can send sales clerks out for twenty-seven different variations of a pink blouse in a large and then ask "Does this make me look fat." Chances are, if you're shopping for fashion at the House of Wal, you're not a discriminating shopper in the first place. Grab and go. That's the motto.
Anyway. Probably 4 out of five of the clothing returns we get come back with the tags still attached. Most of the rest at least come back with the tags after they've been cut off to try on, or because they were given as gifts. The one in ten that don't come back with any sort of tags usually look like they've been through wreck on the turnpike and then used to make a tourniquet. And then worn out to a rave with a Zombie Bloodbath Bash theme the next night.
Every now and again, we get back used undergarments and ladies intimates. I've actually taken back swim trucks that made me think I was at the beach - they smelled so strongly of ocean water, beach sand and salt. I swear to Kali we were about thirty seconds from hanging ten with Kelly Slater up at my counter.
My point. I had one. Somewhere. Right.
This man brings up a buggy full of white. At first I thought it was sheets or maybe a comforter, because people do that - unpack sheets and are then completely unable to get the stuff back in the package. Oh no, it was shirts. Lots and lots of shirts.
White cotton button-down dress shirts. The ultra-cheap Wal-Mart $17.64 type. FIFTEEN OF THEM. Not one. Not two. FIFTEEN. QUINCE.
These shirts are sold in sealed plastic packages. None of these shirts had packages. None of them. He throws the wad of shirts up on the counter and I start counting. I ask him "Are all these the same?" The answer is the affirmative. I start counting. We get up to fifteen and my mind boggles.
And he has a receipt. A receipt from a week ago no less. I'm screaming to ask "What the hell do you do with fifteen white cheap faux cotton dress shirts in a week? What the hell?"
Thankfully, he supplies the answer without me having to ask.
"I bought all of these and took them straight to the dry cleaner. I didn't notice they were long-sleeved. I wanted short sleeves."
I'm pressing [REPEAT LAST ITEM] and then [ENTER] on my touchscreen fourteen times while he's talking. When he says dry cleaner I pause. Surely this man is not taking Wal-Mart shirts to the dry cleaner.
But then he confirms my worst fears.
"I dry clean all my clothes before I wear them. When I picked them up from the cleaners, that was when I noticed the long sleeves." You sir, have too much money.
So, load them up into the car and drive all fifteen freshly chemically treated shirts straight back to the House of Wal for your $280.48 (complete with tax) back.
I can understand cleaning your clothes.
I can understand buying the wrong shirt - maybe not FIFTEEN of them, but I can understand buying the wrong shirt.
I can certainly understand washing anything you buy at Wal-Mart before wearing it.
I can MAYBE understand dry cleaning your House of Wal garments. I mean, they DO come from the House of Wal.
This man, I do not get. Not in any way, shape or form.
Anyway. Probably 4 out of five of the clothing returns we get come back with the tags still attached. Most of the rest at least come back with the tags after they've been cut off to try on, or because they were given as gifts. The one in ten that don't come back with any sort of tags usually look like they've been through wreck on the turnpike and then used to make a tourniquet. And then worn out to a rave with a Zombie Bloodbath Bash theme the next night.
Every now and again, we get back used undergarments and ladies intimates. I've actually taken back swim trucks that made me think I was at the beach - they smelled so strongly of ocean water, beach sand and salt. I swear to Kali we were about thirty seconds from hanging ten with Kelly Slater up at my counter.
My point. I had one. Somewhere. Right.
This man brings up a buggy full of white. At first I thought it was sheets or maybe a comforter, because people do that - unpack sheets and are then completely unable to get the stuff back in the package. Oh no, it was shirts. Lots and lots of shirts.
White cotton button-down dress shirts. The ultra-cheap Wal-Mart $17.64 type. FIFTEEN OF THEM. Not one. Not two. FIFTEEN. QUINCE.
These shirts are sold in sealed plastic packages. None of these shirts had packages. None of them. He throws the wad of shirts up on the counter and I start counting. I ask him "Are all these the same?" The answer is the affirmative. I start counting. We get up to fifteen and my mind boggles.
And he has a receipt. A receipt from a week ago no less. I'm screaming to ask "What the hell do you do with fifteen white cheap faux cotton dress shirts in a week? What the hell?"
Thankfully, he supplies the answer without me having to ask.
"I bought all of these and took them straight to the dry cleaner. I didn't notice they were long-sleeved. I wanted short sleeves."
I'm pressing [REPEAT LAST ITEM] and then [ENTER] on my touchscreen fourteen times while he's talking. When he says dry cleaner I pause. Surely this man is not taking Wal-Mart shirts to the dry cleaner.
But then he confirms my worst fears.
"I dry clean all my clothes before I wear them. When I picked them up from the cleaners, that was when I noticed the long sleeves." You sir, have too much money.
So, load them up into the car and drive all fifteen freshly chemically treated shirts straight back to the House of Wal for your $280.48 (complete with tax) back.
I can understand cleaning your clothes.
I can understand buying the wrong shirt - maybe not FIFTEEN of them, but I can understand buying the wrong shirt.
I can certainly understand washing anything you buy at Wal-Mart before wearing it.
I can MAYBE understand dry cleaning your House of Wal garments. I mean, they DO come from the House of Wal.
This man, I do not get. Not in any way, shape or form.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Black Thumb the Pirate
By the power of Grayskull, I have now seen it all. All. There is no more to see. Removeth mine eyes and fill the empty sockets with tulip bulbs.
I cringe at the sight of dead plants. In the first place, I hate the fact that people are supporting Wal-Mart instead of a proper nursery, one that might actually help them keep the poor things alive. Then, I dread the inevitable collection of dirt, dead leaves and sometimes bugs that will soon be scattered across my counter. Or the hunt for a UPC if they don't have a receipt.
This woman Sunday took the cake. Not only did she return nine - count 'em, NINE - plants, she returned everything she used togrow kill the plants as well.
It boggles the mind.
I'm returning four pairs of shoes for a woman (all the wrong size) when I look up and see a buggy of dead plants. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I probably groaned too, because the Carrie Bradshaw-wannabe I was helping turned around, looked and then turned back and around and went "Oh, wow. They're dead." to her totally-not-Samantha-but-still-a-ho friend.
Dead doesn't even begin to describe these plants. Think last week's salad - with a dash of the Sahara thrown in for good measure. The woman was the basic Midwestern retiree type that flocks to Florida. Yellow shorts, blue T-shirt, sun visor. Spotless white shoes. Right there, that was a clue. How many gardeners have you ever seen with even one pair of white shoes? Much less clean ones.
Not-Carrie and Samantha-bot leave. Black Thumb pulls up to the counter and begins unloading her cargo of slain chlorophyll. I grab a metaphorical pair of hedge clippers and wade in.
She's got five, six, seven, eight, NINE clods of very dry dirt - roughly the size of a pot - attached to a stem and some leaves (Dieffenbachia, for those interested). These, she starts clunking down on the counter. "THESE" *clunk* dirt flies, "DIDN'T GROW" *clunk* more dirt "FOR ME." *clunk, clunk, clunk*
After the first three, when I realize she's intent on *clunking* out the entire litany of her failed botany experiment, I grab some Wal-mart bags and get her to put the science fair rejects in there instead. Hey, I care about the planet. I recycle!
Then, when I didn't think it was possible, it gets worse. UNDER the plants in her buggy, she's got the tools of the torturer. A half a bag of fertilizer, a hand-held spade, a hand-held trowel, a garden hose and a bottle of MiracleGro. ALL USED!
"You want to return all that?"
Of course you do.
The date on the receipt? September 29, 2007. Yes folks. Deader than Britney's career after the VMA's in just over three weeks. Impressive isn't it?
Want to play gardener? Come right on in to the House of Wal. We don't have any trained gardeners or people who know anything about plants. But we'll let you return your toys when you break them.
I cringe at the sight of dead plants. In the first place, I hate the fact that people are supporting Wal-Mart instead of a proper nursery, one that might actually help them keep the poor things alive. Then, I dread the inevitable collection of dirt, dead leaves and sometimes bugs that will soon be scattered across my counter. Or the hunt for a UPC if they don't have a receipt.
This woman Sunday took the cake. Not only did she return nine - count 'em, NINE - plants, she returned everything she used to
It boggles the mind.
I'm returning four pairs of shoes for a woman (all the wrong size) when I look up and see a buggy of dead plants. Inwardly, I groan. Outwardly, I probably groaned too, because the Carrie Bradshaw-wannabe I was helping turned around, looked and then turned back and around and went "Oh, wow. They're dead." to her totally-not-Samantha-but-still-a-ho friend.
Dead doesn't even begin to describe these plants. Think last week's salad - with a dash of the Sahara thrown in for good measure. The woman was the basic Midwestern retiree type that flocks to Florida. Yellow shorts, blue T-shirt, sun visor. Spotless white shoes. Right there, that was a clue. How many gardeners have you ever seen with even one pair of white shoes? Much less clean ones.
Not-Carrie and Samantha-bot leave. Black Thumb pulls up to the counter and begins unloading her cargo of slain chlorophyll. I grab a metaphorical pair of hedge clippers and wade in.
She's got five, six, seven, eight, NINE clods of very dry dirt - roughly the size of a pot - attached to a stem and some leaves (Dieffenbachia, for those interested). These, she starts clunking down on the counter. "THESE" *clunk* dirt flies, "DIDN'T GROW" *clunk* more dirt "FOR ME." *clunk, clunk, clunk*
After the first three, when I realize she's intent on *clunking* out the entire litany of her failed botany experiment, I grab some Wal-mart bags and get her to put the science fair rejects in there instead. Hey, I care about the planet. I recycle!
Then, when I didn't think it was possible, it gets worse. UNDER the plants in her buggy, she's got the tools of the torturer. A half a bag of fertilizer, a hand-held spade, a hand-held trowel, a garden hose and a bottle of MiracleGro. ALL USED!
"You want to return all that?"
Of course you do.
The date on the receipt? September 29, 2007. Yes folks. Deader than Britney's career after the VMA's in just over three weeks. Impressive isn't it?
Want to play gardener? Come right on in to the House of Wal. We don't have any trained gardeners or people who know anything about plants. But we'll let you return your toys when you break them.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Wal-Mart - saving you zero cents every day!
So the Consumerist has (rightfully) been all over the House of Wal for continually screwing up those ROLLBACK signs - you know, the ones that give a "before" and "after" price?As you can see - the price of Fanta has dropped dramatically! A whole no cents! How's that whole Save Money! Live Better! thing working out for you? (on a side note, who does not love the Fantantas? Kiki, Lola, Capri, Sophia!)
Well, I was night-owling it this week because I was bored and actually broke one of my cardinal rules (Thou shalt not visit the Wal-Mart unless on the schedule!). Imagine my giddiness to see one a perfect Consumerist-ready photo - just waiting to happen!
And then there was the overnight assistant manager standing right behind the Fanta display just yapping up a storm to the overnight support manager - oblivious to the fact that their sign was very, very wrong.
I had to wait for them to move, then grab a quick photo with my phone.
I know how these things happen. Someone is totally not paying attention - and either prints out the wrong ROLLBACK price or puts the wrong actual price in the sign. Still. Even for our non-English-speaking workforce, I would have thought that numbers would be fundamental. How many episodes of "Pinball Number Count" do we need to recognize basic numbers here?
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Dawn of the Really Stupid Wal-Mart Customer
You know, I really, really, really and truly loathe the fact that television stations give airtime to anyone who calls up and describes something that is going to make for good ratings. Then Consumerist jumps on the bandwagon ... and suddenly the whole Internet is awash in stupidity.
An NBC station in Texas filed this report alleging the indescribable horror experienced by a mother and her three young girls following a run-in with a Halloween display at the front door of a Wal-Mart. What's the plural of Cthulu? Now that's indescribable horror!
Texas mother angry over graphic Halloween display in Wal-Mart
HURST, Texas, Oct. 7, 2007 (NBC) – A North Texas mother said a Wal-Mart Halloween display gave her three daughters nightmares. Adriana Whitney, of Hurst, said she and her daughters saw the life-size Halloween decoration while grocery shopping. "It looked like a real, live monster," 4-year-old Grace Whitney said. Full story, with link for video
For real. Look woman. If that is the most horrific thing your children see on Halloween, you really need to get them out more. Public school is going to be a nightmare of epic proportions for your special snowflakes. Then again, you're from Texas - the state that elects George Bush to things for no apparent reason.
First, you need to grow up yourself. Then, you need to be a parent TO YOUR CHILDREN, take some responsibility and explain the difference between fantasy and reality? What, exactly, kind of world have they been living in? Do they believe in unicorns, fairies and magical moonbeams too? And according to your daughter, what the hell is a "real, live monster?" Do you have those kind of things parading around North Texas all the time?
Next, the cheap plastic crap that Wal-Mart sells is indeed horrifying - but only in the sense that it is horrifyingly ugly. It in NO WAY POSSIBLE resembles anything remotely scary - except the fact that someone in China thought it was scary.
Then, if you want to see something scary, you ought to see the profit margins on that cheap Chinese crap. I'm sure it would send you into a real tizzy to see what the House of Wal makes off headless animatronics and other assorted Halloween junk. More than you spend on fiber for your colon cleansings each month!
I really should not get worked up about this - but I despise the stupids. Loathe the stupids. If you don't like it, don't shop there. Have a calm word with the manager.
Don't go blabbing to the TV station and making out like your howler monkeys have been scarred for life. Good for them. If they were going to turn out anything like you, maybe they needed a detour on life's highway.
Maybe, just maybe, ANUBIS KNOWS WE CAN PRAY, it scared them enough to never go back into another Wal-Mart again.
On second thought - start installing those headless things at every door of every Wal-Mart in America. Let's "merchandise" the customers away the Wal-mart way! Gimme a squiggly!
PS: Apologies to George Romero for ripping off his classic movie for the post title.
An NBC station in Texas filed this report alleging the indescribable horror experienced by a mother and her three young girls following a run-in with a Halloween display at the front door of a Wal-Mart. What's the plural of Cthulu? Now that's indescribable horror!
Texas mother angry over graphic Halloween display in Wal-Mart
HURST, Texas, Oct. 7, 2007 (NBC) – A North Texas mother said a Wal-Mart Halloween display gave her three daughters nightmares. Adriana Whitney, of Hurst, said she and her daughters saw the life-size Halloween decoration while grocery shopping. "It looked like a real, live monster," 4-year-old Grace Whitney said. Full story, with link for video
For real. Look woman. If that is the most horrific thing your children see on Halloween, you really need to get them out more. Public school is going to be a nightmare of epic proportions for your special snowflakes. Then again, you're from Texas - the state that elects George Bush to things for no apparent reason.
First, you need to grow up yourself. Then, you need to be a parent TO YOUR CHILDREN, take some responsibility and explain the difference between fantasy and reality? What, exactly, kind of world have they been living in? Do they believe in unicorns, fairies and magical moonbeams too? And according to your daughter, what the hell is a "real, live monster?" Do you have those kind of things parading around North Texas all the time?
Next, the cheap plastic crap that Wal-Mart sells is indeed horrifying - but only in the sense that it is horrifyingly ugly. It in NO WAY POSSIBLE resembles anything remotely scary - except the fact that someone in China thought it was scary.
Then, if you want to see something scary, you ought to see the profit margins on that cheap Chinese crap. I'm sure it would send you into a real tizzy to see what the House of Wal makes off headless animatronics and other assorted Halloween junk. More than you spend on fiber for your colon cleansings each month!
I really should not get worked up about this - but I despise the stupids. Loathe the stupids. If you don't like it, don't shop there. Have a calm word with the manager.
Don't go blabbing to the TV station and making out like your howler monkeys have been scarred for life. Good for them. If they were going to turn out anything like you, maybe they needed a detour on life's highway.
Maybe, just maybe, ANUBIS KNOWS WE CAN PRAY, it scared them enough to never go back into another Wal-Mart again.
On second thought - start installing those headless things at every door of every Wal-Mart in America. Let's "merchandise" the customers away the Wal-mart way! Gimme a squiggly!
PS: Apologies to George Romero for ripping off his classic movie for the post title.
Sunday, October 07, 2007
Bud it wuz suppoz tuh be fuh-ree
The subject of today's very much fun and oh-so-enlightening little entry will be coupons. Because, you know, there is nothing more dangerous than mixing white trash, tiny little print, some flip-flops and a bag of Funyuns.
Add a can of Natural Light, season with Cheetos and garnish with Cheez-Whiz and a Pringle. Serves 6.
The genius computerized scheduling system left us with seven cashiers after 5 p.m. on a Saturday night. When I got back from my lunch one of the managers asked me to jump on Register 2 to help get the lines down. It was INSANE. There were like 9-10 people in every line - don't these people got places to BE on a Saturday night? The club, the American Legion, they house, I dunno. Somewhere. Anywhere else but here. I know I'm not up in Wal-Mart because I want to be!
I don't mind Register 2, because it's a speedy checkout - and people are usually pretty good about not coming through there with $400 orders with a ton of produce.
Anyway. The third customer I get is this ancient and withered crone who thanks me for opening up another register. She is so effusive in her praise that I feel almost embarrassed for the store for being so stupid about the schedule.
About 20 minutes later, I get a woman who resembles what Britney Spears is going to look like in about three years if she continues down her current road to ruin. She's wearing an ancient printed T-shirt - so faded I can't even make out what it says - something about beer - complete with more holes than Swiss cheese. Cutoffs, of course. And dirty green flip-flops. (These I see later when she stomps away from the register.) Her dirty blonde hair also just plain dirty. And greasy. Ears pierced four times each. Cheap gold rings on nearly every finger.
She's smacking gum as if her life depended on it. Hubba Bubba, more than one piece, from the looks and smell of it. How the person on the other end of that cell phone she had jammed in her ear could understand her I'll never know.
I finish bagging up an old man's loaf of bread and three bananas. (For this he probably stood in line a good ten minutes. Old people - get a clue - do NOT go shopping on Saturday nights. I don't UNDERSTAND the need to recreational shop at a time WHEN YOU KNOW THE STORE IS GOING TO BE BUSY AND THEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT THE LINES!)
I turn to greet GumSlinger. She doesn't answer, but throws a big box of diapers up on the counter and moves down by the bag rack. She continues on the phone. Somebody effed up somebody else's truck and somebody gonna pay for it or she's gonna eff them up.
I run it the diapers over my scanner. GumSlinger is still on the phone and the woman behind her is putting bananas on the counter.
I hit total and swing the screen toward the woman and tap it. That's what she owes me. She's still yakking on the phone and has not responded to anything I've said. Effing deputy tried to take her cousin to jail because he didn't have a valid license.
She sees the total, shakes a finger and her head at me and whips a coupon out of a pocket and thrusts a grubby paw in my direction. Apparently, she's gonna have to 'throw down' with someone over something to get this truck fixed. And there's gonna be a party at somebody's house tonight. She need to go somewhere and get some beer after she's done at Wal-Mart.
The coupon from Huggies and can be redeemed for a free box of diapers - I just have to scan the coupon and take off the price of the diapers - in this case $24.99. I also have to write down the amount of the product on the coupon, so we can get reimbursed from Huggies.
While I'm doing this, I see her move to grab the Diapers and start to leave. Predictably, she's still on the phone. Hold up!
ME: "Ma'am. You still need to pay me $1.50." Now she gets off the phone. I actually hear her say "I'll call you back. Wal-Mart trying to act a fool up in here."
HER: "These is free."
ME: "Yes ma'am. They are free. You need to pay the tax."
HER: "That means they're not free." Lord. I must have run over a kitten or something to have deserved this. Working on a register AND getting the stupids.
ME: "Ma'am. The diapers cost $24.99. You get the box of diapers free but you have to pay the tax on the diapers."
HER: "I ain't gotta pay that. The coupon say free. So they is free."
ME: "No ma'am. It does not say that you can walk into a store and grab a box of diapers and walk out. The product is free but you still have to pay tax. I need a dollar and fifty cents or I need those diapers back." The woman waiting to check out is watching all this with a certain amount of morbid fascination.
HER: "I don't got it."
ME: "You don't got what?"
HER: "I don't got no money."
ME: "Okay. I need that box of diapers back then. Do you have some money in the car maybe?"
HER: "Naw."
ME: "OK. I need you to leave that here."
HER: "My baby need some diapers." No. Your baby needs Social Services to pay a house call.
ME: "You can come back later tonight when you got some money."
HER: "Can't I brang sum money back later?" OH HELL NO!
ME: "No ma'am. I can't give you stuff for free."
HER: "You betta gimme my coupon back. It say free. This ain't free. I'ma go sumwhar else."
ME: "Here's your coupon ma'am."
She leaves and I see her pull the phone out and start yelling into it again."Wal-Mart won't let me get no free diapers."
Good luck finding somewhere that's going to let you get "free" diapers lady.
"CSM TO REGISTER 2 FOR A VOID PLEASE. CSM TO REGISTER 2 FOR A VOID PLEASE."
Add a can of Natural Light, season with Cheetos and garnish with Cheez-Whiz and a Pringle. Serves 6.
The genius computerized scheduling system left us with seven cashiers after 5 p.m. on a Saturday night. When I got back from my lunch one of the managers asked me to jump on Register 2 to help get the lines down. It was INSANE. There were like 9-10 people in every line - don't these people got places to BE on a Saturday night? The club, the American Legion, they house, I dunno. Somewhere. Anywhere else but here. I know I'm not up in Wal-Mart because I want to be!
I don't mind Register 2, because it's a speedy checkout - and people are usually pretty good about not coming through there with $400 orders with a ton of produce.
Anyway. The third customer I get is this ancient and withered crone who thanks me for opening up another register. She is so effusive in her praise that I feel almost embarrassed for the store for being so stupid about the schedule.
About 20 minutes later, I get a woman who resembles what Britney Spears is going to look like in about three years if she continues down her current road to ruin. She's wearing an ancient printed T-shirt - so faded I can't even make out what it says - something about beer - complete with more holes than Swiss cheese. Cutoffs, of course. And dirty green flip-flops. (These I see later when she stomps away from the register.) Her dirty blonde hair also just plain dirty. And greasy. Ears pierced four times each. Cheap gold rings on nearly every finger.
She's smacking gum as if her life depended on it. Hubba Bubba, more than one piece, from the looks and smell of it. How the person on the other end of that cell phone she had jammed in her ear could understand her I'll never know.
I finish bagging up an old man's loaf of bread and three bananas. (For this he probably stood in line a good ten minutes. Old people - get a clue - do NOT go shopping on Saturday nights. I don't UNDERSTAND the need to recreational shop at a time WHEN YOU KNOW THE STORE IS GOING TO BE BUSY AND THEN YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT THE LINES!)
I turn to greet GumSlinger. She doesn't answer, but throws a big box of diapers up on the counter and moves down by the bag rack. She continues on the phone. Somebody effed up somebody else's truck and somebody gonna pay for it or she's gonna eff them up.
I run it the diapers over my scanner. GumSlinger is still on the phone and the woman behind her is putting bananas on the counter.
I hit total and swing the screen toward the woman and tap it. That's what she owes me. She's still yakking on the phone and has not responded to anything I've said. Effing deputy tried to take her cousin to jail because he didn't have a valid license.
She sees the total, shakes a finger and her head at me and whips a coupon out of a pocket and thrusts a grubby paw in my direction. Apparently, she's gonna have to 'throw down' with someone over something to get this truck fixed. And there's gonna be a party at somebody's house tonight. She need to go somewhere and get some beer after she's done at Wal-Mart.
The coupon from Huggies and can be redeemed for a free box of diapers - I just have to scan the coupon and take off the price of the diapers - in this case $24.99. I also have to write down the amount of the product on the coupon, so we can get reimbursed from Huggies.
While I'm doing this, I see her move to grab the Diapers and start to leave. Predictably, she's still on the phone. Hold up!
ME: "Ma'am. You still need to pay me $1.50." Now she gets off the phone. I actually hear her say "I'll call you back. Wal-Mart trying to act a fool up in here."
HER: "These is free."
ME: "Yes ma'am. They are free. You need to pay the tax."
HER: "That means they're not free." Lord. I must have run over a kitten or something to have deserved this. Working on a register AND getting the stupids.
ME: "Ma'am. The diapers cost $24.99. You get the box of diapers free but you have to pay the tax on the diapers."
HER: "I ain't gotta pay that. The coupon say free. So they is free."
ME: "No ma'am. It does not say that you can walk into a store and grab a box of diapers and walk out. The product is free but you still have to pay tax. I need a dollar and fifty cents or I need those diapers back." The woman waiting to check out is watching all this with a certain amount of morbid fascination.
HER: "I don't got it."
ME: "You don't got what?"
HER: "I don't got no money."
ME: "Okay. I need that box of diapers back then. Do you have some money in the car maybe?"
HER: "Naw."
ME: "OK. I need you to leave that here."
HER: "My baby need some diapers." No. Your baby needs Social Services to pay a house call.
ME: "You can come back later tonight when you got some money."
HER: "Can't I brang sum money back later?" OH HELL NO!
ME: "No ma'am. I can't give you stuff for free."
HER: "You betta gimme my coupon back. It say free. This ain't free. I'ma go sumwhar else."
ME: "Here's your coupon ma'am."
She leaves and I see her pull the phone out and start yelling into it again."Wal-Mart won't let me get no free diapers."
Good luck finding somewhere that's going to let you get "free" diapers lady.
"CSM TO REGISTER 2 FOR A VOID PLEASE. CSM TO REGISTER 2 FOR A VOID PLEASE."
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Blender? I don't know her
"It's Tuesday. Dawn must be in trouble. Wait. That isn't right." It's Thursday. It's time for another blender story. That's better.
Loooooook. You really need to think about trying to run game multiple times AT THE SAME STORE. I mean, your stories are just not straight enough to fool a fifth grader. Much less me.
Sound. Check.
Costumes. Ladies. I know it is hot in Florida in the summertime. I also know that some of you are rightfully proud that you have a stash tucked away in the Banco de Mammary, and for whatever reason feel it is not necessary to make use of a fee-free PLAYTEX-backed bra savings account. HOWEVER, if you are going to go cleavage commando, please, please, pleeeeeeeze do not wear such thin dresses. You're gonna put an eye out with those sharp pointy things on the front of your chest. Don't nobody need to be getting all Tara Reid up in the Wal-Mart.
Makeup. Check.
ROLL TAPE:
This girl and her brother came up with a blender they claim they bought five days ago. They said they "hadn't used it" because the screw thingy to hold the blade and the cup together was missing. Yeah. And I'm in line to inherit the throne of Britain. There was orange pulp on the inside of the glass canister. Plus it smelled like the back door at a Minute Maid plant.
She wants another blender. Shocker. I'm sure this one is broken because they're trying to make orange juice in it - they're just too cheap to buy a juicer. Whatever. It isn't my merchandise. I just return the crap. I don't get paid to dispense advice to the stupid people who buy it. Not that they would spend money on something to do the job properly when the can keep buying, breaking and returning things that are cheaper but that won't work.
I start mashing buttons and then notice that on the receipt, the blender originally rang up as $19.84, was voided and re-rung as $13. And there's no clearance sticker on the blender. Any number of reasons this could of happened - but most likely, the blender was in the "wrong place." Or it was moved to the "wrong place" intentionally. If the difference is under $10, we not supposed to ask questions unless they want something completely outrageous.
It is still ringing up for the $19.84 - but she paid $13, so she gets $13 back. Brother Bear and Sister Bear wander off.
They come back about an hour later with another blender. Same model. I ask her if she checked if all the parts were in there. And I ring it up. Still ringing up for $19.84.
She wants it for $13. I refuse.
I ask her why she got the other blender for $13. She doesn't know. Okaaaaaaaay. I still don't really understand why she didn't know why she got the other one cheaper. She was muttering about how someone else bought it or something.
I was probably being overly bitchy - especially over $6. But I was just sick of the crap I get on a daily basis from stupid, entitled, scammers and horrible human beings in general. I was like "This blender is $19.84. It is ringing up at $19.84. I don't know why you got that blender at $13 - but that was five days ago. This is now. You need to pay the full price now because the blender is not on sale."
She doesn't like that. So I'm like "OK. I'll go check." I actually get out from behind the counter and walk my happy little self over to housewares on the off chance this blender is maybe, possibly, in some universe within the infinite wavelength of happenstance of possibly being somewhere on the space-time continuum on sale. Alas and alack, poor Hamilton Beach. I knew him Kenmore.
HELL NO! Whole shelf of blenders for $13.84 in blue boxes. The blender I'm holding is in a white box. Three models over and a shelf up. Right under a sign for $19.84. I took the label and the other blender (the $13.84 one) and scooted right back up to Customer Service before a woman looking at shelf paper and making eyes in my direction could ask me questions.
"Ma'am. This blender is $19.84. This is the $13.84 blender. See, here are the LABELS FROM THE SHELF. Not. The. Same."
"Oh. Maybe I was confused." No. "Confusion" could possibly excuse the decision not to wear a bra. With underwire. "Scam" pretty much covers the blender decision.
Then she didn't even have enough money to pay for the $13.84 blender. She had exactly what I'd given her as a refund earlier and had to to send the brother back out to the car for another dollar. I mean, who comes into a store without a single dollar to their name?
Loooooook. You really need to think about trying to run game multiple times AT THE SAME STORE. I mean, your stories are just not straight enough to fool a fifth grader. Much less me.
Sound. Check.
Costumes. Ladies. I know it is hot in Florida in the summertime. I also know that some of you are rightfully proud that you have a stash tucked away in the Banco de Mammary, and for whatever reason feel it is not necessary to make use of a fee-free PLAYTEX-backed bra savings account. HOWEVER, if you are going to go cleavage commando, please, please, pleeeeeeeze do not wear such thin dresses. You're gonna put an eye out with those sharp pointy things on the front of your chest. Don't nobody need to be getting all Tara Reid up in the Wal-Mart.
Makeup. Check.
ROLL TAPE:
This girl and her brother came up with a blender they claim they bought five days ago. They said they "hadn't used it" because the screw thingy to hold the blade and the cup together was missing. Yeah. And I'm in line to inherit the throne of Britain. There was orange pulp on the inside of the glass canister. Plus it smelled like the back door at a Minute Maid plant.
She wants another blender. Shocker. I'm sure this one is broken because they're trying to make orange juice in it - they're just too cheap to buy a juicer. Whatever. It isn't my merchandise. I just return the crap. I don't get paid to dispense advice to the stupid people who buy it. Not that they would spend money on something to do the job properly when the can keep buying, breaking and returning things that are cheaper but that won't work.
I start mashing buttons and then notice that on the receipt, the blender originally rang up as $19.84, was voided and re-rung as $13. And there's no clearance sticker on the blender. Any number of reasons this could of happened - but most likely, the blender was in the "wrong place." Or it was moved to the "wrong place" intentionally. If the difference is under $10, we not supposed to ask questions unless they want something completely outrageous.
It is still ringing up for the $19.84 - but she paid $13, so she gets $13 back. Brother Bear and Sister Bear wander off.
They come back about an hour later with another blender. Same model. I ask her if she checked if all the parts were in there. And I ring it up. Still ringing up for $19.84.
She wants it for $13. I refuse.
I ask her why she got the other blender for $13. She doesn't know. Okaaaaaaaay. I still don't really understand why she didn't know why she got the other one cheaper. She was muttering about how someone else bought it or something.
I was probably being overly bitchy - especially over $6. But I was just sick of the crap I get on a daily basis from stupid, entitled, scammers and horrible human beings in general. I was like "This blender is $19.84. It is ringing up at $19.84. I don't know why you got that blender at $13 - but that was five days ago. This is now. You need to pay the full price now because the blender is not on sale."
She doesn't like that. So I'm like "OK. I'll go check." I actually get out from behind the counter and walk my happy little self over to housewares on the off chance this blender is maybe, possibly, in some universe within the infinite wavelength of happenstance of possibly being somewhere on the space-time continuum on sale. Alas and alack, poor Hamilton Beach. I knew him Kenmore.
HELL NO! Whole shelf of blenders for $13.84 in blue boxes. The blender I'm holding is in a white box. Three models over and a shelf up. Right under a sign for $19.84. I took the label and the other blender (the $13.84 one) and scooted right back up to Customer Service before a woman looking at shelf paper and making eyes in my direction could ask me questions.
"Ma'am. This blender is $19.84. This is the $13.84 blender. See, here are the LABELS FROM THE SHELF. Not. The. Same."
"Oh. Maybe I was confused." No. "Confusion" could possibly excuse the decision not to wear a bra. With underwire. "Scam" pretty much covers the blender decision.
Then she didn't even have enough money to pay for the $13.84 blender. She had exactly what I'd given her as a refund earlier and had to to send the brother back out to the car for another dollar. I mean, who comes into a store without a single dollar to their name?
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Who let the (dumb) dogs out?
OK. We all know how this one is going to roll. Somebody is going to do something stupid with a sketchy return and I'm going to bust them like a watermelon at a Gallagher concert.
For real people. Do you just not understand the concept that computers USE the information on the receipts to, I dunno, TRACK how many returns you have? Even the ancient computers at the House of Wal.
I mean, you're able to return something you outright stole without a receipt, but you sure as hell can't return something for cash once, then come in with ANOTHER USED ONE and try to use the same receipt. It's the greed that will get you every time. The register is going to tell me, make noise, blow bubbles, spit paper out and otherwise refuse to cooperate. Sort of like your girlfriend after the first two weeks of marriage.
Eeeen-e-waaaay. I'm sure we're all dying to hear the one about the sub-woofer and the stupid greasy rednecks at 10:30 p.m. on a Sunday night. As I live and breathe, my life was just so complete at this point. Sunday night I had to run Customer Service by myself from 3-11 p.m. I've got one 15 minute break and a 3o-minute lunch because they begged me not to take a full hour. My feet hurt and I was just not in the mood for this kind of stupidity. You know what, I got it anyway.
Two doods, one wearing - I swear to Shiva, overalls - bopped up at 10:30 p.m. One was carrying an out-of-the-box subwoofer. The other one stood around and adjusted himself for 15 minutes. Seriously. He could have taught a master class in Anatomical Ikebana.
I don't even get my standard "Can I help you?" greeting out before the greasier of the two launches into an explanation of how they bought this sub-woofer, how it won't install, how it isn't blown out (complete with demonstration) and all sorts of verbal diarrhea to try and distract me from the fact that this is a sketchy return.
It is a $68 sub-woofer. There's no box, no serial number, the receipt is from another store and I think they're just generally acting suspicious. I don't want to do the return, so I call my supervisor over and tell her that I have a problem and I need her to go see if we stock the item. She doesn't care, just wants to go home, and says "Just return it." Thus, we see how decisions are made in the House of Wal.
So I start the process. PS MERCH RETURN I print the defective slip and put APPROVED BY CSM XXXX on there. I'm not taking the hit for this one.
But when I try to cash out the transaction, the register hangs and gives me a message on the screen and then spits out a piece of paper.
TRANSACTION PREVIOUSLY REFUNDED FOR $XX.XX ON 9/16 STORE #XXXX and a few more lines with the specific register and whatnot the refund was on.
They already returned one sub-woofer using this receipt. At a different store than the one they bought it at.
Do we get the picture? Let me spell it out. Buy one *NEW* sub-woofer. Then return - or at least try to return - used sub-woofers using the new Wal-Mart receipt. I'd bet that some Wal-Mart somewhere has a used sub-woofer sitting on a shelf right now.
I tell them I can't process the return because they've already had the transaction refunded. They deny it. I'm like "No. Right here. You got a refund at XXX store three hours ago."
They deny it again and claim "this is the only receipt we have." I'm sure it is. And a well-traveled receipt too. It's been in three Wal-Marts in the past four hours. And on the garage floor by the looks of it.
I'm like "We're not going to take it back tonight. If you want to return that merchandise, you need to go back to the store you bought the merchandise at or the store where you returned it previously. We can't help you. Have a good night."
They stand around and gripe for a while, but eventually leave.
It was just the day for the basura blanca. Two hours earlier a meth addict in serious need of a fix had tried to cash a $4,000 check. *twitch & scratch* Do you *twitch & scratch* cash checks *twitch & scratch* here? *twitch & scratch* "I'm sorry, the most we cash is $1500." And he did not look like a Henrietta. Unless "Henrietta" was on some serious hormone replacement therapy.
PS: Neither of you were cute enough for me to care about, not even in that skanky, bad-boy, white trash sort of way!
For real people. Do you just not understand the concept that computers USE the information on the receipts to, I dunno, TRACK how many returns you have? Even the ancient computers at the House of Wal.
I mean, you're able to return something you outright stole without a receipt, but you sure as hell can't return something for cash once, then come in with ANOTHER USED ONE and try to use the same receipt. It's the greed that will get you every time. The register is going to tell me, make noise, blow bubbles, spit paper out and otherwise refuse to cooperate. Sort of like your girlfriend after the first two weeks of marriage.
Eeeen-e-waaaay. I'm sure we're all dying to hear the one about the sub-woofer and the stupid greasy rednecks at 10:30 p.m. on a Sunday night. As I live and breathe, my life was just so complete at this point. Sunday night I had to run Customer Service by myself from 3-11 p.m. I've got one 15 minute break and a 3o-minute lunch because they begged me not to take a full hour. My feet hurt and I was just not in the mood for this kind of stupidity. You know what, I got it anyway.
Two doods, one wearing - I swear to Shiva, overalls - bopped up at 10:30 p.m. One was carrying an out-of-the-box subwoofer. The other one stood around and adjusted himself for 15 minutes. Seriously. He could have taught a master class in Anatomical Ikebana.
I don't even get my standard "Can I help you?" greeting out before the greasier of the two launches into an explanation of how they bought this sub-woofer, how it won't install, how it isn't blown out (complete with demonstration) and all sorts of verbal diarrhea to try and distract me from the fact that this is a sketchy return.
It is a $68 sub-woofer. There's no box, no serial number, the receipt is from another store and I think they're just generally acting suspicious. I don't want to do the return, so I call my supervisor over and tell her that I have a problem and I need her to go see if we stock the item. She doesn't care, just wants to go home, and says "Just return it." Thus, we see how decisions are made in the House of Wal.
So I start the process. PS MERCH RETURN I print the defective slip and put APPROVED BY CSM XXXX on there. I'm not taking the hit for this one.
But when I try to cash out the transaction, the register hangs and gives me a message on the screen and then spits out a piece of paper.
TRANSACTION PREVIOUSLY REFUNDED FOR $XX.XX ON 9/16 STORE #XXXX and a few more lines with the specific register and whatnot the refund was on.
They already returned one sub-woofer using this receipt. At a different store than the one they bought it at.
Do we get the picture? Let me spell it out. Buy one *NEW* sub-woofer. Then return - or at least try to return - used sub-woofers using the new Wal-Mart receipt. I'd bet that some Wal-Mart somewhere has a used sub-woofer sitting on a shelf right now.
I tell them I can't process the return because they've already had the transaction refunded. They deny it. I'm like "No. Right here. You got a refund at XXX store three hours ago."
They deny it again and claim "this is the only receipt we have." I'm sure it is. And a well-traveled receipt too. It's been in three Wal-Marts in the past four hours. And on the garage floor by the looks of it.
I'm like "We're not going to take it back tonight. If you want to return that merchandise, you need to go back to the store you bought the merchandise at or the store where you returned it previously. We can't help you. Have a good night."
They stand around and gripe for a while, but eventually leave.
It was just the day for the basura blanca. Two hours earlier a meth addict in serious need of a fix had tried to cash a $4,000 check. *twitch & scratch* Do you *twitch & scratch* cash checks *twitch & scratch* here? *twitch & scratch* "I'm sorry, the most we cash is $1500." And he did not look like a Henrietta. Unless "Henrietta" was on some serious hormone replacement therapy.
PS: Neither of you were cute enough for me to care about, not even in that skanky, bad-boy, white trash sort of way!
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
The monkeys at the zoo
Look. Lady. I know. I know. I know. OK. It's Sunday. You've got your pack of howler monkeys with you and apparently Sunday night at 9 p.m. is the only time all week you can drag yourself right up off the couch and in to the House of Wal for some shopping and some returning. What you need to do to take that pack of demons home. Or turn them over to a local animal shelter. All six of them. This is Bob Barker. Thank you for help controlling the pet population in L.A. Remember to have yourself spayed or neutered.
Back to me. Ma'am. Please do me the courtesy of looking at me. Not at your child making noise with one of my nineteen buggies of returns. I'm not going to be able to return this copy of "Zoo Tycoon 2: African Safari Expansion Pack."
Roll tape:
ME: "Ma'am, I can't return that. We don't return open software, movies, music or DVDs."
HER: "It doesn't install. We tried it on three computers."
ME: "OK. I can give you another copy of the software, but I can't give you money back on this."
HER: "What about a store credit?" Seriously people. What the hell do you think a store credit is? IT IS A REFUND! "Store credit" is not code for "break the rules for my special snowflake self and approve my sketchy return."
ME: "No ma'am. No store credit. No cash. If the product is defective you can get another copy."
HER: "Well it won't install."
ME: "OK. I would advise you to sell it on eBay or take it to a GameStop."
HER: "I don't want to do that. I think I should be able to return it." I think you should have had your tubes tied four kids ago. Limit 2, like the Chinese. And your mouth sewn up for good measure. But I'm not telling you how to run your business.
ME: Pick up package. "Ma'am. This is an expansion pack for Zoo Tycoon 2. It's an add-on. You do have Zoo Tycoon 2, right?"
HER: "Uhhhhhhh. I don't know. KAYLA COME HERE RIGHT NOW! What do we have?"
KAYLA: "Oh, I just have Zoo Tycoon 1. I thought this would work."
ME: "There's your problem then. It says right on the front 'Must have Zoo Tycoon 2 installed.'"
HER: "Oh. I didn't read it when she bought it." No. You just chunked $23 dollars down on the counter like it was change for a cup of coffee. Lady, do you know how many hours I have to stand on my feet talking to people like YOU to make $23 dollars?
ME: "You just need to go buy 'Zoo Tycoon 2' for her and it will work fine."
HER: "I don't want to spend any more money."
ME: "Ma'am, we're not going to return it."
HER: "Oh."
ME: "Here's your bag back. Here's a sticker. You have a nice day."
She was being dismissed before she knew what happened. Take the children. Go. Leave. Now.
I know you got six kids and all - and they do appear to be a fistful of trouble - but that was your choice. YOUR CHOICE. YOURS. (maybe a husband or a turkey baster or whatever had something to do with it) The point remains that if you do not know what your children are buying, then you do not need to be spending money on it. "PUT THAT BACK" needs to join your vocabulary. Buddha know I heard it a lot when I was little.
Back to me. Ma'am. Please do me the courtesy of looking at me. Not at your child making noise with one of my nineteen buggies of returns. I'm not going to be able to return this copy of "Zoo Tycoon 2: African Safari Expansion Pack."
Roll tape:
ME: "Ma'am, I can't return that. We don't return open software, movies, music or DVDs."
HER: "It doesn't install. We tried it on three computers."
ME: "OK. I can give you another copy of the software, but I can't give you money back on this."
HER: "What about a store credit?" Seriously people. What the hell do you think a store credit is? IT IS A REFUND! "Store credit" is not code for "break the rules for my special snowflake self and approve my sketchy return."
ME: "No ma'am. No store credit. No cash. If the product is defective you can get another copy."
HER: "Well it won't install."
ME: "OK. I would advise you to sell it on eBay or take it to a GameStop."
HER: "I don't want to do that. I think I should be able to return it." I think you should have had your tubes tied four kids ago. Limit 2, like the Chinese. And your mouth sewn up for good measure. But I'm not telling you how to run your business.
ME: Pick up package. "Ma'am. This is an expansion pack for Zoo Tycoon 2. It's an add-on. You do have Zoo Tycoon 2, right?"
HER: "Uhhhhhhh. I don't know. KAYLA COME HERE RIGHT NOW! What do we have?"
KAYLA: "Oh, I just have Zoo Tycoon 1. I thought this would work."
ME: "There's your problem then. It says right on the front 'Must have Zoo Tycoon 2 installed.'"
HER: "Oh. I didn't read it when she bought it." No. You just chunked $23 dollars down on the counter like it was change for a cup of coffee. Lady, do you know how many hours I have to stand on my feet talking to people like YOU to make $23 dollars?
ME: "You just need to go buy 'Zoo Tycoon 2' for her and it will work fine."
HER: "I don't want to spend any more money."
ME: "Ma'am, we're not going to return it."
HER: "Oh."
ME: "Here's your bag back. Here's a sticker. You have a nice day."
She was being dismissed before she knew what happened. Take the children. Go. Leave. Now.
I know you got six kids and all - and they do appear to be a fistful of trouble - but that was your choice. YOUR CHOICE. YOURS. (maybe a husband or a turkey baster or whatever had something to do with it) The point remains that if you do not know what your children are buying, then you do not need to be spending money on it. "PUT THAT BACK" needs to join your vocabulary. Buddha know I heard it a lot when I was little.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
No, I call it the stupid tax
For the love of Baal and little babies, will you please let me finish what I am doing before you start whining about how you "want the tax back too."
Sir, first of all, you are what I refer to as one of our "airbed rental customers." So you're already a strike down in my book. Then, your personal hygiene leaves a lot to be desired. Please, take the $3 in tax you're arguing with me about and buy a damn bar of soap.
OK? So I'm returning this airbed you "rented" although you claim "it has a slow leak." I start mashing the buttons and the price flashes up on the part of the register visible to customers - with a minus sign in front of it. Because, you know, money is going out, not coming in.
Cue the hysterics.
HIM: "Well I better get the tax back too." No. You don't get it back. We call it the rental tax. And we only charge it on airbeds.
ME: "You do get the tax back sir."
HIM: "Well I don't see it." Patience is a virtue.
ME: "It will be on the receipt sir. The tax is calculated at the end."
HIM: "I still don't see it." You're not going to see it unless you're a Nanite or you can read binary through my register.
ME: "Sir. Please wait just one minute."
HIM: "How do I know I get the tax back."
ME: "Sir. One minute. Please. And I can give you your money and show you the receipt that is going detail exactly what you are getting back."
HIM: "Are you sure you're not cheating me?" Because Kali, my life would be infinitesimally richer with that three dollars.
ME: "Sir. I'm going to finish and then explain it all to you." Mashes buttons real fast, like I do when there are howlers and the only way to get them to leave is to do the return double-quick.
ME: "OK Sir. I want you to see here. You got $49.76 back for the airbed. RIGHT HERE you got $2.99 for the tax."
HIM: Silence. Crickets. Tumbleweeds. Pockets the money and leaves. Trails a cloud of unhappiness and funk behind him.
It is not like we charge a restocking fee or anything. Simple logic ought to dictate that if you paid tax on an item - you get the tax back - that is law. Not even Wal-Mart policy could override that one. But then again, I'm dealing with Wal-Mart customers here.
We really ought to charge a rental fee. We took back six airbeds this Sunday. No way all of them were defective - even given the usual standards of our merchandise. No freaking way.
Sir, first of all, you are what I refer to as one of our "airbed rental customers." So you're already a strike down in my book. Then, your personal hygiene leaves a lot to be desired. Please, take the $3 in tax you're arguing with me about and buy a damn bar of soap.
OK? So I'm returning this airbed you "rented" although you claim "it has a slow leak." I start mashing the buttons and the price flashes up on the part of the register visible to customers - with a minus sign in front of it. Because, you know, money is going out, not coming in.
Cue the hysterics.
HIM: "Well I better get the tax back too." No. You don't get it back. We call it the rental tax. And we only charge it on airbeds.
ME: "You do get the tax back sir."
HIM: "Well I don't see it." Patience is a virtue.
ME: "It will be on the receipt sir. The tax is calculated at the end."
HIM: "I still don't see it." You're not going to see it unless you're a Nanite or you can read binary through my register.
ME: "Sir. Please wait just one minute."
HIM: "How do I know I get the tax back."
ME: "Sir. One minute. Please. And I can give you your money and show you the receipt that is going detail exactly what you are getting back."
HIM: "Are you sure you're not cheating me?" Because Kali, my life would be infinitesimally richer with that three dollars.
ME: "Sir. I'm going to finish and then explain it all to you." Mashes buttons real fast, like I do when there are howlers and the only way to get them to leave is to do the return double-quick.
ME: "OK Sir. I want you to see here. You got $49.76 back for the airbed. RIGHT HERE you got $2.99 for the tax."
HIM: Silence. Crickets. Tumbleweeds. Pockets the money and leaves. Trails a cloud of unhappiness and funk behind him.
It is not like we charge a restocking fee or anything. Simple logic ought to dictate that if you paid tax on an item - you get the tax back - that is law. Not even Wal-Mart policy could override that one. But then again, I'm dealing with Wal-Mart customers here.
We really ought to charge a rental fee. We took back six airbeds this Sunday. No way all of them were defective - even given the usual standards of our merchandise. No freaking way.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
A fishy story
OK. You have the blender - the same blender - not an old one (because that trick does get played), neatly packaged in the original box - complete with instructions. You've got a receipt from about a month ago - which is well within our 90-day limit to return an item. There ain't gonna be no problem returning this here blender.
So please tell me lady - please, for the love of caviar and toast points - when I ask you "Have you used the blender at all?" - do you feel compelled to lie to me? "No. I never used it."
Why is "Have you used it?" a starting point for a web of lies?
Well, for one, when I take the blender jar out to see if it is indeed the same as on the box - I CAN SEE FISH SCALES STUCK ALL AROUND THE SCREW THING ON THE BOTTOM! It's like a koi pond down there. I don't know whether to laugh or throw pennies and put up Buddhist statues and start meditating!
Furthermore, you've had it for a month. You might have, you know - I don't know - tried it out in all that time. Besides. The smell coming from this thing is like the back door of a fish joint.
The only reason I'm asking is that I need to know if we can sell the blender again. Yes. We do need to know these things - you pert little Asian yuppie wearing a pink and green spaghetti-strap dress and fitted out in jade bangles and with a beautiful short sexy haircut.
I don't really care that "Your mother decided she didn't want a blender." What you do with the aged crone is your business. Chop her up and put her in the blender and serve her with fava beans and a nice Chianti. Make a nice California roll. Whatever. Did. You. Use. The. Blender?
Your mother is NOT RELEVANT to the discussion. "DID. YOU. USE. IT." Sashimi. Oyster margaritas. Fish rolls. Salmon croquettes. Fugu for five. Starfish for six. Jonathan Livingston Seagull for seven. Slade Gorton stew. I don't care. Just tell the truth.
YES or NO. The answer is simple. Because you would sure enough blow a gasket it we sold you a blender that looked and smelled like someone ground up enough fish to keep Mrs. Paul's in business for the next decade. OK? Okay. What are you doing with a blender anyway? Blender are not cheap food processors. As obviously you learned when you tried to grind up fish - scales and all.
After all. It is a $24 blender. Don't nobody need to commit perjury for the sake of $24. For reals.
Buttons. Mash. DEFECTIVE. [Customer said motor burned out & there was a burning smell.]
Because I have to lie. I can't put "Cheap woman bought a blender, ground up some fish and returned it because she really needs a food processor but is too cheap to pay a $100 for even a low-end KitchenAid model."
So please tell me lady - please, for the love of caviar and toast points - when I ask you "Have you used the blender at all?" - do you feel compelled to lie to me? "No. I never used it."
Why is "Have you used it?" a starting point for a web of lies?
Well, for one, when I take the blender jar out to see if it is indeed the same as on the box - I CAN SEE FISH SCALES STUCK ALL AROUND THE SCREW THING ON THE BOTTOM! It's like a koi pond down there. I don't know whether to laugh or throw pennies and put up Buddhist statues and start meditating!
Furthermore, you've had it for a month. You might have, you know - I don't know - tried it out in all that time. Besides. The smell coming from this thing is like the back door of a fish joint.
The only reason I'm asking is that I need to know if we can sell the blender again. Yes. We do need to know these things - you pert little Asian yuppie wearing a pink and green spaghetti-strap dress and fitted out in jade bangles and with a beautiful short sexy haircut.
I don't really care that "Your mother decided she didn't want a blender." What you do with the aged crone is your business. Chop her up and put her in the blender and serve her with fava beans and a nice Chianti. Make a nice California roll. Whatever. Did. You. Use. The. Blender?
Your mother is NOT RELEVANT to the discussion. "DID. YOU. USE. IT." Sashimi. Oyster margaritas. Fish rolls. Salmon croquettes. Fugu for five. Starfish for six. Jonathan Livingston Seagull for seven. Slade Gorton stew. I don't care. Just tell the truth.
YES or NO. The answer is simple. Because you would sure enough blow a gasket it we sold you a blender that looked and smelled like someone ground up enough fish to keep Mrs. Paul's in business for the next decade. OK? Okay. What are you doing with a blender anyway? Blender are not cheap food processors. As obviously you learned when you tried to grind up fish - scales and all.
After all. It is a $24 blender. Don't nobody need to commit perjury for the sake of $24. For reals.
Buttons. Mash. DEFECTIVE. [Customer said motor burned out & there was a burning smell.]
Because I have to lie. I can't put "Cheap woman bought a blender, ground up some fish and returned it because she really needs a food processor but is too cheap to pay a $100 for even a low-end KitchenAid model."
Saturday, September 08, 2007
My change, my lovely lovely change
Maybe it is just me, but I would sure as hell notice if I magically did not get the entire green paper bill portion of my change.
Especially seeing as how that was $30. At a regular register. I mean, I ain't so rich I throw back twenties and tens like they is small fry.
"But I was in a hurry to get to the other coast." OK. And............ You left your brain and your change at register 12?
They counted the register. And checked the tape. You lie like a bad toupee.
Please leave now. Kthxbai.
UPDATE: When the cash office girl got in at night, she looked over the records from Sept. 5, the day this incident allegedly happened. That register was short $5.36 that day. If he had not gotten his change, it would have been OVER at least $30. So no dice. He left and did not put up a fuss. He was just trying to get a fast $30 for a couple of bags of ditch weed.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
Here kitty kitty
I just don't even know what to say to this one.
A very polite woman pushed a buggy with a gigantic sack full of kitty litter up to Customer Service and said that she would like to return it.
The sack was torn open across the top so I asked her if anything was wrong with it - was the bag wet or did it smell worse than it ought to or something.
Her answer? "I bought the wrong thing." OK. That's cool. Your little furry feline fiend doesn't like the Wal-Mart version of FreshStep. That's fine.
But she continues. "I thought this was cat food."
Head snaps up. Quizzical look. Looks at sack. Decides not to ask "Did the gigantic three inch letters "CAT LITTER" not tip you off that this was - in fact - for cats to use to take a dump?" Or the picture of a cat taking a poo in a pan? Or the fact that it was $5.97?
Given what we know about Wal-Mart's issues with pet food - she might have saved that cat's life though!
Turns out she was from Bolivia. What are they using for kitty litter in Bolivia? More importantly, what are they feeding cats in Bolivia?
Buttons. Return. DEFECTIVE. Please sign here.
Please leave before you buy some diapers and think it is like baby crackers or something.
A very polite woman pushed a buggy with a gigantic sack full of kitty litter up to Customer Service and said that she would like to return it.
The sack was torn open across the top so I asked her if anything was wrong with it - was the bag wet or did it smell worse than it ought to or something.
Her answer? "I bought the wrong thing." OK. That's cool. Your little furry feline fiend doesn't like the Wal-Mart version of FreshStep. That's fine.
But she continues. "I thought this was cat food."
Head snaps up. Quizzical look. Looks at sack. Decides not to ask "Did the gigantic three inch letters "CAT LITTER" not tip you off that this was - in fact - for cats to use to take a dump?" Or the picture of a cat taking a poo in a pan? Or the fact that it was $5.97?
Given what we know about Wal-Mart's issues with pet food - she might have saved that cat's life though!
Turns out she was from Bolivia. What are they using for kitty litter in Bolivia? More importantly, what are they feeding cats in Bolivia?
Buttons. Return. DEFECTIVE. Please sign here.
Please leave before you buy some diapers and think it is like baby crackers or something.
Sunday, September 02, 2007
How did you manage to break it so fast?
These two guys come up with a boombox. It looks beat to death with a stick and hung out to dry. They say it eats tapes.
I open it up and see the remains of Enrique Iglesias' career hanging off a spool like last night's hooker's bra off a chair back.
Then I look at the receipt. They allegedly bought it 17 minutes ago. Well, OK. Something is rotten in the state of Walton.
They don't speak any English - and my Spanish cuts out after “Donde es la caja?” It is certainly not up to this. I call for help.
"Did they buy this? If they did, how did they manage to lose the box and the A\C adapter in fifteen minutes?"
Questions ensue. Rapid Spanish followed by head-shaking and pointing.
They still claim they bought it. The receipt says Register #15 - so we go over there. The cashier confirms the purchase.
Which leaves the question of the cord and box.
With four people standing around gesticulating and hollering in English, Spanish and Spanglish - they finally get it. “La caja. Si. Es en el coche.” Or close enough.
Apparently they took it right outside to try out and managed to break the first tape they put in by trying to force the lid open without hitting OPEN. I could see scratches from a screwdriver.
*sigh*
Buttons mashed. Defective. "Firma por favor senor." "Recibe treinta y seis y su cambio. Gracias y buenas noches."
EDITED: This post was emailed in via my phone. I'm editing to add my usual formatting, fix some typos and make one or two sentences more clear. I also had to do do some work because Blogger inserts line breaks in odd places when you post via email. Anyone know how to get around this? And for the record, the boombox had instructions in English, Spanish and French!
I open it up and see the remains of Enrique Iglesias' career hanging off a spool like last night's hooker's bra off a chair back.
Then I look at the receipt. They allegedly bought it 17 minutes ago. Well, OK. Something is rotten in the state of Walton.
They don't speak any English - and my Spanish cuts out after “Donde es la caja?” It is certainly not up to this. I call for help.
"Did they buy this? If they did, how did they manage to lose the box and the A\C adapter in fifteen minutes?"
Questions ensue. Rapid Spanish followed by head-shaking and pointing.
They still claim they bought it. The receipt says Register #15 - so we go over there. The cashier confirms the purchase.
Which leaves the question of the cord and box.
With four people standing around gesticulating and hollering in English, Spanish and Spanglish - they finally get it. “La caja. Si. Es en el coche.” Or close enough.
Apparently they took it right outside to try out and managed to break the first tape they put in by trying to force the lid open without hitting OPEN. I could see scratches from a screwdriver.
*sigh*
Buttons mashed. Defective. "Firma por favor senor." "Recibe treinta y seis y su cambio. Gracias y buenas noches."
EDITED: This post was emailed in via my phone. I'm editing to add my usual formatting, fix some typos and make one or two sentences more clear. I also had to do do some work because Blogger inserts line breaks in odd places when you post via email. Anyone know how to get around this? And for the record, the boombox had instructions in English, Spanish and French!
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Random items on Labor Day Saturday
1. In no universe is is fashionable to wear one turquoise Croc and one purple Croc out in public. Mix-and-match is something you do with skirts and blouses - not shoes.
2. School started two (2) week ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I do regret that we don't have any more school supply lists. No. I can't "just give you one." Ma'am, ma'am. I CANNOT GIVE YOU WHAT I DO NOT HAVE!
3. If the product says "NOT AVAILABLE FOR SITE TO STORE" on walmart.com - coming in to the store and asking me to check walmart.com is going to produce the same result. Pay the shipping or find a friend with a truck.
4. Sir. I understand you were very pleased that you got a great deal on one of those huge flat-panel TVs. However "going home to get a truck" usually means you are going to return with, I don't know - something other than a Lincoln Continental. "But I measured." Maybe so. But this box is still not fitting in that car. And it won't fit in the trunk either. Let's try again.
5. You need to send money. OK. Fill out the paperwork and give it to me. Now is not the time to launch into the story of why your wife's mother in Tennessee needs this money to bail her nephew out of jail. I'm tired. I've been here for nine hours. Your mad oral history skillz is not all that interesting. I'd check into jail for three hots and a cot just to get away from you and any of your relatives too. Please. Just shut up, fill out the form and give me the money.
6. For the love of Klondike Bars - please attach a decent pair of underwear to your rump. A thong is not underwear - especially when your skirt is a decent approximation of a lace doily and is likely a size 2 Girls when you need at least size 6 Ladies. It was a full moon over Miami tonight. Thank Kali you didn't drop your purse or the woman behind you probably would have seen the lights of Sao Paulo twinkling back at her.
7. I do regret that I can't cash your paycheck. However - your lack of banking ability is YOUR problem. Not mine. Demanding that I "TRY IT AGAIN ... AND GET IT RIGHT" is really not going to work. In a similar vein ... if you're 24 and don't know your social security number .....
Don't ask me to hold up the line while you call your mother, your father, your girlfriend and your sister and have them root around in your room, your car and your backpack for your social security card.
It was not fun spending 20 minutes trying to cash your check because you were not sure if the last number was a 5 or a 7 - but you knew it was an odd number. Turns out it was a 6.
8. Happy Labor Day Yawl!
2. School started two (2) week ago. TWO WEEKS AGO. I do regret that we don't have any more school supply lists. No. I can't "just give you one." Ma'am, ma'am. I CANNOT GIVE YOU WHAT I DO NOT HAVE!
3. If the product says "NOT AVAILABLE FOR SITE TO STORE" on walmart.com - coming in to the store and asking me to check walmart.com is going to produce the same result. Pay the shipping or find a friend with a truck.
4. Sir. I understand you were very pleased that you got a great deal on one of those huge flat-panel TVs. However "going home to get a truck" usually means you are going to return with, I don't know - something other than a Lincoln Continental. "But I measured." Maybe so. But this box is still not fitting in that car. And it won't fit in the trunk either. Let's try again.
5. You need to send money. OK. Fill out the paperwork and give it to me. Now is not the time to launch into the story of why your wife's mother in Tennessee needs this money to bail her nephew out of jail. I'm tired. I've been here for nine hours. Your mad oral history skillz is not all that interesting. I'd check into jail for three hots and a cot just to get away from you and any of your relatives too. Please. Just shut up, fill out the form and give me the money.
6. For the love of Klondike Bars - please attach a decent pair of underwear to your rump. A thong is not underwear - especially when your skirt is a decent approximation of a lace doily and is likely a size 2 Girls when you need at least size 6 Ladies. It was a full moon over Miami tonight. Thank Kali you didn't drop your purse or the woman behind you probably would have seen the lights of Sao Paulo twinkling back at her.
7. I do regret that I can't cash your paycheck. However - your lack of banking ability is YOUR problem. Not mine. Demanding that I "TRY IT AGAIN ... AND GET IT RIGHT" is really not going to work. In a similar vein ... if you're 24 and don't know your social security number .....
Don't ask me to hold up the line while you call your mother, your father, your girlfriend and your sister and have them root around in your room, your car and your backpack for your social security card.
It was not fun spending 20 minutes trying to cash your check because you were not sure if the last number was a 5 or a 7 - but you knew it was an odd number. Turns out it was a 6.
8. Happy Labor Day Yawl!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Trading up
Customers are inherently stupid - especially Wal-Mart customers. Durr. The picture on the box must be what's inside. Durr. Consider the apocryphal tale of the Gerber baby food in Africa - since debunked by Snopes.com.
OK. So you buy an airbed. The picture on the box is blue. The airbed IN the box is brown. You don't like the airbed. You don't want the airbed. You want to return the airbed. That's fine. This is the Wal-Mart. We'd take your babies back if you has a receipt on them. Or not. I'm not much on the howler monkeys.
Where we run into problems is when you want to upgrade from a single to a queen - WITHOUT PAYING THE DIFFERENCE.
"Ma'am. The airbed you're returning is $39.96. The one you want to get is $49.96. You're going to owe me about ten dollars."
"No. It's not my problem." Lady, you gots monumental problems. This is only the tip of the iceberg. And in this case, continental ice shelf would be more appropriate than iceberg.
Shall we catalog? Yes. We shall. Ma'am, I appreciate the fact that you're wearing bicycle shorts. I didn't know they came in fuscia in that size. Wow. I'm suddenly hungry for raspberries. And strawberries. And cherries.
Tell me, have you ever exercised? No. Really. Because your thighs look like an industrial-size container of cottage cheese poured into a FunTime Aerobics Barbie outfit. It is not tight. It is too damn small. Your ratty old college T-shirt from the back of your closet needs to be thrown into the rag bag. PS: It don't come down far enough to cover up your size 3X cameltoe.
After I run a quick mental catalog of her many sins, fashion and otherwise, I snap back to reality in time to hear her say again "It's not my problem."
"I'm sorry?" I'm thinking I must have heard an echo, a bird, a cash register or a tweeting telephone - or possibly the sound of pounds dropping in sheer sexual frustration. Anything but this utter nonsense. And she sets her triple chins hard out against her chest and assumes the look. The look that says "I read self-help books at night. Step 9. Be firm. Step 10. Repeat your request. Step 11. Escalate up the chain of command."
"It's not my problem that what you sold me was not what was advertised. I don't think I should have to pay extra to replace it." See. Right there. You're thinking. That's a problem.
"Ma'am. We're not asking you to pay extra to replace it. You are getting an entirely different product. You are getting a larger airbed. I can't give you a queen airbed for the price of a single."
"Yes you are. I want a manager." No. You want Brad Pitt to drop Maddox off at the daycare, charter a plane and come over and do the thing with a hair dryer on your bed just like he did with Geena Davis in "Thelma & Louise." And BTW Brad, can you do the rest of the things you did with Thelma too ... maybe two or three times?
AND THEY LET HER DO IT. SHE GOT THE QUEEN AIRBED. JUST BECAUSE THE COLOR ON THE BOX WAS DIFFERENT.
I looked at the airbed in the box that she returned. There was no defect. What was advertised was exactly what was in the box. It was just not the color that was on the outside of the box. And this creature got a queen-size airbed for the price of a single.
Just for being a witch. I hope she gets a bad back from sleeping on the floor.
Let that be a lesson. You can act a fool up in the Wal-Mart. And you'll be rewarded.
OK. So you buy an airbed. The picture on the box is blue. The airbed IN the box is brown. You don't like the airbed. You don't want the airbed. You want to return the airbed. That's fine. This is the Wal-Mart. We'd take your babies back if you has a receipt on them. Or not. I'm not much on the howler monkeys.
Where we run into problems is when you want to upgrade from a single to a queen - WITHOUT PAYING THE DIFFERENCE.
"Ma'am. The airbed you're returning is $39.96. The one you want to get is $49.96. You're going to owe me about ten dollars."
"No. It's not my problem." Lady, you gots monumental problems. This is only the tip of the iceberg. And in this case, continental ice shelf would be more appropriate than iceberg.
Shall we catalog? Yes. We shall. Ma'am, I appreciate the fact that you're wearing bicycle shorts. I didn't know they came in fuscia in that size. Wow. I'm suddenly hungry for raspberries. And strawberries. And cherries.
Tell me, have you ever exercised? No. Really. Because your thighs look like an industrial-size container of cottage cheese poured into a FunTime Aerobics Barbie outfit. It is not tight. It is too damn small. Your ratty old college T-shirt from the back of your closet needs to be thrown into the rag bag. PS: It don't come down far enough to cover up your size 3X cameltoe.
After I run a quick mental catalog of her many sins, fashion and otherwise, I snap back to reality in time to hear her say again "It's not my problem."
"I'm sorry?" I'm thinking I must have heard an echo, a bird, a cash register or a tweeting telephone - or possibly the sound of pounds dropping in sheer sexual frustration. Anything but this utter nonsense. And she sets her triple chins hard out against her chest and assumes the look. The look that says "I read self-help books at night. Step 9. Be firm. Step 10. Repeat your request. Step 11. Escalate up the chain of command."
"It's not my problem that what you sold me was not what was advertised. I don't think I should have to pay extra to replace it." See. Right there. You're thinking. That's a problem.
"Ma'am. We're not asking you to pay extra to replace it. You are getting an entirely different product. You are getting a larger airbed. I can't give you a queen airbed for the price of a single."
"Yes you are. I want a manager." No. You want Brad Pitt to drop Maddox off at the daycare, charter a plane and come over and do the thing with a hair dryer on your bed just like he did with Geena Davis in "Thelma & Louise." And BTW Brad, can you do the rest of the things you did with Thelma too ... maybe two or three times?
AND THEY LET HER DO IT. SHE GOT THE QUEEN AIRBED. JUST BECAUSE THE COLOR ON THE BOX WAS DIFFERENT.
I looked at the airbed in the box that she returned. There was no defect. What was advertised was exactly what was in the box. It was just not the color that was on the outside of the box. And this creature got a queen-size airbed for the price of a single.
Just for being a witch. I hope she gets a bad back from sleeping on the floor.
Let that be a lesson. You can act a fool up in the Wal-Mart. And you'll be rewarded.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
The shoe is on the other foot
Look dude. I know you think I owe you $9.68 cents for that pair of shoes you "returned" 18 days ago. However, you're standing RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME telling me that you "got a new pair of sandals" that day.
Yeah, I know you're waving around a receipt from the first week of August.
You're also holding a receipt where you paid another $9.68 for a pair of sandals. YOU DO NOT GET MONEY BACK IF YOU MAKE AN EXCHANGE.
Let me repeat that for the stupid in the line. In fact, let me break it down for you.
1) You give me defective merchandise.
2) I mash some buttons and return the defective merchandise. You thereby obtain a credit balance of $9.68.
3) You purchase NEW and non-defective merchandise. This is what is know in retail circles as an E-X-C-H-A-N-G-E. Repeatan, por favor. Cambio. C-A-M-B-I-O. That's right. I can say it in two languages. Ain't nobody trying to cheat a chico out of his nueve dollares. How are you going to pay for sus zapatos nuevos? Using the "credit balance" you got from the $9.68. That's how.
4. How can I tell that you ALREADY got a refund on these shoes?
5. Because I can do a nifty little thing called a #91 Action Code on your receipt. YOU GOT A REFUND OF $9.68 FOUR MINUTES BEFORE YOU PURCHASED THE NEW SHOES.
Look man. You are not ignorant. You do not speak English as bad as you pretend to - because the first thing you said was, and I quote, "I think you owe me some money," and when you got upset, you started arguing with me real good. In the lingua franca of the Court of St. James's no less. So don't give me that dumb look and break out the "No speak Eengleesh."
I broke it down for you twice. The third time, the man behind you in line came around and started nodding his head. He even told you "You don't get a refund AND a new pair of shoes."
You're standing there shaking your head like you don't understand. Maybe you don't. Consider this an education.
Sir. Sir. Please look at me. Sir. You returned a defective pair of sandals. You received a new pair of the identical sandals. In no way, shape, form or concept on this planet or any other ball of rock in the cosmos are you entitled to any cash.
The gentleman behind you, a fellow customer in no way connected to the Wal-Mart, is valiantly trying to convince you of this - so he can carry out THE EXACT SAME TRANSACTION.
Moreover, the time to raise questions about this transaction was 18 days ago - when it happened - and when you walked out of Customer Service the proud owner of a pair of non-defective sandals. NOT TODAY. NOT 18 DAYS LATER. NOT WHEN YOU NEED A SAWBUCK TO BUY A DIME BAG.
Are we clear on this? OK. Thank you. Please leave now so that I may resume helping the customers who actually understand how the concepts of "return" and "exchange" work.
Yeah, I know you're waving around a receipt from the first week of August.
You're also holding a receipt where you paid another $9.68 for a pair of sandals. YOU DO NOT GET MONEY BACK IF YOU MAKE AN EXCHANGE.
Let me repeat that for the stupid in the line. In fact, let me break it down for you.
1) You give me defective merchandise.
2) I mash some buttons and return the defective merchandise. You thereby obtain a credit balance of $9.68.
3) You purchase NEW and non-defective merchandise. This is what is know in retail circles as an E-X-C-H-A-N-G-E. Repeatan, por favor. Cambio. C-A-M-B-I-O. That's right. I can say it in two languages. Ain't nobody trying to cheat a chico out of his nueve dollares. How are you going to pay for sus zapatos nuevos? Using the "credit balance" you got from the $9.68. That's how.
4. How can I tell that you ALREADY got a refund on these shoes?
5. Because I can do a nifty little thing called a #91 Action Code on your receipt. YOU GOT A REFUND OF $9.68 FOUR MINUTES BEFORE YOU PURCHASED THE NEW SHOES.
Look man. You are not ignorant. You do not speak English as bad as you pretend to - because the first thing you said was, and I quote, "I think you owe me some money," and when you got upset, you started arguing with me real good. In the lingua franca of the Court of St. James's no less. So don't give me that dumb look and break out the "No speak Eengleesh."
I broke it down for you twice. The third time, the man behind you in line came around and started nodding his head. He even told you "You don't get a refund AND a new pair of shoes."
You're standing there shaking your head like you don't understand. Maybe you don't. Consider this an education.
Sir. Sir. Please look at me. Sir. You returned a defective pair of sandals. You received a new pair of the identical sandals. In no way, shape, form or concept on this planet or any other ball of rock in the cosmos are you entitled to any cash.
The gentleman behind you, a fellow customer in no way connected to the Wal-Mart, is valiantly trying to convince you of this - so he can carry out THE EXACT SAME TRANSACTION.
Moreover, the time to raise questions about this transaction was 18 days ago - when it happened - and when you walked out of Customer Service the proud owner of a pair of non-defective sandals. NOT TODAY. NOT 18 DAYS LATER. NOT WHEN YOU NEED A SAWBUCK TO BUY A DIME BAG.
Are we clear on this? OK. Thank you. Please leave now so that I may resume helping the customers who actually understand how the concepts of "return" and "exchange" work.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Attention K-Mart shoppers
Look beyotch. This is not the K-Mart ... where you USED to work. This is the Wal-Mart. Where I work. Where we at RIGHT NOW. Where you are RETURNING STUFF. Where I reign supreme with the power of life and death over your measly $3.42 that you did not even notice when you paid for the frelling shorts eight days ago. If you want that $3.42 so bad - go back to K-Mart and lick Martha Stewart's prison-stained feet for half an hour. Because you know, K-Mart is at the top of the retail food chain ....
So this is how it rolled out. It's a Sunday night - which is predictable only in that it is singularly unpredictable. About 9:30 p.m. - which seems to be about the time the white trash emerges from their beer, Pringles and Cheeto stupor - this pair of 300-pound land whales clomps up to my register. The wife has to lean on the counter the whole time. The husband is so out of breath from the trip in from the parking lot he collapses on the chairs at the hiring computer.
Land Whale flings down a couple of shopping bags, exhales and goes "Iwannareturndese." OK. Whatever. Orange board shorts are a step up from your cutoffs and faded NASCAR-wear with a scissor-cut in the neckline to accommodate your tremendous triple-D "assets."
I ask for a receipt - and shockingly she says she's got one. I can see it in her hand - only she won't let me have it.
Sometimes it is the WOACA's who have issues (they like to "help" me by finding the merchandise for themselves - control issues) but usually the white trash are too lazy.
The land whale is having issues though because she can't find the shorts on the receipt. Finally I'm like "Ma'am. Let me. It's what I do." That's not good enough for her. "Naw. I just seen dem." Fine. Sit there and gnash all three teeth in your head together. Keep looking. I'm doing everything I can to keep from gazing into the valley of death between your gigantic knockers that you have flung out on my counter like two sacks of flour. Help me Jesus. At least they're tanned. Really lady. The fact that you don't have a tan line in that area seriously disturbs me. I mean ... the implications of that is major MONDO disturbing ....
She still can't find them. And there were only 20 items on that receipt. I reach in and get a hand on the receipt. "Ma'am. Please." She begrudgingly lets it go. Seriously. It was like I was taking candy away from her or something. Can you imagine if I WAS taking some Cheetos away or something?
I find the items and circle the UPC and put the date. She is watching me like a hawk. Old ladies could take lessons from her. After I find the second item she blows up. "WHAT!"
WHALE: "Why'd you mark that'un?"
ME: "That's one of the pairs of shorts you are returning."
WHALE: "No it ain't"
ME: "Um, these are the shorts. Look. This is the UPC number on the receipt. This is the barcode number on the shorts."
WHALE: "I worked at K-Mart. I know 'bout barcodes. That price sticker say $10.00. I paid $13.42."
WHALE continues: "Well, dat's why I couldn find it. I wuz lookin fer $10 and de price wuz wrong."
ME: "Well, it looks like there was just a mistake with a price change not going through. You will get back everything you paid."
WHALE: "Das not the prollem. I paid for two pair o' shorts and they was both $10. You gots to give me the money back on that udder pair."
ME: "Do you have the other pair of shorts with you?"
WHALE: "No."
WHALE: "Baby, how much wuz dat pair o' shorts I bought fer you? Wuzn't it $10?"
ME: Checks price of other pair of shorts. Still $13.42. "Well, I can't give you money back. I don't know how much that other pair was supposed to be."
WHALE: "Why not? I just tole you it was $1o."
ME: "You telling me the other pair was supposed to be $10. I'm showing they are still ringing up at $13.42."
WHALE: "That's not right. When I worked at K-Mart we believes our customers."
ME: "Ma'am. I'm not saying anything about you being dishonest. What I'm saying is that I can't give you money back on a pair of shorts you didn't even notice you paid too much for eight days after you paid for them!"
WHALE: "I don't like this. I worked at K-Mart and it wuzn't like dis."
ME: "Ma'am. I'll give you the money back if you go get me the same pair of shorts as are on this receipt and they have a SALE sticker on them."
WHALE: "Why ain't you believe me?"
ME: "Ma'am, when you worked for K-Mart, did you give people $4 of K-Mart's money every time they asked for it?" I just could not hold it in. She was just stupid. And if she mentioned that she worked for K-Mart one more time ....
She shuts up real quick. And yes, she did come back about a half-hour later with the same pair of shorts. With a $10 sticker - that did not look like it had been stuck on for something else. So I gave her the $3.42 plus the $3 for an item being scanned incorrectly. See, it pays to be nice to me sometimes.
Stupid cow. She probably waddled over to the McDonald's and spend the$7.42$6.42 on three Big Macs, two large fries and a large Diet Coke, because, you know, she's got to cut back somewhere!
CLARIFICATION: Because there seems to be confusion over this - and because my math skills are lacking when there is not a register to add & subtract for me.
Cow-cow was arguing about the $3.42 difference between the $13.42 price on receipt - which the pants rung up at - and the $10.00 SALE tag. She only wanted the $3.42 back. I also used the PRICE OVERRIDE REASON 1 code on the register to give her the additional $3 back for when an item rings up wrong. The REASON 1 sends a message to the department manager to go check the price of all the shorts with that UPC because there is obviously a problem if you have a $10 SALE sticker on the tag but they're still ringing up at $13.42.
Just to be clear. She only wanted $3.42 back. I gave her the other $3 back because that is what we are supposed to do.
So this is how it rolled out. It's a Sunday night - which is predictable only in that it is singularly unpredictable. About 9:30 p.m. - which seems to be about the time the white trash emerges from their beer, Pringles and Cheeto stupor - this pair of 300-pound land whales clomps up to my register. The wife has to lean on the counter the whole time. The husband is so out of breath from the trip in from the parking lot he collapses on the chairs at the hiring computer.
Land Whale flings down a couple of shopping bags, exhales and goes "Iwannareturndese." OK. Whatever. Orange board shorts are a step up from your cutoffs and faded NASCAR-wear with a scissor-cut in the neckline to accommodate your tremendous triple-D "assets."
I ask for a receipt - and shockingly she says she's got one. I can see it in her hand - only she won't let me have it.
Sometimes it is the WOACA's who have issues (they like to "help" me by finding the merchandise for themselves - control issues) but usually the white trash are too lazy.
The land whale is having issues though because she can't find the shorts on the receipt. Finally I'm like "Ma'am. Let me. It's what I do." That's not good enough for her. "Naw. I just seen dem." Fine. Sit there and gnash all three teeth in your head together. Keep looking. I'm doing everything I can to keep from gazing into the valley of death between your gigantic knockers that you have flung out on my counter like two sacks of flour. Help me Jesus. At least they're tanned. Really lady. The fact that you don't have a tan line in that area seriously disturbs me. I mean ... the implications of that is major MONDO disturbing ....
She still can't find them. And there were only 20 items on that receipt. I reach in and get a hand on the receipt. "Ma'am. Please." She begrudgingly lets it go. Seriously. It was like I was taking candy away from her or something. Can you imagine if I WAS taking some Cheetos away or something?
I find the items and circle the UPC and put the date. She is watching me like a hawk. Old ladies could take lessons from her. After I find the second item she blows up. "WHAT!"
WHALE: "Why'd you mark that'un?"
ME: "That's one of the pairs of shorts you are returning."
WHALE: "No it ain't"
ME: "Um, these are the shorts. Look. This is the UPC number on the receipt. This is the barcode number on the shorts."
WHALE: "I worked at K-Mart. I know 'bout barcodes. That price sticker say $10.00. I paid $13.42."
WHALE continues: "Well, dat's why I couldn find it. I wuz lookin fer $10 and de price wuz wrong."
ME: "Well, it looks like there was just a mistake with a price change not going through. You will get back everything you paid."
WHALE: "Das not the prollem. I paid for two pair o' shorts and they was both $10. You gots to give me the money back on that udder pair."
ME: "Do you have the other pair of shorts with you?"
WHALE: "No."
WHALE: "Baby, how much wuz dat pair o' shorts I bought fer you? Wuzn't it $10?"
ME: Checks price of other pair of shorts. Still $13.42. "Well, I can't give you money back. I don't know how much that other pair was supposed to be."
WHALE: "Why not? I just tole you it was $1o."
ME: "You telling me the other pair was supposed to be $10. I'm showing they are still ringing up at $13.42."
WHALE: "That's not right. When I worked at K-Mart we believes our customers."
ME: "Ma'am. I'm not saying anything about you being dishonest. What I'm saying is that I can't give you money back on a pair of shorts you didn't even notice you paid too much for eight days after you paid for them!"
WHALE: "I don't like this. I worked at K-Mart and it wuzn't like dis."
ME: "Ma'am. I'll give you the money back if you go get me the same pair of shorts as are on this receipt and they have a SALE sticker on them."
WHALE: "Why ain't you believe me?"
ME: "Ma'am, when you worked for K-Mart, did you give people $4 of K-Mart's money every time they asked for it?" I just could not hold it in. She was just stupid. And if she mentioned that she worked for K-Mart one more time ....
She shuts up real quick. And yes, she did come back about a half-hour later with the same pair of shorts. With a $10 sticker - that did not look like it had been stuck on for something else. So I gave her the $3.42 plus the $3 for an item being scanned incorrectly. See, it pays to be nice to me sometimes.
Stupid cow. She probably waddled over to the McDonald's and spend the
CLARIFICATION: Because there seems to be confusion over this - and because my math skills are lacking when there is not a register to add & subtract for me.
Cow-cow was arguing about the $3.42 difference between the $13.42 price on receipt - which the pants rung up at - and the $10.00 SALE tag. She only wanted the $3.42 back. I also used the PRICE OVERRIDE REASON 1 code on the register to give her the additional $3 back for when an item rings up wrong. The REASON 1 sends a message to the department manager to go check the price of all the shorts with that UPC because there is obviously a problem if you have a $10 SALE sticker on the tag but they're still ringing up at $13.42.
Just to be clear. She only wanted $3.42 back. I gave her the other $3 back because that is what we are supposed to do.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
My IQ is lower than my air pressure
::::::::::::::::::UPDATED::::::::::::::::::
More bike drama.One woman wanted to return a bicycle because she's had it a week and the tire went flat. Ummmm. OK. Flat tires really don't fall under the realm of "defective," but whatever.
I told her "Ma'am, you probably just need a new tire." Which in retrospect was exactly the wrong thing to say. Why? Because I was giving her a "NO," which she obviously never heard in her day-to-day existence AND essentially calling her stupid at the same time.
She got extremely angry with me and informed me that "No. The tires aren't supposed to go flat that fast. They're supposed to last longer."
Lady. Look. You can ride it on Day One and roll over a nail. No bike tire in the world outside of NASA or the government is likely to survive that. Shut up and deal.
For reals ... if you use something it is going to break down EVENTUALLY. Friends of my parents wrecked a brand new $27,000 Chevy truck on the way home from dealership. Life happens. So do flat tires. Buy a $7 tire and deal.
Honestly. Returning a bike because it has a flat tire is akin to taking your car back to the dealership because it has a flat. How many people do that? All the Wal-Mart customers can put their hands down now ....
PS: This is what I get for writing at 2 a.m. Yes, they returned it. Despite our "we don't return bicycles" policy. If you whined long enough and loud enough, you'd be able to return a baby, a dead grandma and a five-gallon can full of trash for a full refund!
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