List of Retail Customers

Not too long ago, I was all sappy about my job. I posted that just as I was going on vacation. In honor of my going on my first real vacation in quite a long time, I composed this list of all the peopleĀ  I wouldn’t miss.

While a lot of this is specific to my shipping store, I think it’s broad enough to encompass most retail workers.

  1. People who hate me.
  2. People who think I’m evil.
  3. People who think I’m lying.
  4. People who think I can’t spell “shallow”.
  5. People who think I can’t spell “Smith”.
  6. People who think I have kids [KIDS LIKE MULTIPLE, I’M 21 FOR FORENSIC’S SAKE]
  7. People who are too old to function.
  8. People who don’t listen.
  9. People who can’t listen.
  10. People who get angry when they realize they weren’t listening.
  11. People who don’t follow simple instructions.
  12. People who think I make the prices.
  13. People who yell at me.
  14. People who tell me their life stories when I am trying to finish something.
  15. People who tell me their life stories when I have a line of six people behind them.
  16. People who are cheap.
  17. People who pay more for shipping than the item(s) they are shipping.
  18. People who think they can drive to their destination [California] for less than the price of shipping [$15].
  19. People who mumble.
  20. People who don’t speak any language known on this earth.
  21. People who make the effort to come into the store, but then don’t know what they want.
  22. People who call me.
  23. People who call me and expect to get priority over people who have come in.
  24. People who call me and don’t know the weight, destination, or measurements of something they want an estimate on.
  25. People who bring packages over 70 pounds and watch me while I try to maneuver it by myself.
  26. People who cancel their transactions after I’ve spent a good chunk of time working on them.
  27. People who can’t make copies.
  28. People who won’t learn to make copies.
  29. People who don’t care that all you need to do to learn to make copies is put them in the feeder and press the green button that says, “Start.”
  30. People who think I’m a kid who doesn’t care about my future and wants to work retail for the rest of my life.
  31. People who are surprised when I tell them that I am a full-time student at a pretty good college.
  32. People who are extra surprised to find that I can read both letters and numbers.
  33. People who want free things.
  34. People who expect free things.
  35. People who throw things when they don’t get what they want.
  36. People who throw things at me when they don’t get what they want.
  37. People who complain about paying 65 cents to mail something.
  38. People who complain about the government.
  39. People who complain about the president.
  40. People who get irritated when I don’t talk politics.
  41. People who try to sell me things.
  42. People who ask me if I’m the owner.
  43. People who think their six-figure corporate job entitles them the world.
  44. People who lie to me.
  45. People who tell other people how to lie and cheat their way into illegally shipping things.
  46. People who listen to the people that tell people to lie and cheat their way into illegally shipping things.
  47. People who get angry when I catch them attempting to lie and cheat their way into illegally shipping things.
  48. People who get angry when I refuse to be an accessory to a crime.
  49. People who tell me they’re going to Fedex because they think I’ll care.
  50. People who inform me that the Post Office is cheaper.
  51. People who expect me to counter-offer when they tell me the Post Office is cheaper.
  52. People who yell at me because the Post Office lost their package and they didn’t get a tracking number because the Post Office was cheaper.
  53. People who say, “I think it’s cheaper at the Post Office,” then leave, go to the Post Office, find out it’s cheaper, and then DRIVE BACK to my store just to walk in and tell me their package was cheaper at the Post Office.
  54. People who undercut my authority.
  55. People who think I’m a lawyer and can therefore comprehend and explain to them their legal documents.
  56. People who are creepy and tell stupid jokes.
  57. People who get angry that I don’t laugh at their stupid jokes.
  58. People who still expect that I have a sense of humor after spending years dealing with people like them.
  59. People who cut in line because they are “in a hurry.”
  60. People who want to do things that don’t matter when they are “in a hurry”.
  61. People who get outraged that their transaction will take approximately five minutes to complete.
  62. People who are on their cellphones.
  63. People who won’t get off their cellphones even when it’s their turn.
  64. People who expect me to wait on them while they’re on their cellphone, even if I have other people I can help.
  65. People who have finished their transactions but won’t leave because they haven’t finished their call.
  66. People who use my store as an office and stay for over an hour.
  67. People who wink at me in a conspiratorial manner–I don’t care who you are, that’s creepy.
  68. People who are misogynists.
  69. People who refer to me as “that little girl.”
  70. People who tell me, “You must be new”. [three year anniversary is in July]
  71. People who interrupt me with a question, even though they have just interrupted the answer to their question.
  72. People who won’t say anything to me other than, “Cheap!”
  73. People who continue to repeat the word, “Cheap!” even when I ask them questions.
  74. People who steal my good pens.
  75. People who steal my bad pens. [Why?]
  76. People who are having a bad day.
  77. People who park in the fire lane.
  78. People who are upset that they got caught parking in the fire lane.
  79. People who don’t control their kids.
  80. People who think that the giant bucket of mail I just got from the post office lady will be distributed within a minute of my getting it.
  81. People who walk into my store.

Nescit Cedere, Hothlanta


Question for you: Little Kate’s unexpected snowstorm makes her:

A) Grumpy.

B) Mumpy.

C) All of the above.

Until today, I have been literally trapped within my neighborhood since Sunday in the worst snow storm I–knock on wood–ever hope to see in my life. And it’s still incredibly dangerous to go out and about–but dammit I have missed a week’s worth of rehearsals for [tos] and I’m getting out of this house one way or another. WAY TO FREAKING GO, ATLANTA.

What did I do on this five day weather enforced house arrest?

Well, I watched a lot of TV. And I crocheted some stuff. And I sang a lot. And I played Harry Potter Lego. And I read every entry in this. And I moaned and complained. And I cleaned my room.

The only good thing to come out of this damn storm was one week long Star Wars reference. Which is a tribute to how many amazingly nerdy and lovely people live in the home town of Dragon*Con (suck it, San Diego). What a beacon of awesome in the midst of so much suck. You go, nerds who did the trend thing on twitter to make that an actual thing that people say.

The first marker–impenetrable to all ye Taun-Tauns who dare to pass–was at the entrance to our subdivision. It’s a very shady area and nobody in my entire gorram city seems to want to take matters into their own hands and clean the roads in front of our houses. What were my mother and I doing this week? Digging paths into the road for safety. What was everybody else doing while this was happening? Driving by, waving and/or mouthing ‘thanks.’


Also I made a snow angel, but instead of snow, it was ice, so I couldn't just sweep my arms and legs. I had to break the ice.

Um. You’re welcome. But you know what would make this faster/safer? If you guys actually came out and helped. Did your part. Obviously nobody from the state or the city departments of transportation are going to pull their heads out of their asses any time soon and get to cleaning off the roads around where we live. Don’t these people want to get to places? Don’t they want to get to places in one piece?

Mom reminisces of the good ole days, when she was super young living in Middle-of-flipping-nowhere, Michigan and everybody (read: menfolk) was doing their part with shovels and ice picks making sure that people could get to places. And you know what? I’m pretty sure the nowadays can take a page from the good ole days and help people get off their asses. Is it natural for an entire metro area–practically half of the most populated areas in the state–to absolutely shut down for four days? Really? REALLY?

Nobody seems to remember what it’s like to be neighborly anymore. And I know we laugh at the Pleasantville mentality of saying hello to your neighbors as they water the lawn. And generally I couldn’t give a damn about who they are and what their lives are like. But something like this, I’m ready to roll up my sleeves and literally pound pavement to get this ice up. And next to nobody’s out on the roads. Is it really that hard to spend an hour breaking and scooping away ice? Especially in shaded areas? So this ice isn’t still endangering people’s lives a week later?

There were somewhere around 50 accidents in a few hours this past Monday, and I’ll bet the number has steadily risen. Come on, guys. Let’s decrease the WorldSuck.

Last I checked, Snowpocalypse 2011 wasn’t a surprise. Were there things that could have been done in preparation? You bet your sweet behind there are. I don’t know the protocol personally (obviously, neither does anybody else in this fraking state) but somehow every other state in the union seems to get by without declaring a state of emergency every time five inches falls. Otherwise, what’s the point of the north even functioning for three whole months of winter?

What I learned from this experience is that I am NOT a homebody. I’m not happy just sitting around at home for days on end. I like going places. I like doing stuff. I like not being afraid to drive to the grocery store for milk. I like walking down a sidewalk without extra hazards to my life.

Also this is the bleedin South. We shouldn’t have to worry about this shit.

Moreover, I like going to school. I miss school. Which is a strange thing to say, especially considering how the general consensus of students everywhere is that school sucks. I’ve just got Beginning of the Semester Excitement. Come midterms, I’ll be back wishing for another act of ‘god’ to keep me from having to turn in that 9 page essay on Nietzsche on time. Bleh.

The Candyman Saga

I work at [undisclosed shipping store] and there is a customer I have who will guaranteed make Jesus think he’s a lost cause. He shall be heretofore known as the Candyman–all pervy, creeper implications welcome. And he has been plaguing me for years.

His mother lives in a nursing home in Florida. She has Alzheimer’s and doesn’t remember much except her bi-monthly supply of 15 pounds of candy and chocolates (not an exaggeration, people) from her son, the Candyman. The Candyman is an ungentleman in his late fifties (at least), plump, stout, thinning mop of grey hair, face like a frog, and an attitude that says he’s used to being found utterly charming.

Interaction, September 1, 2010:

I’m not even open an hour, the Candyman walks in. He has parked his shiny silver Porsche in the fire lane outside my store. He carries a rather large bag of candy and chocolate purchased from the grocery store next door. This is what he does every time he comes in.

Sayeth the Candyman, “I lied to my mama. I told her I sent this out last week… but it’s okay, because she never remembers.”

Pause. Consider courses of action. Decision: Do nothing. Say nothing. Hope he goes away.

He doesn’t.

I shove all ten pounds of his candy into a padded mailer–the method of packaging second most likely to send the message, “I can’t be bothered to pay for a box to send this to you,” second after, of course, the non-padded mailer, which is, in fact, the envelope–and I weigh it and measure it and do all sorts of jiggery-pokery to get the job done as fast as superhumanly possible. Meanwhile, this guy decides to tryout his audition for Last Comic Standing to me.

I ask him a standard question, “Can I get your phone number please?”

He stares at me and moans what he always moans, “You’ll never call me.”

Lately I’ve been responding, “You’re absolutely right.”

“Lemme tell you a joke,” says the Candyman then.

“Please don’t,” I silently plead.

“So this guy is sitting at a bar, and he’s just staring at the shot in front of him, not doing a thing. And a biker–big tough guy, all leather–comes into the bar and sees this guy. And the biker says to the guy, ‘Well, hey, if you ain’t gon’ drink it,’ and the biker takes the guy’s shot and downs it. The guy bursts into tears, and the biker starts apologizing, ‘I’m sorry, I’ll buy you another one. What’s going on?’ And the guy says, ‘Well, yesterday I lost my job, and this morning, my wife left me, and y’know, I just don’t have any more poison!’ “

A pause. Crickets can be heard chirping at 9 am. I don’t think it’s funny. And I have an amazing sense of humor. Just no patience for this man. This man who has bothered me for close to two years. This man who is constantly inappropriate. This man whose mere presence makes me shiver with discomfort.

“You don’t think it’s funny?” he drawls.

“I think it’s horrible,” I say, sort of smiling in a way that hopefully masks whatever animosity I feel.

He takes this pretty personally. We finish up the transaction, and he hears the total and slides his card and signs his name. Then he says, “You know, you should wear a mask.”

I look at him, full of dread, thinking, “Oh my Joss, I don’t see how this could end favorably.” So I ask him why.

“Because you’re a burglar.” And with that he leaves. What a flair for the melodramatic.

Interaction, September 25, 2010:

Enter Douchie McDouchenozzle, Esq. (sometimes I call him this when I’m real extra upset).

He brings in TWO bags of candy, plops them down. I’m keenly aware that he has another bag, a gallon bag that you fit food in and such. “Another bag,” I think with complete dread. “That means he plans to stay longer.”

(let’s kick this conversation a little faster and change up the format)
Him: Hey, lady… I’ve come to send some candy to mama.
Me: You’ll need to grab an envelope.

He unrolls the bag and dumps its contents onto the counter. It’s all cheap jewelry.

Him: C’mere.
Me: …why? [please go away we don’t need your money]
Him: I wanna show you somethin’.
Me: …okay. [I hate you]

I walk over hesitantly.

Him: See any of these trinkets that strike your fancy?
Me: [oh god oh god. what do I do] Um. No. Sorry. I don’t wear jewelry. [well, at least that’s the truth]
Him: You don’t?
Me: …nope. [also, I would rather subject myself to many very painful tortures than accept jewelry from you]

He somewhat angrily puts the jewelry back into his bag and rolls it up. He waits for me to do something with the candy.

Me: …You’ll need an envelope.

We debate about whether to use an envelope or a box, since he’s just brought a mountain of stuff. He decides a box, I pack it.

I bring the package back to the counter and he gives me his phone number [thank god I don’t have to ask him for it, so he won’t say, “You’ll never call me.”] and we get started.

Him: Hey, do you like jokes?
Me: It depends on what kind of jokes. [I don’t want to dignify that stupid question with a response]
Him: Well, it’s a good one.
Me: If it’s the one with the guy in the bar with the poison, I’ve already heard that one.

He pauses. And stares at me. I stare at him. I’m uncomfortable. The silence has gone on too long. I’m just going to keep working on the shipment.

Him: Do you have the winning lottery numbers?
Me: What? No.
Him: Have you already heard that joke?
Me: …yes.
Him: Did I tell it to you already?
Me: Yes.
Him: Did you think it was funny?
Me: No.
Him: You didn’t laugh.
Me: [Good god] no. [you’re awful]

His feelings are hurt. Again. At least this time he didn’t say that I should wear a mask because I’m a burglar. This time, he’s much more mature. He turns on his sad face.

Him: I think I’m going to go home and curl up in bed. Are we done here?

He signs one of them.

Him: Am I done yet?
Me: And the other one.

He signs the other.

Him: Are we done yet? I want to go home and go back to bed. [because you don’t think I’m charming, aren’t I charming? who doesn’t think I’m charming, raise your hand]

We’re not done. I make him actually pay me and then he leaves.

Oh how I wish this wasn’t true.