In The Trenches... with CatnapJo

Your Treasure, My PITA

2012-01-16T22:04:00.009-05:00

Maybe there should be a committee that approves the newly-minted names on birth certificate applications, because a woman I saw today should not have been wheeled out of the hospital with her inspired selections intact.

I didn't catch Mom's name as she negotiated a highly complex financial transaction with one of my co-workers. Apparently she had to review and approve the displayed price for each of her dozens of treasures before it was copiously wrapped and placed in a bag. (I hope the crew of the International Space Station appreciates the incoming delivery of 99-cent votive candles and holders.)

The children's names, on the other hand, are etched into my brain. Daughter Solace was compelled to leave all her worldly possessions strewn across the floor. And to touch anything within reach. And to climb to anything beyond reach. Maybe it was just my ears, but "Solace!!!" started sounding more and more like "Soulless" as it ricocheted around my skull.

Not to be outdone, son Odin demanded everything in sight. And tried to run away. And attempted to take out every adult in his path. When his ill-conceived plan failed, he threw a conniption worthy of his Norse god self. In about 25 years he'll have to tell little Thor all about it.

Seeing Solace and Odin reminded me that I haven't seen Princess Precious Cupcake and her mom in at least a year. The protective lining around my sanity has erased the Princess's real name from memory -- "Krystal" or "Angelique" or "Madisyn" or something equally precocious. Mom thought she was a Treasure (maybe that was her name).

Precious Treasure would climb all over the checkout counter and try to scan things they were buying. (Or not buying. Mom was also a "meticulous" shopper.) She'd pull things out of bags and scan them again. She'd scan random things and run away with them. Mom -- if you could peel the phone off her ear -- might notice and whimper, "I'm asking you not to do that, please. Next time I'll be sad." Baby Cupcake would shoot flames from her eyes and continue along with her evil plan.

But one day she crossed the line, invading my side of the checkout counter. Hiding and wreaking havoc. The first time in, I responded with: "You're not allowed back here; go stand with your mother." Second time: "I explained this to you; don't do it again." Third time (being the charm and all) I bent over and went eye-to-eye: "Listen to me. When you come back here and stand behind me, I can't see you. If can't see you, I'm going to step on you. When I step on you, it's going to hurt. You are not going to like it." She took my point.

I wonder where Cupcake is these days... my money's on the child pageant circuit.

The Future is Now

2012-01-13T23:47:00.006-05:00

When our manager announced last summer that we were being converted to a "Store of the Future", I wondered what we'd been up to this point -- Store of Last Year? Y2K Store? Store of the Cold War? I -- of course -- also immediately envisioned us with shiny-new jet packs and unisex jumpsuits. We got:

1. A streamlined merchandise return process (old way: read down a receipt and manually find/enter/cross off individual items; new way: scan barcode on receipt, scan items, and done). Thumbs up.

2. A reconfigured checkout area with one queue leading to the next available cashier. (No more playing Guess The Quickest Line and watching people jump lines when another cash register opens up.) BIG thumbs up.

3. Elimination of my job function. Thumbs down. But... my post-demotion job is actually more fun than the old one.

4. Two-way radios with an earpiece and microphone. At first, they were universally despised. We felt like a pathetic band of Secret Service agent wannabes. Then we discovered that radioing each other for business purposes ("This customer thinks her paintbrush is on sale. Is there a sign back there?") saved mileage on our feet. Most importantly, we could kvetch and vent to each other over the airwaves ("The paintbrush is not on sale. If she saw a sign, she's hallucinating. And who's in here what that screaming kid?")

Radio Free Us crackles with life now.

"Did you tell some woman that she could have a 99 percent discount on this spray paint because the label has a smudge?"

"No. I told her to grab one of the five other un-smudged cans."

"I just found an abandoned basketful of beads. I hate putting away beads."

"Do think anyone would notice if we closed early tonight?"

"Did someone tell a customer that *everything* in the store is 40 percent off?"

"No."

"Yeah. Isn't that what we tell everyone?"

"Is it that guy with the red shirt? Is he *still* here? He needs to go home."

"Where are the sketch pads? What the hell happened to all the stuff in Aisle 33? Where is it?"

Etc.

Sadly, there were no jet packs. They probably would've lit the place on fire anyway. And no jumpsuits. Thank our lucky stars for that one -- not pretty.

I still have my fingers crossed for a teleporter, though.

Just call me The Oracle of Delphi

2012-01-12T17:48:00.003-05:00

Omniscient (adjective): having complete or unlimited knowledge, awareness, or understanding; perceiving all things. Used in a sentence: Jo is not omniscient, despite the fact that people think she is.

A big part of my work day involves answering questions, and that's cool by me. If someone walks up and asks if we sell a certain item, I can give a confident yes or no. I'm also good at leading a customer to that item's location. Not 100 percent accurate, mind you -- our store carries something like 40,000 different items, and departments get rearranged. When stumped, I click on my trusty walkie-talkie and tap into the collective brains of my coworkers. Once we arrive at said item, I've got a basic working knowledge of how to use the stuff we sell.

When I answer a phone call, I can give you driving directions to the store (within a reasonable area). I can tell you the hours we're open. I'll give you the phone number to one of our other stores in the area. I'll go take a look and see if something you want is in stock; I'll stash it as a "customer hold" for 24 hours.

Here's what I can't necessarily tell you, what with the not being omniscient and all:

."Well, if you don't sell This Thing I Want, who does???" (Try the Yellow Pages? Google it? Phone-a-Friend?)

. "How do I find your store? I need directions from my driveway, which is 40 miles away." (Ummm, Mapquest yourself to a main road, then call back? Spring for a GPS for your car? Go old school with a road atlas?)

."What time does That Store Across The Parking Lot close? Or That Restaurant Up The Street? Where's the closest liquor store?" (OK, OK. I know where the liquor store is; it's across the street.)

."Is this item on sale at That Store That Competes With You?" (Oh, I don't know. Let's call them and find out. And then ask me for directions on how to get there.)

And if you call and ask me what the price was for something that we stopped selling two years ago? Do not tell me that I'm nasty and rude when I politely respond that I'm sorry, I can't remember and won't play The Price Is Right as you throw out random numbers.

Finally: Don't even think about rolling your eyes at me when I can't fill in all your blanks. I'm the eye-roller in this relationship, friend.

Coffee Talk

2012-01-11T02:13:00.004-05:00

I'm not a coffee person. It's one of those things I never developed a taste for, in spite of being assured by many grown-ups that I would learn to love it. I do love the aroma of coffee; if it tasted like it smelled, I'd be hooked.

That being said, I understand that the other 99 percent loves it some coffee. The shops are everywhere, and folks go everywhere with a cup in hand. Maybe someone should study whether or not coffee causes amnesia -- because I'm spending a fair amount of my work life disposing of orphan cups o' Joe.

When working a retail store's closing shift, the main task at hand is "recovery." You walk the aisles, on the prowl for misplaced merchandise ("I decided not to buy it, so I'll stash it on a random shelf") or opened packages that can be resealed ("I know it's packed in clear cellophane, but I had to touch it") or opened packages that are empty ("Take the wire; leave the wrapper"). That goes with the territory. People who'd cast you out of their own homes for not using a coaster under a beverage will leave a swath of destruction that the Storm Chasers would rate an F-5.

But a committee somewhere has rewritten "give a hoot, don't pollute" to exclude the disposable coffee cup. Set it free to see the world. So, when I find a full-ish cup? I figure the owner put it down, forgot about it, and wandered away. (See amnesia theory, above.) A half-empty cup? I don't know -- maybe it got cold, maybe it's the amnesia, maybe the drinker is trying to cut back on the habit. An empty cup? Slob. A slob who'd throw you out for using one of the "good" hand towels in her powder room.

Like an inmate marking the days in stir, maybe I should start keeping a tally of how many cups I collect. Maybe I should build a Great Wall of Cups. Maybe I should start charging a 15 percent gratuity for my stellar work as a busboy. Maybe all the Coffee Shoppers should invest in travel mugs. And hang them from their necks on a lanyard.

Then again, don't. I like keeping busy.

P.S. Please don't empty the travel mug out your car window while you're waiting at a light or parking the car. It ain't water.

They don't make "experts" like they used to

2012-01-03T22:28:00.003-05:00

The photo speaks for itself.

The Most Wonderful Time

2012-01-02T00:01:00.003-05:00

No question about it -- retail stores push the seasons. Christmas starts showing its face in August, and everyone is more than ready to pack away The Holidays come New Year's Day.

That opens the door to my absolute favorite season of the retail year: Springtime in January. The crowds are gone. Business is slow. Our store explodes into a profusion of tulips, daffodils, hyacinth, forsythia, and flowering branches. It's all silk, of course, and my gardener's soul would rather be out playing in damp soil, barefoot, coaxing the tender shoots towards the sun. But when the sky is battleship gray, the arctic wind is knifing through your layers of clothing, and there's a grimy twelve inches of glacier between your boots and the cement-hard ground, "faux spring" is a delight.

Oh, and the "seasonal music" is gone too. My ears unclench. If you're in the store some evening, and you see a sales associate happily tidying floral stems and singing along to "Thunder Road", please stop by my happy place and say hello.

'09, '10, '11... '12

2011-12-31T00:42:00.002-05:00

For the sake of simplicity, we'll say I fell asleep in August of 2009 and woke up on the verge of 2012. Yes, let's go with that.

I'm still at the store and the wacky shoppers are still doing their thing. Maybe it's time to start "sharing" again.

We're talking beads and paper and silk flowers... right?

2009-08-23T17:50:00.005-04:00

At our store, we start making closing announcements 20 minutes prior to lock-the-doors time. Follow-ups are done every 5 minutes after that.

"Good evening, (store name) customers. The time is now 8:40 (or :45, or :50), and (store name) will closing in 20 (or 15, or 10) minutes. Please make your final selections and bring them to the front of the store for purchase. Thank you, as always, for shopping at (store name)."

We also turn off the in-store mood music. A subtle reinforcement that it's time to saddle up and ride on out.

At 5-minutes-to-close, the content changes: "Attention, customers. The time is now 8:55, and we are closing in 5 minutes. Please bring your purchases to the front checkouts. Thank you."

Nevertheless, some folks' ears are just tuned out to these simple and informative statements. They browse, they wander, they chat -- floating along in their "everyone but me" orbit. Sometimes they're joined by the let's-walk-in-at-8:55PM-and-take-our-sweet-time set. Even "the time is 9:00, and we are closed" doesn't put a spring in their step. I'm here 'til I'm done, baby, and that's how it is. I'm shopping for essentials that won't wait until tomorrow.

Some night we really have to try the bartender's standby: "You don't have to go home, but you can't stay here."

On the other hand, morning brings the doorbusters -- especially on Sundays. They'll huddle up around the door, some with hands cupped against the window, maybe 10 or 15 minutes ahead of opening. They must have us confused with the ToysRUs that has exactly two copies of the season's hottest, must-have, video game. I can't imagine the behavior exhibited if we actually sold something vital to life -- say, H1N1 vaccine, or defibrillators, or even food.

Too much time on our hands, folks. Too much time.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Coupons?

2009-08-14T20:58:00.006-04:00

Unless I missed it in the paper, the U.S. Constitution hasn't been amended to include the right to receive coupons from retail stores. But people sure act like it was uppermost in the minds of the Founding Fathers.

First, a little background: my employer, like many retailers, puts a sales flyer in the Sunday papers. In general, it comes out every other week and includes a coupon good for 40% off one regularly-priced item. The coupon is good for 7 days (always a Sunday thru a Saturday) and is printed with its "valid" dates and a list of items it can't be used on. Oh yeah, and there's this written caveat: "one coupon per customer per day." Sometimes the flyer has a bonus coupon of some sort -- say, an extra 25% off on picture frames.

Another savings opportunity presents itself at the checkout line. It's called a "bounce-back" coupon. One prints out with the receipt, and it's valid for the following calendar week.

Pretty straightforward, right? Not exactly rocket science? I used to think so. The following events are all true and happened to me within a 2-hour period:

LadyA walked up to the register with two small children and their elderly grandfather. She put down three packages of stickers ($1.49 each) and a Sunday paper coupon. I rang them up, took her cash, and handed out her bounce-back.

She then had Child#1 lay five sheets of paper (89 cents each) and another Sunday coupon on the counter. I decided not to argue the finer points of "one customer." LadyA handed me the cash; I gave her the change and receipt. I crumpled up the bounce-back and threw it in my wastebasket. She grumbled something under her breath to Grandfather.

Then Child#2 placed an item ($1.99) on the counter with yet one more Sunday coupon. I rang it up and LadyA handed me the cash. I gave her the change and receipt and tossed the bounce-back. Another grumble, and then:

"Why are you throwing those away? They're my coupons!"

"Because that's not the intention of the coupons. It's one per customer."

"There are four of us here. We are all customers."

"You're the one paying for all of these items. You all count as one customer."

More grumbling and a huddle with Grandfather. Then he came up to the counter with a poster board ($1.49) and, yes, Sunday coupon #4. (Did you raid all your neighbors' doorsteps and swipe the flyers???) LadyA put the cash in his hand, then he passed it to me.

And I just had to go there. Handed him the receipt and threw away the bounce-back. And the beast was unleashed.

"You can't do that! He's a customer!"

"You gave him the money, and you're abusing the system. This was all *one* purchase. I gave you the courtesy of accepting the additional coupons."

"I will never shop here ever again." I miss her already.

And along comes Mrs. B. She's got 24 or 25 assorted skeins of yarn and several large picture frames. She hands me our competitor's sales flyer for the week.

"You price match, right? They've got the yarn on sale this week."

"We do, as long as it's the same brand and variety." (Pause to look it over.) "It is. You'll get 60 cents off on each of these."

I go through the process of individually overriding the price on each skein. It's slow and a pain, but she's a good shopper who just saved 12 bucks on yarn. And I ring up the frames.

Then she hands me our flyer, and, "I want to use this, too." She points to the "Teacher Appreciation" 15%-off-your-total-purchase coupon. The "my name" and "my school's name" spaces are blank.

"You didn't fill this out."

"No, I didn't."

"Do you have a teacher I.D.?"

"It doesn't say I have to." (Not, "It's summer and I don't have it with me" or "My school doesn't issue them." We're going to argue the legalese.)

"It's not printed there, but that's the idea. It's back-to-school time, and we're trying to help teachers get their classrooms ready."

"Well, it's not in writing."

"Well, I'm not taking it without proof."

She skulked away with her yarn (in muted, very grown-up colors -- not the bright primaries you'd use for student art projects) and over-the-sofa frames. That was fun.

Then, Picture Man came up with ten heavy, oversized frames.

"These are on sale. Do these qualify for the extra 25% off coupon?

"You bet. It's a nice deal."

I rang them up. We stood and looked at each other.

"I just need your coupon to scan."

"I don't have one. You can't just scan something?"

"No, you actually have to give me a coupon."

"You can't just take out another one and scan it?"

"I can't. Believe it or not, they actually count how many we collect and compare that to how many were scanned."

He stared. I stared back. He walked out, minus frames.

Finally, a little more insider info: Whenever there's a Sunday flyer ad, we display a copy at the store entrance. It's dry-mounted to piece of foam core poster board (24x36) and sits on an easel.

We used to have a bin next to the easel. It had "extra" copies of the flyer. About a year ago, the company stopped the Extra Flyer hand-out. Why? Because people would grab 10 flyers, rip out the coupons, and leave the rest as trash all over the store. So now we're on the Display Only system.

Three times last night -- that's three -- someone walked up to me holding the poster boarded display ad and asked:

"Do you have more of these?"

"No, we just get the one to display."

"I didn't bring my coupon. Can't you just scan this thing?"

At least nobody's tried to peel the ad off the board. But it's early yet.

It's Official... Xmas in August

2009-08-13T02:16:00.004-04:00

Oh dear.

Christmas ribbon has made its 2009 inaugural appearance at the store.

Forget summer, Labor Day, Columbus Day, Halloween, Veterans Day, Thanksgiving.

It's officially The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.

Mrs. Reaper, I presume?

2009-08-12T01:12:00.004-04:00

I like my job. The people I work with are funny, and I'm only there part-time, so the whole thing is fairly relaxed. I'm fairly sure I give off a laid-back and jolly sort of vibe. We're selling craft supplies, for cryin' out loud. But I guess you never know.

An extremely thin woman came through my checkout line today. That was the first thing I noticed --that she was painfully, scary, just-a-bit-of-pale-skin-stretched-over-bones, this-is-anorexia-or-cocaine-or-something, Stick Thin. And she was sort of a here-but-not-here personality. Hey, it's arts and crafts. We do eccentric.

She put down a melting pot for chocolate and three small cardboard storage boxes. I scanned and bagged everything, and told her the total -- $29 and change. She stared at me and uttered a cold, flat, "No."

"I'm sorry?"

"I have a coupon."

"Oh, okay. No problem."

Her skeletal fingers slowly rummaged through her wallet. After several false alarms, the coupon was finally located and handed over.

Icicle Voice continued, "I told you I had one. I wrote 'chocolate pot' at the top."

"Okay."

Scanned the coupon, which brought the total down to $20.49, or something. I announced the adjusted total, and again we experienced The Search -- this time for cash. It was like watching two spiders crawl over the wallet. Three $5's and a $1 were produced, and finally another $5 came out of hiding. I counted back the change and was rolling into my patented "Here's a coupon for next week; have a nice evening" rap, when Madame Skeletor stopped me cold.

"You look like you can barely stand to be here. Clearly you hate it. You should find a different job."

I was so wrapped up in mentally replaying the assessment that I didn't even notice she'd walked out without her shopping bags. I set them aside, picked up some other work, and played a few more quiet rounds of Sociopath-or-Pharmaceutical-Side-Effect? She returned a few minutes later -- shot me the evil eye, collected the bags, and was back out the door.

Mom always told me, "It takes all kinds." Hopefully, there's only one of that variety.

Halloween Costumes -- Do's and DON'Ts

2009-08-05T22:32:00.005-04:00

To Paint or Not To Paint?

It's a reasonable question if you're talking about a wooden chair, or a wall, or a house. But the human body? Probably best to leave it paint-free.

I was reminded of this recently, as the Halloween displays have started popping up in the store. Seeing the gargoyles and ghouls got me to reflecting about last year and one of my notable retail moments.

I was working on Halloween night, when a 20-something guy happened into the store. He asked where he could find the spray paint. I pointed him in the right direction (Aisle 8, left-hand side) and didn't think much more about it. He came back to the service desk a few minutes later, spray cans in hand:

"How many of these do you think it would take to cover me?"

"Sorry... what?"

"How many cans of paint do I need to cover myself with it?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh... you want to spray paint yourself?"

"Yeh. I'm going to a Halloween party, and I want to paint myself. I'm gonna go as a black dude."

Okay, which issue to address first: the fact that covering oneself -- including the face -- with an aerosol-propelled, latex pigment probably ain't the best choice for one's physical health? Or, the fact that going to a party as a "black dude" is a moronic choice that could set oneself up for a well-deserved beating? I chose the first path, more or less:

"I really wouldn't use this on your skin. It can't be good for you."

"Ahhhhhhh, I'm not worried about it. It probably comes off in the shower."

I stressed several more times that his plan, "even if you do close your eyes first", was not the way to go. He still bought two cans and was off into the night. I never saw him on the news or in the local paper. Presumably he wasn't poisoned or soundly thrashed.

But Halloween doesn't claim sole ownership of Stupid Self-Painting Plans:

Guess what happened this past 4th of July? A woman came in looking for liquid paint in Day-Glo colors. Why? She was going to paint her eyelashes before going to the local fireworks. Yes, the eyelashes that are a scant millimeter from your eyeballs. Yes, the eyeballs that give you the gift of sight and hurt like hell if one unpainted eyelash touches them.

Another can't-miss stroke of genius. She hasn't come back wielding a white cane... yet.

Just Say No... to Writing Checks

2009-07-30T23:05:00.005-04:00

Some things in the retail world are just bad, and it doesn't matter if you experience them from the customer side or as an employee.

Paying by check at a store? It deserves top spot on the Things Bad For Everyone list.

Hey, I understand that folks are afraid of identity theft if they use debit or credit cards. I understand not wanting to carry around a pickpocket-friendly wad of cash. But you know what? You have to pick your poison. Greenbacks or plastic. No middle ground.

Maybe we'll play along if you're a thoughtful soul who's got the whole thing filled out ahead of time, just needing to write in the amount, and you hand it over pronto with a photo ID.

But do you need to: a) launch an expedition into your cavernous purse to find the checkbook, b) ask the cashier to borrow a pen, c) ask the cashier what today's date is, d) ask the cashier how to spell the name of the store, e) ask the cashier how much your total is, f) write the details in your checkbook register before handing the check (and pen) to the cashier, g) dig a little deeper into your Marianas Trench of a handbag to find your driver's license, and h) shoot the cashier a dirty look because she dared to ask for a driver's license in the first place?

The check is not your friend. All affected parties in the vicinity are thinking ugly, hateful things. They're stringing together a lot of four-letter words. They're aiming them at you. Someday you're going to write a check near an irate guy with unknown telekinetic powers and he's going to make a vase fly at your head. It's gonna hurt.

Trust me, I'm a professional.

Kid Consumers Rock

2009-07-27T21:24:00.003-04:00

I love kids who are just starting to shop with "their own" money. They might be 7 or 8, learning the real-world ways of addition and subtraction as they count out cash and get change back, like the brother and sister who came through my line the other day.

Bro had picked out a small wooden craft kit and some candy, and his total came to $2.99. We worked out that he had a dollar bill, 4 quarters, and additional quarters/dimes/nickels to make up three bucks. I put his money in the till, handed him a penny back, and ceremoniously presented him with the small bag that was now legally his. With a big grin, he walked over to his mom and announced, "She gave me money back!!!"

Sis, a bit older, had one item -- costing exactly one dollar. She was proud that she'd found something she liked and not spent all her money. She also confided that she was ready to hit the next store. (It's a female DNA thing. There's no fighting it.) I handed over her very own, separate, bag. Hey, you can't go green all the time.

Another girl, probably 12 or so, came in recently to power shop. The complete mini-woman: sundress, sandals, hair drawn back in a ponytail, purse slung over her shoulder. Grabbed a shopping basket and was off to the races. Eventually she came through the line with the essentials -- mini writing pads and multi-colored pens, jewelry-making kits, cotton embroidery floss for friendship bracelets. I can't tell you how much she spent, but she'd made good use of the dollar bins and marked-down items.

She fished her wallet (complete with saved receipts) out of the purse and expertly counted out the greenbacks. I gave her the change, another receipt to save, and a coupon for the following week. Big smile from her and, "Yes! A coupon! Will my mom get one too when she checks out, 'cuz then we'll definitely be back!"

Yeah, those freshly-minted shoppers are all right. They've made it past how-can-you-possibly-keep-dragging-me-thru-this-store-and-that's-why-my-legs-don't-work-anymore. And the look-I'm-16-and-you're-a-totally-boring-Old-Woman-who-should-just-like-hurry-up-and-let-me-leave-already-OMG! milestone is still way out on the horizon.

Dog Customers? Yes! Wired Children? No!

2009-07-22T23:24:00.003-04:00

At least once a shift, a mom (or dad or grandma) brings a human-powered GPS into the store. You didn't know human-powered GPS was available? It's easy to build:

1) Take one child, ideally 3-5 years old, who would prefer anything -- probably even a tetanus shot -- to shopping in a craft store.

2) Take said child through every nook and cranny of said craft store for at least 30 minutes -- no, make it an hour.

3) Have independent third party stand anywhere in the store. A store employee is ideally suited.

4) Let third party listen as Precious Offspring (see Step 1) is dragged from Scrapbooking to Beads to Picture Frames to Stitchery to Baskets to Greenery to Ribbon. Throw in a side trip to Cake Decorating to make it challenging.

You'd better believe the employee (or any other unfortunate fellow shopper) can pinpoint your location to within a foot.

Dogs, on the other hand, are model shoppers. Big dogs follow obediently as Mom (or Dad) does her (or his) thing. They might even sneak in a nap. Little guys -- those dog-as-an-accessory breeds -- ride sedately in their quilted beds. Not a peep. Usually don't even know they're around until they cruise through the check-out line.

One time somebody came in with a live baby duck. Can you believe I was off that day? Biggest regret of my professional career.

Chewing Gum Crisis Resolved

2009-07-22T00:51:00.005-04:00

While I was cashiering today, a woman set down her items to purchase. It was some craft paint, maybe some stickers, and several packs of gum.

I specifically remember the gum, because she asked a) if "polar ice" was a mint flavor and b) if I "know anything" about the watermelon flavor. [My answer to a) was "yes!" and b) was "it smells good." My thought on b) was: "I doubt there's even a molecule of actual watermelon in it."]

I rang up the items, loaded them into a bag, and off she went. About half an hour later, I picked up a phone call. It was none other than Customer With(out?) Gum (hereafter known as CWG).

CWG: "I was in your store awhile ago, and I bought some gum. Are you the one who waited on me?"

Me: "Yes, that was me."

CWG: "Well I just got home, and there's NO GUM in my bag. What happened to it?!?"

Me: "I really don't know. It hasn't been busy here tonight, and I remember putting it in your bag. There's nothing laying on the counter here."

CWG: "There is NO GUM here. You put it in a different bag by mistake and gave it to someone else. I have a receipt for it."

Me: "I really don't I did. I rang the gum up last and put it in the bag on top of your other things."
CWG: "There's NO GUM. I'm going on vacation and need it to bring with me! I have the receipt!"

Me: "I'm so sorry you can't find the gum. Maybe it fell out in your car?"

CWG: "IT IS NOT in my car. What am I supposed to do? I have a receipt!"

Me: "I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened. I do remember it being in the bag."

We looped through the conversation several more times, with the main concern being that the gum was needed for vacation. I was thinking, as she was talking: "Why is gum needed for this vacation? Are you flying somewhere? Will you not be able to get gum anywhere else? Don't they sell gum at the airport? I've gotten gum at the airport. Is the TSA involved in this?"

We finally resolved that a) she would return to the store tomorrow with her receipt, b) it would be during a time that I was working, c) I would give her replacement gum at no additional charge, and d) I'd be sure and let my co-workers know that she was indeed entitled to this gum -- just in case I was unavailable to serve.

After hanging up, I realized a nearby cashier was staring at me. She gave me the you-haven't-really-been-discussing-gum-all-this-time Look, and I gave her the oh-you-better-believe-I-have-been Shrug in response.

Exhausted from our Plato-worthy go-round, I walked over to Wood Crafts to put away some returns and ponder the universe. A minute or two later, I was paged to the service desk for a phone call. And yes, Virginia, it was CWG.

"I was just talking to my son. He was in the shower when I called you before. While we were driving home from shopping, I guess our bags tipped over. He picked everything up and put the gum in (wait for it) another bag. I won't be in tomorrow. I do need the gum for vacation." (Of course! Where she's going, gum is used as currency.)

Another half hour I'll never get back.

The First Post (play fanfare here)

2009-07-21T01:27:00.006-04:00

Yup, it's my blog. The most special and rewarding blog in the world. (And it likes you better than those other heartless blogs.)

But why am I really here? 1) I live a completely average middle-class life, but there seems to be at least one humorous or memorable or bizarre moment in every day. 2) I love to write.

So, the idea of (ahem) enriching the Internet with my random comments suits me down to the ground. And who knows... maybe someone else out there will get a smile or useful idea from them.

They say to write what you know. What I know is makin' crafts and trying to sell them via the Internet. I know about working with a great crew of people at a busy retail outlet and waiting on customers. I know about facing a rapidly-approaching 50th birthday and thinking, "How in the wide world of sports did this get here so fast?" I know what inspires me, and what breaks my heart. Most importantly, I know what makes me smile. Fortunately, the list is long.

Ready to go along for the ride? Okay then, buckle up.

j.