An Open Letter to My Favourite Customers.
A work inspired Open Letter, that you should probably not read if you are at all sensitive to words that end in ..uck.
Dear Strange Unfriendly Couple Who are Obviously Very Angry at The World,
Yes, I work in retail.
No, this does not make me stupid, worthless or in any way, shape, or form, deserving of your incredible lack of politeness.
Yes, I am contractually obliged to greet you when you load your foodstuffs onto my conveyor belt, but the reason I am so cheerful about it is because I actually like people.
They're brilliant. I like to talk to them, get to know them, and in case you hadn't looked around our local area lately, there's a lot of very lonely older people out there who frankly LOVE IT when I shoot the shit with them while bagging up their cat food.
There's no need to roll your eyes and sigh so dramatically under your breath just because I say hello. If you do not wish to talk to me (and hey, we all have days when we're just not interested in all that talk about the weather) then the polite way to avoid conversation is to nod quickly and return to what you are doing.
I've worked this job for awhile. I know when the talking's not wanted.
Last week, when you were in the store, you bought some apples. I punched the code for Granny Smiths's up on the register, and waited...and waited... and waited... Do you remember what happened next?
You shouted, "They're Apples!" and looked at me like Uncle Dad and Aunty Mum were smoking some wacked out shit when they conceived me in the cave.
Apples... No fucking shit morons. I know what apples are. It was a computer glitch.
Or what about the time before that?
When you read the wrong price tag underneath a product (FYI a six pack of rolls does not look like a baguette no matter how dodgy our baker is) then argued amongst yourselves while I patiently asked SIX TIMES if you'd like me to have someone check the price.
So naturally, when you finally acknowledged my existance five minutes later and demanded that I find someone to ah...check the price, I was quite literally blown away. I must have jumped temporarily into an Alternate Universe where nothing I said was ever heard. Quite a strange experience.
Of course it was entirely my fault that you'd made a mistake, and had to pay the extra .25c. Just so you know, I went to a lot of trouble ensuring that baguette was put on the wrong shelf. I had to shove people away all day, just so you could come in and pick it up and be so horrifically inconvenienced.
PS: The person waiting in line behind you said you were arseholes, but that's just his opinion and he was man of the cloth, so naturally your type of person would repel him.
In a perfect world, where my boss has a sense of humour (instead of a giant stick up his arse), I imagine you coming in on your weekly outing, and bringing your groceries to me.
In this perfect world I am not a normal human being.
I am every bad thing you accuse me of being, and then some.
I will run all of your grocieries through twice, then make a big show of forgetting how to fix it so you end up horriblly over-charged.
I will ask you what each individual piece of fruit is, then ask you how you spell it, so I can find it on the computer, then get all flustered and accidentally put your tomatoes down as watermelon.
I will put your tins of soup on top of your eggs, and I will go into great detail about the incredibly persistant yeast infection I have, and all about how my mother never loved me as a child.
Alas, this is not a perfect world, and I could never bring myself to be anything other than polite to you.
It's a world where I work a job I love (regardless of how demeaning you think it), and work it well.
Some people actually like me. If you'd like to see some of the glowing comments people have made about me, feel free to ask my boss. She'll show you. Yes, I am so good at my job, that people have taken time out of their lives to write it down on paper.
I know there's not a chance in hell you'll ever see this letter, but I wanted to write it to you anyway. I feel I need to get it off my chest before it festers away, and I end up signing a termination form with the words. "Employee Snapped" written on it.
See you next time, and you have a REALLY nice day :) K?