'Twas the week before Christmas....
'Twas the week before Christmas
and all through the store
the shoppers were ten times
as many as before.
The aisles they ransacked
the shelves they unstocked
the price tags were pulled off
to claim lower costs
Retail store, retail store,
where's the clothes and the toys?
they're all over the floor
clatters add to the noise
Of the squeakety baskets
and wailing little kids --
and you're tired of our music?
that position I dib!
So here I am on this day,
in this fine, huge store,
not in the front,
where there are many more,
But way in the back,
a three-register island,
Brian called in,
so I'm all that's on hand.
I'd thought Friday was irking,
Employee Discount Day,
when I picked up my check,
went to spend it away,
Jewelry shopping for mom,
the trickiest on my list,
so I'd brought my dad,
since he knew her best.
I was naming percents off
my discount would bring,
when over from Clothing
came Entitlement Queen.
"Where'd you GET THAT?" she demanded,
finger jabbed at my page
of my goldenrod coupons
for employees on that day.
"Where can I get it too?
I want one! I do!"
"With my check," I said,
"in Office Number Two.
"Second hall in the back,
by the card-sliding door,
Time and Attendance by name,
I think they have more."
She looked at me blankly,
"What hall did you say?"
Red flags had gone up
once again with this fae.
"Only employees get one,"
I explained, still polite,
"Do you work here, ma'am?
I do; it's my off-night
"so I'll shop here as you do,
and buy things here as well,"
And from that point,
all things went to hell.
Two minutes, fifty seconds,
and ten more times saying,
"They're for em-ploy-ees only."
My patience she's straining.
And then she had the gall
to yell bad words at me,
when finally she did get it,
and loosed obscenities
In front of three kids,
one a toddler, one thirteen,
the other was seven,
so they looked, so they seemed.
Yes, that was such fun!
And compared to this day?
It was easy! relaxing!
I'm not kidding, I say.
At an island of three,
I'm the only one here.
I'm tired, had no break,
but the lines! Oooh dear...
People with clothes items
missing their tag...
I call up Apparel
UPCs I must have.
Precious time wasted,
the line buids up longer.
Their glares are quite strong,
but my will, it is stronger!
Scanning quickly and bagging,
Rewards Cards, cash handy,
four people in five minutes!
I'm feeling quite happy.
Then SHE comes along,
a perfectionist bitch,
in my operations
she does make a hitch.
"Bag these separate!"
she says. Okay, not a prob.
I grab out another bag,
just part of my job.
"No, not like that!"
I look up and I blink.
"Bag this separate too!
It's inedible, I think..."
Perplexed but obediant,
take an itty purple baggie,
anything to satisfy
this one quirky lady.
So all right, meat with meat,
hot deli with hot.
It's part of our training,
common sense and that rot.
Then I get to her ornaments,
tree-hanging wood dolls,
glitter encrusted
sparkly balls.
Never mind that they're all
in one single basket.
They're all to be wrapped up
separately, so she's asking.
Oh god. There's so many.
Fifty-someodd, I swear.
And the lines are the longest
I've seen them this year.
She's insistant. I cave in,
start doing that quickly --
purple baggies for all,
then her cart's kid seat,
In a normal white bag.
But that will not do!
She must have a box --
Nono, make that TWO!
And of course, I have none,
being way in the back.
That's something the front-line
workers get asked.
So I page the parcels;
the number just rings.
They're all way too busy
running errands and things.
I call up the Service Desk,
the same happens there;
they're treating their own line
of customers with care.
No one's on the floor,
the manager's at lunch,
more trouble I will have
from her is my hunch.
And I'm right -- she gives up,
exasperated with me
and my horribly slow
way of doing these things.
"Screw this!" she exclaims,
"What do I have to do
to get service 'round here?"
I know a thing or two...
So after the five minutes
she had me paging,
had me finish my bagging
of her stuff in her strange ways.
Then payment time came,
oh my what a chore!
This woman had her purse
filled with cards galore!
"Sorry, ma'am, but this gift card
Won't work at this store."
"Well, why the hell NOT??
I've done it before!"
"Perhaps with some other card,
because, you see,
the store name right there?
It says Circuit City."
"But this store takes gift cards!"
"Only ones from our stores."
Then came five more minutes
of Wrong Gift Card Woes.
Finally, she chose debit --
but the prompter said "Feed"
so I gave it a paper,
and privately it decreed
In its purple ink,
in its Courier font,
that no funds in her bank
was this lady's wont.
So I showed her the slip,
"Declined -- Insufficient"
and she got mad at me
and told me to shove it.
She walked out of the store
and just left her stuff there.
So I called up a PIC,
hit VOID, TOTAL... stared.
The line had grown threefold
While this drama'd played.
The PIC from Apparel
gave me the override.
So I'm back in business,
returns piling high,
things decided against
and left counterside.
More people now bitchy
from their half-hour wait.
I can do this, I thought,
just keep cool and relate.
"Sorry for the holdup,"
I said. They'd seen it.
They nodded, thanked me,
then paid (approved) credit.
Then came a deli thing,
Ambrosia, in a tub.
the barcode wouldn't scan,
the typed number it wouldn't love.
I called up the deli,
she recited it too,
and five failed attempts later,
I knew what to do.
"See this?" I said,
pointing to the white goop,
"It's strawberries now."
Typed its price, scanned the fruit.
They laughed. I was glad.
Things were going okay!
They left me pleased customers
that pre-Christmas day.
Not fifteen mins later,
who woulda thunk.
Another Entitlement
mooching-aft punk.
I can't find the scan codes.
I saw no such sale.
I want nothing more
than to say, go to hell.
Called up the PIC again,
had them set it straight.
No, sir, not twenty four,
it says eighty eight.
One more afthole dealt with,
I go on with my task.
I ring up some cans,
and apparel is last.
I hate clothes' hard tags.
But why, you might wonder?
They keep people from stealing!
Well, yeah, but they're fruggers!
They also keep cashiers
way way uber busy,
they're tough to get off.
They poke me. They stick me.
Yet people come through
with fifty clothes items,
all discount, all priced less,
all taking their sweet time.
...And tell me to hurry.
I'm sorry, madam,
But these aren't fashion statements.
I'm doing what I can!
The line builds back up.
Oh my god, it's fantastic.
And I've lost track of time,
call 2605, my PIC I'm asking,
"I need a break badly,
I'm an hour overdue!"
"There's no one to exchange spots.
Sucks to be you!"
So my aching feet
get no rest that night
Not till time to close,
when I turn off my light.
By that time, I'm braindead.
I close up all the stands.
Register 22 reports
negative cash sums on hand.
I'm not dealing with that.
It lies to me, really.
I joke to the empty air
that the thing is just silly.
I'll hear from my boss,
I just know I will,
though someone else frugged it up,
and it wasn't my till.
I do my last drops,
put the bags in the safe,
look at the time.
Almost midnight. It's late.
Catch a ride home with D,
a good friend of mine,
neither one of us says much
throughout the whole time.
He works Electronics.
He worked through his lunch.
It's five days till Christmas
and I have a hunch
It'll only get worse
from here on in.
For those not in retail,
you're blessed. Grin.
I'm going to bed now,
and shelving my sorrow.
I'll need more Omega drinks
to survive tomorrow.
and all through the store
the shoppers were ten times
as many as before.
The aisles they ransacked
the shelves they unstocked
the price tags were pulled off
to claim lower costs
Retail store, retail store,
where's the clothes and the toys?
they're all over the floor
clatters add to the noise
Of the squeakety baskets
and wailing little kids --
and you're tired of our music?
that position I dib!
So here I am on this day,
in this fine, huge store,
not in the front,
where there are many more,
But way in the back,
a three-register island,
Brian called in,
so I'm all that's on hand.
I'd thought Friday was irking,
Employee Discount Day,
when I picked up my check,
went to spend it away,
Jewelry shopping for mom,
the trickiest on my list,
so I'd brought my dad,
since he knew her best.
I was naming percents off
my discount would bring,
when over from Clothing
came Entitlement Queen.
"Where'd you GET THAT?" she demanded,
finger jabbed at my page
of my goldenrod coupons
for employees on that day.
"Where can I get it too?
I want one! I do!"
"With my check," I said,
"in Office Number Two.
"Second hall in the back,
by the card-sliding door,
Time and Attendance by name,
I think they have more."
She looked at me blankly,
"What hall did you say?"
Red flags had gone up
once again with this fae.
"Only employees get one,"
I explained, still polite,
"Do you work here, ma'am?
I do; it's my off-night
"so I'll shop here as you do,
and buy things here as well,"
And from that point,
all things went to hell.
Two minutes, fifty seconds,
and ten more times saying,
"They're for em-ploy-ees only."
My patience she's straining.
And then she had the gall
to yell bad words at me,
when finally she did get it,
and loosed obscenities
In front of three kids,
one a toddler, one thirteen,
the other was seven,
so they looked, so they seemed.
Yes, that was such fun!
And compared to this day?
It was easy! relaxing!
I'm not kidding, I say.
At an island of three,
I'm the only one here.
I'm tired, had no break,
but the lines! Oooh dear...
People with clothes items
missing their tag...
I call up Apparel
UPCs I must have.
Precious time wasted,
the line buids up longer.
Their glares are quite strong,
but my will, it is stronger!
Scanning quickly and bagging,
Rewards Cards, cash handy,
four people in five minutes!
I'm feeling quite happy.
Then SHE comes along,
a perfectionist bitch,
in my operations
she does make a hitch.
"Bag these separate!"
she says. Okay, not a prob.
I grab out another bag,
just part of my job.
"No, not like that!"
I look up and I blink.
"Bag this separate too!
It's inedible, I think..."
Perplexed but obediant,
take an itty purple baggie,
anything to satisfy
this one quirky lady.
So all right, meat with meat,
hot deli with hot.
It's part of our training,
common sense and that rot.
Then I get to her ornaments,
tree-hanging wood dolls,
glitter encrusted
sparkly balls.
Never mind that they're all
in one single basket.
They're all to be wrapped up
separately, so she's asking.
Oh god. There's so many.
Fifty-someodd, I swear.
And the lines are the longest
I've seen them this year.
She's insistant. I cave in,
start doing that quickly --
purple baggies for all,
then her cart's kid seat,
In a normal white bag.
But that will not do!
She must have a box --
Nono, make that TWO!
And of course, I have none,
being way in the back.
That's something the front-line
workers get asked.
So I page the parcels;
the number just rings.
They're all way too busy
running errands and things.
I call up the Service Desk,
the same happens there;
they're treating their own line
of customers with care.
No one's on the floor,
the manager's at lunch,
more trouble I will have
from her is my hunch.
And I'm right -- she gives up,
exasperated with me
and my horribly slow
way of doing these things.
"Screw this!" she exclaims,
"What do I have to do
to get service 'round here?"
I know a thing or two...
So after the five minutes
she had me paging,
had me finish my bagging
of her stuff in her strange ways.
Then payment time came,
oh my what a chore!
This woman had her purse
filled with cards galore!
"Sorry, ma'am, but this gift card
Won't work at this store."
"Well, why the hell NOT??
I've done it before!"
"Perhaps with some other card,
because, you see,
the store name right there?
It says Circuit City."
"But this store takes gift cards!"
"Only ones from our stores."
Then came five more minutes
of Wrong Gift Card Woes.
Finally, she chose debit --
but the prompter said "Feed"
so I gave it a paper,
and privately it decreed
In its purple ink,
in its Courier font,
that no funds in her bank
was this lady's wont.
So I showed her the slip,
"Declined -- Insufficient"
and she got mad at me
and told me to shove it.
She walked out of the store
and just left her stuff there.
So I called up a PIC,
hit VOID, TOTAL... stared.
The line had grown threefold
While this drama'd played.
The PIC from Apparel
gave me the override.
So I'm back in business,
returns piling high,
things decided against
and left counterside.
More people now bitchy
from their half-hour wait.
I can do this, I thought,
just keep cool and relate.
"Sorry for the holdup,"
I said. They'd seen it.
They nodded, thanked me,
then paid (approved) credit.
Then came a deli thing,
Ambrosia, in a tub.
the barcode wouldn't scan,
the typed number it wouldn't love.
I called up the deli,
she recited it too,
and five failed attempts later,
I knew what to do.
"See this?" I said,
pointing to the white goop,
"It's strawberries now."
Typed its price, scanned the fruit.
They laughed. I was glad.
Things were going okay!
They left me pleased customers
that pre-Christmas day.
Not fifteen mins later,
who woulda thunk.
Another Entitlement
mooching-aft punk.
I can't find the scan codes.
I saw no such sale.
I want nothing more
than to say, go to hell.
Called up the PIC again,
had them set it straight.
No, sir, not twenty four,
it says eighty eight.
One more afthole dealt with,
I go on with my task.
I ring up some cans,
and apparel is last.
I hate clothes' hard tags.
But why, you might wonder?
They keep people from stealing!
Well, yeah, but they're fruggers!
They also keep cashiers
way way uber busy,
they're tough to get off.
They poke me. They stick me.
Yet people come through
with fifty clothes items,
all discount, all priced less,
all taking their sweet time.
...And tell me to hurry.
I'm sorry, madam,
But these aren't fashion statements.
I'm doing what I can!
The line builds back up.
Oh my god, it's fantastic.
And I've lost track of time,
call 2605, my PIC I'm asking,
"I need a break badly,
I'm an hour overdue!"
"There's no one to exchange spots.
Sucks to be you!"
So my aching feet
get no rest that night
Not till time to close,
when I turn off my light.
By that time, I'm braindead.
I close up all the stands.
Register 22 reports
negative cash sums on hand.
I'm not dealing with that.
It lies to me, really.
I joke to the empty air
that the thing is just silly.
I'll hear from my boss,
I just know I will,
though someone else frugged it up,
and it wasn't my till.
I do my last drops,
put the bags in the safe,
look at the time.
Almost midnight. It's late.
Catch a ride home with D,
a good friend of mine,
neither one of us says much
throughout the whole time.
He works Electronics.
He worked through his lunch.
It's five days till Christmas
and I have a hunch
It'll only get worse
from here on in.
For those not in retail,
you're blessed. Grin.
I'm going to bed now,
and shelving my sorrow.
I'll need more Omega drinks
to survive tomorrow.