Inane Thingumy because I can
The following is a rant and has nothing whatsoever to do with writing in any way shape or form. You have been warned.
Attention all Shoppers:
Here are a few pointers on how not to be a dick:
1: Speak up. Seriously, this is not difficult. There’s a lot of commotion behind the counter, particularly if the retail location is one which also offers food service. This means ovens, this means clattering dishes, this means soft serve machines humming away. It is loud. If you mumble, I cannot hear you. Open your mouth, vibrate your vocal cords, expel air.
2: Stop with the large bills. I mean it. When I open my drawer, I have exactly $100 to work with. You cannot come in with a fifty and expect me to have change for you. It doesn’t work that way.
3: Do not. Fucking. Pay me. With change. I am required to count every last cent you give me, just like every cashier. I am held responsible for every penny that goes into or comes out of my drawer. Me. Just me. If I’m short or over, I’m held accountable. So I have to count all that fucking change you just saddled me with, and that holds up the fucking line. Embrace coinstar. It is your friend.
4: Don’t leave your purchases on my counter and wander off. I can’t psychically tell if the hot dog buns in front of me belong to you or to the person who is actually in line, and since I do have an entire store to maintain, I can’t keep my eye on the counter at all times. We have carts and baskets for a reason. Use them.
5: When you order something from me, be it a slice of pizza or an ice cream, do not give me your order and then bugger off to parts unknown. I have other customers to wait on, I do not have time to stand there like an idiot holding your food until you saunter back to me. I don’t wander off before giving you your change, you shouldn’t wander off before taking your fucking sundae!
6: Don’t harrass me. This is actually a very personal one, because I have one customer who comes into my store every single day and deliberately harrasses me. He mocks my vocabulary, he hits on me, he shrieks my name loud enough for the entire store to hear, he pokes fun at my career ambitions, he crowds me, he shouts at me through the cooler doors when I’m stocking milk or beer. This behaviour? This is the way of the dick. Don’t be that dick.
7: Do not tell me to smile. I make five cents over minimum wage, I’m on my feet constantly trying to do six different jobs all while constantly watching the register so you precious customers don’t have to wait for service. I have to wrangle my co-workers, mind my managers, prep and clean and stock the store, cook the food, make the coffee, serve the ice cream and all in between you lot. I am tired. I am stressed. I am annoyed and irritated. So sometimes, yes, I don’t have it in me to smile. I’m sorry if that offends you, but you are not the centre of my fucking world and I am still, le gasp! A person. I have emotions, I have mental states, I have breaking points and moments of exhaustion. You telling me to smile invalidates all of that, it objectifies me and labels my state of being as irrelevant in comparison to yours. Fuck you. I am entitled to my own emotional state, you don’t get to dictate it for me.
8: And this is the big one - Do not. I repeat, DO NOT, bother me when I’m on my break. Let me break it down for you: I don’t want to be here. I really, really don’t. I do not give this store a single second of my time if they’re not paying me for it. I spend up to nine or ten hours kowtowing to customers who treat me like furniture or possibly a vending machine. I am constantly insulted, patronised, ignored, cheated, conned, scolded and overworked by an endless stream of people who give less than a rat’s ass about me, who think they can use and abuse me without recrimination just because I wear a nametag and stand on the opposite side of the counter. I am dehumanised and degraded on a daily basis. My break,my break, is the only 15 to 30 minute reprieve I have. It is my time, not yours. I use that time to get myself together, to fortify my defenses and possibly get some food in me so I actually have the energy to finish out my shift.
So when you waltz up to my table, when I am sitting down with my book and my dinner, when my uniform is off and my nametag is removed, when every single thing about me screams NOT CURRENTLY ON DUTY, that is not an invitation for you to smirk at me and accuse me of being lazy, or to ask why I’m not doing my job, and DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME! You are not being cute, you are not being funny, you are being incredibly rude and inappropriate. I am a fucking human being. My job does not give you the right to ignore that. I am not some object for your amusement. It is not my responsibility to smile for you and treat you like my best fucking friend. You, anonymous customer I’ve never seen before, whose name I don’t know and who is not currently my work responsibility, have no right to my time or my space. Stay. The fuck. Away from me.
When the uniform is on, when I am actually working, I will happily answer your questions, pretend to laugh at your jokes, even nod and smile through your baseless abuse. Well…not happily, but I’ll do it. But when I am on break, I am on break, and you have no right to invade my personal space.
Just had to get that off my chest.
Originally posted on my Tumblr.
Attention all Shoppers:
Here are a few pointers on how not to be a dick:
1: Speak up. Seriously, this is not difficult. There’s a lot of commotion behind the counter, particularly if the retail location is one which also offers food service. This means ovens, this means clattering dishes, this means soft serve machines humming away. It is loud. If you mumble, I cannot hear you. Open your mouth, vibrate your vocal cords, expel air.
2: Stop with the large bills. I mean it. When I open my drawer, I have exactly $100 to work with. You cannot come in with a fifty and expect me to have change for you. It doesn’t work that way.
3: Do not. Fucking. Pay me. With change. I am required to count every last cent you give me, just like every cashier. I am held responsible for every penny that goes into or comes out of my drawer. Me. Just me. If I’m short or over, I’m held accountable. So I have to count all that fucking change you just saddled me with, and that holds up the fucking line. Embrace coinstar. It is your friend.
4: Don’t leave your purchases on my counter and wander off. I can’t psychically tell if the hot dog buns in front of me belong to you or to the person who is actually in line, and since I do have an entire store to maintain, I can’t keep my eye on the counter at all times. We have carts and baskets for a reason. Use them.
5: When you order something from me, be it a slice of pizza or an ice cream, do not give me your order and then bugger off to parts unknown. I have other customers to wait on, I do not have time to stand there like an idiot holding your food until you saunter back to me. I don’t wander off before giving you your change, you shouldn’t wander off before taking your fucking sundae!
6: Don’t harrass me. This is actually a very personal one, because I have one customer who comes into my store every single day and deliberately harrasses me. He mocks my vocabulary, he hits on me, he shrieks my name loud enough for the entire store to hear, he pokes fun at my career ambitions, he crowds me, he shouts at me through the cooler doors when I’m stocking milk or beer. This behaviour? This is the way of the dick. Don’t be that dick.
7: Do not tell me to smile. I make five cents over minimum wage, I’m on my feet constantly trying to do six different jobs all while constantly watching the register so you precious customers don’t have to wait for service. I have to wrangle my co-workers, mind my managers, prep and clean and stock the store, cook the food, make the coffee, serve the ice cream and all in between you lot. I am tired. I am stressed. I am annoyed and irritated. So sometimes, yes, I don’t have it in me to smile. I’m sorry if that offends you, but you are not the centre of my fucking world and I am still, le gasp! A person. I have emotions, I have mental states, I have breaking points and moments of exhaustion. You telling me to smile invalidates all of that, it objectifies me and labels my state of being as irrelevant in comparison to yours. Fuck you. I am entitled to my own emotional state, you don’t get to dictate it for me.
8: And this is the big one - Do not. I repeat, DO NOT, bother me when I’m on my break. Let me break it down for you: I don’t want to be here. I really, really don’t. I do not give this store a single second of my time if they’re not paying me for it. I spend up to nine or ten hours kowtowing to customers who treat me like furniture or possibly a vending machine. I am constantly insulted, patronised, ignored, cheated, conned, scolded and overworked by an endless stream of people who give less than a rat’s ass about me, who think they can use and abuse me without recrimination just because I wear a nametag and stand on the opposite side of the counter. I am dehumanised and degraded on a daily basis. My break,my break, is the only 15 to 30 minute reprieve I have. It is my time, not yours. I use that time to get myself together, to fortify my defenses and possibly get some food in me so I actually have the energy to finish out my shift.
So when you waltz up to my table, when I am sitting down with my book and my dinner, when my uniform is off and my nametag is removed, when every single thing about me screams NOT CURRENTLY ON DUTY, that is not an invitation for you to smirk at me and accuse me of being lazy, or to ask why I’m not doing my job, and DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME! You are not being cute, you are not being funny, you are being incredibly rude and inappropriate. I am a fucking human being. My job does not give you the right to ignore that. I am not some object for your amusement. It is not my responsibility to smile for you and treat you like my best fucking friend. You, anonymous customer I’ve never seen before, whose name I don’t know and who is not currently my work responsibility, have no right to my time or my space. Stay. The fuck. Away from me.
When the uniform is on, when I am actually working, I will happily answer your questions, pretend to laugh at your jokes, even nod and smile through your baseless abuse. Well…not happily, but I’ll do it. But when I am on break, I am on break, and you have no right to invade my personal space.
Just had to get that off my chest.
Originally posted on my Tumblr.