(no subject)
This one takes place back in my very much not-missed cashiering days. Every so often, some local kid's club, or sports team, or what have you would come in and, depending on the cashier or customer, bag your groceries, load your cart, or bugger off for a short break on your instruction. (I will let them load the cart, but not fill the bags; they cannot pack, and I've caught THREE little dimwits poking and prodding at my meat and vegetables, one of whom evidently thought my chicken would be improved by her dirty nails as she seemed to be trying to break the plastic film even after I told her to stop. Twice.)
Now, there were always parents in attendance. From every experience I have ever had with any kind of group, as a child or an adult, these adults come in three flavours: 1) They are there because they are genuinely helpful, want to be involved, and are good role models; 2) They think that showing up for five minutes, then buggering off to chat with someone else and/or go shopping somewhere for the entire event means they're taking an interest in their children's activities, and; 3) You're surprised that nearby lightweight objects aren't being blown away by the rotor wash. They also tend not to give their kids adequate information regarding sex, drugs, pregnancy, alcohol, etc.
Guess which one this story involves?
Now, keep in mind that, growing up, if we asked Mom about sex, drugs, pregnancy, alcohol, etc., we got a straight answer. An answer tailored to an appropriate level of understanding for our maturity level, true, but a straight answer. This ranged from having "How are babies made?", answered with "It's a special thing that happens between mommies and daddies," at age two, to, at fourteen, Mom doing a running critique on an episode of Tales from the Crypt that was mostly sex scenes.
Apparently this can be a learned behaviour. FYI, the look on teenage boys faces when you overhear and answer their questions about whether women prefer length or width is freaking priceless.
I'm working away, scanning, bagging, and handing the bags off to a girl's soccer team from some school or another. It's not busy, so I actually have three girls at the end of my cash, one assigned there, and the other two around to chat. I worked in a supermarket that had a pharmacy in it, so we had a fairly sizeable drugstore section. As I've said before, cashiers do not pay attention to what you are buying beyond what can be bagged with what, and whether or not what you're buying has a security tag that needs to be demagnetized. So when a customer comes through with a box of condoms, I thinking nothing more of it than 'demag, nonfood, bag two'.
As soon as the customer is gone, and the line is clear, the girl who was assigned to bag for me practically explodes.
"OMG! He bought condoms! You can buy those here?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't ID him! He didn't look eighteen!"
"No," I answer, slightly puzzled, "condoms aren't restricted; we don't need to ID people so they can buy them."
At this point, a light goes on behind one girl's eyes. It doesn't click for me yet that this is Hover Mom's kid. I do realize, though, that what I am seeing is the 'So my parents lied to me!' light.
"So anyone can buy condoms? Any time?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And you don't keep a record of who buys them or anything?"
"No. That's only for prescription items, in the pharmacy."
Hover Mom has overheard the word 'condoms' - impressively, from across the store where she was lecturing one of the other parents on something - and come zooming over.
"Oh honey, she just forgot to ID them." Hover Mom glares meaningfully at me. "Right?"
Go on, guess how likely I am to agree with someone who has apparently decided the only sex ed her kid needs is "You can't buy condoms until you're 18. They'll ID you! And they keep a record of who buys them so I'll find out!"
"No, ma'am, if an item is age-restricted, the screen locks, and we need a supervisor override." This was true, although the items that would cause a lockout were all out in the Smoke Shop. All the registers shared the same database. "But that only applies to the Smoke Shop. Nothing in the main store requires ID for a purchase."
Hover Mom promptly yanked her kid away from my register, and presumably evil influence. Curiously though, whenever she could get away, her kid came back to talk to me. She must have had suspicions about her mom's info, though. Kids like straight answers; they can spot a line of BS with remarkable ease, and they like adults who are straightforward with them.
Now, there were always parents in attendance. From every experience I have ever had with any kind of group, as a child or an adult, these adults come in three flavours: 1) They are there because they are genuinely helpful, want to be involved, and are good role models; 2) They think that showing up for five minutes, then buggering off to chat with someone else and/or go shopping somewhere for the entire event means they're taking an interest in their children's activities, and; 3) You're surprised that nearby lightweight objects aren't being blown away by the rotor wash. They also tend not to give their kids adequate information regarding sex, drugs, pregnancy, alcohol, etc.
Guess which one this story involves?
Now, keep in mind that, growing up, if we asked Mom about sex, drugs, pregnancy, alcohol, etc., we got a straight answer. An answer tailored to an appropriate level of understanding for our maturity level, true, but a straight answer. This ranged from having "How are babies made?", answered with "It's a special thing that happens between mommies and daddies," at age two, to, at fourteen, Mom doing a running critique on an episode of Tales from the Crypt that was mostly sex scenes.
Apparently this can be a learned behaviour. FYI, the look on teenage boys faces when you overhear and answer their questions about whether women prefer length or width is freaking priceless.
I'm working away, scanning, bagging, and handing the bags off to a girl's soccer team from some school or another. It's not busy, so I actually have three girls at the end of my cash, one assigned there, and the other two around to chat. I worked in a supermarket that had a pharmacy in it, so we had a fairly sizeable drugstore section. As I've said before, cashiers do not pay attention to what you are buying beyond what can be bagged with what, and whether or not what you're buying has a security tag that needs to be demagnetized. So when a customer comes through with a box of condoms, I thinking nothing more of it than 'demag, nonfood, bag two'.
As soon as the customer is gone, and the line is clear, the girl who was assigned to bag for me practically explodes.
"OMG! He bought condoms! You can buy those here?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't ID him! He didn't look eighteen!"
"No," I answer, slightly puzzled, "condoms aren't restricted; we don't need to ID people so they can buy them."
At this point, a light goes on behind one girl's eyes. It doesn't click for me yet that this is Hover Mom's kid. I do realize, though, that what I am seeing is the 'So my parents lied to me!' light.
"So anyone can buy condoms? Any time?"
"Yes, that's right."
"And you don't keep a record of who buys them or anything?"
"No. That's only for prescription items, in the pharmacy."
Hover Mom has overheard the word 'condoms' - impressively, from across the store where she was lecturing one of the other parents on something - and come zooming over.
"Oh honey, she just forgot to ID them." Hover Mom glares meaningfully at me. "Right?"
Go on, guess how likely I am to agree with someone who has apparently decided the only sex ed her kid needs is "You can't buy condoms until you're 18. They'll ID you! And they keep a record of who buys them so I'll find out!"
"No, ma'am, if an item is age-restricted, the screen locks, and we need a supervisor override." This was true, although the items that would cause a lockout were all out in the Smoke Shop. All the registers shared the same database. "But that only applies to the Smoke Shop. Nothing in the main store requires ID for a purchase."
Hover Mom promptly yanked her kid away from my register, and presumably evil influence. Curiously though, whenever she could get away, her kid came back to talk to me. She must have had suspicions about her mom's info, though. Kids like straight answers; they can spot a line of BS with remarkable ease, and they like adults who are straightforward with them.