I was working at the greatest store on the planet (ha!) as a cashier when a woman I’ve had before came into my line. Every single time she comes into the store, she has a full cart of price matches and price adjustments “from a manager.” Because of her, I’ve gotten in trouble in the past for doing these various price adjustments, so when she came into my line this time, I was fully prepared for her. Not only were her ads from last year, but the manager who ok-ed them didn’t even exist! When I tried to explain this to her, she got all up in my face about how I’m a scrawny, no-good bitch and that I deserve to work in a hell-hole like Wal-Mart and if I don’t give her these prices, she’ll wait for me after work. I call my supervisor over and explain the situation. Not only does the supervisor apologize for how rudely she’s been treated but tells me to go ahead with the sale too. The worst part is that each item was only off by 5 cents at the most.
I live in a town in central Pennsylvania. A few months ago, they built a new Walmart on the south side of town so I went down there to check it out and pick up a few things. As I’m going through the sports section, I heard a lady getting really pissed off and kept hearing bags open. I peeked my head around the corner and saw this 350 lb. dirty redneck lady pouring Cocoa Pebbles out of the box they were in and into a bag of Dyno Bites (which im also sure everyone knows what they are) if not,they are pretty much the bootleg version of Cocoa Pebbles and cheaper. I just stopped and stared in awe as shes pouring the contents of the Dyno Bites bag onto the shelf behind some helmets. She stopped and looked at me and offered to pour me a bag of some Pebbles. Generous?
Picture it: Tupelo, Mississippi, 1982. I was a teenager working as a stockman at the local Wal-Mart. It was my job to unload trucks, stock the store, fix whatever was broken (lights, shelving, etc.), and to clean up spills. One day in the skin care aisle, this kid of about five years dropped trou and proceeded to take a dump on the floor while his mother looked on. I was called to the scene of the accident, by which time someone had knocked over a bottle of shampoo, which had rolled through the doo. It was a nightmare. I reluctantly cleaned it up while a manager watched, then told the manager that I would no longer be working as a stockman for Wal-Mart. He didn’t fire me, but promoted me to Electronics. If I had been the manager of that Wal-Mart, however, they would surely have fired me for making that redneck skank mom clean up her son’s dooky with her bare hands. Oh, well.
I’ll admit that I’m not of the highest moral code. Whenever I go to Wal Mart, I’ll take several items to the register and, once rung up, I’ll POLITELY let them know that I read the price as being less than what was rung up. Nearly every time, they’ll reduce the price without question and smile. It’s never more than a few bucks here and there, but it’s money saved.
Now, HOW do I get away with this time after time? Surely, someone’s caught onto my scheme, right? Right. The key? Kindness.
I always smile and act as pleasantly as I can to the cashiers- a nice encouragement for one person can make up for a few bucks’ loss of a multi-trillion dollar industry. One day, however, I wasn’t the only one trying this. The difference was that the woman in front of me wasn’t so nice.
The woman yelling at the cashier (a chubby, but not obese, girl) about prices that had nothing to do with things. I heard her swearing, calling the cashier a fat cow, telling her how she couldn’t do her job, which meant she couldn’t get a man (I don’t know how THAT works…) and just the general rudeness. I watch it for about 60 seconds before seeing the girl’s eyes start to well up from all of these petty insults from a customer who was thin enough to blow away in the right gust of wind.
Finally, I hear “Just do your fucking job, you cow!”
I stand inches away from the woman with my most creepy grin, put my hands on her shoulders, and give my best Southern drawl;
“Hey… yer purty. Me ‘n Bubba Duke dun’ loves us a purty gal fer th’ night… Wooh, we’re gonna haves us some fuuuun!”
I looked like a total creep, and it was enough to scare the timid stick away, running for the door.
I smiled to the cashier, complimented her on her smile etc, got a few bucks taken off on a beanie I’d bought, and ended up with her phone number.
Four years later, we’re happily engaged, and she works for a law firm. We still make jokes about the Hillbilly voice every now and then.