How to Be a Good Customer: An Open Letter from a Slightly Peeved Cashier

A general rule of society, as I think is (or should be) common sense, is to be as nice to people as possible, right? That's how society functions. That's how we get society in the first place. Sometimes it's forgotten, however, that people who work in customer service also count as people. Even when they're working, even when it's their job and they're getting paid to be nice to you, you should try your best to be nice in return, because they're people just like you.

That's why I'm writing this. I have had lots of experience as a cashier from volunteer to paid positions and therefore have lots of experience with things that get me generally miffed, just marginally disgruntled, and I don't feel like it's too much to ask to draw to them the attention of those who cause the problem so that they may learn something new that may cause them to alter their behavior in hopes to maybe be less annoying in the future, which is, ultimately, I think, everyone's goal.

Number One: Yeah, I know.

At my current job, there's a PIN-pad with a chip reader for credit cards. There's a step in the process where the pad says, "PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE CARD / WAIT FOR CASHIER". This is when I have to verify the amount of money that's going on your card, which involves pressing a single button.

Computers are computers and thus will occasionally be slow. It will take a hot millisecond for that PIN to be processed such that I can ask the computer to charge the card. This screen shows up every time. So please. For the love of god. Do not say, "Waiting for you," or read me the words on the screen.

I do this all day.

I.

Know.

Number Two: It's not my fault

I currently cashier at a place that has a rewards program. I am required to ask you if you are a member of the rewards program, and, if you are not, whether you would like to sign up. Personally, I don't give two flying shits whether or not you're a member, and if it were up to me, I would forego the process completely to speed things up. So don't get snippy with me for "trying to steal personal information" or whatever the fuck you think we do with your name, phone number, and email. Don't get curt and tell me how much you think rewards programs are bullshit and not worth the time and energy, don't tell me about how your sister's cousin's horse has a rewards account and doesn't get any rewards so what's the point. It's my job to sell it to you. I honestly don't care. If you don't want an account, just say no. That's it. Easy.

Number Two and a Half...

Speaking of rewards, if I forgot to enter your information and the money you spend just so happens to not count toward rewards points, it's really not the end of the world. It's a little bit of an overreaction to make me return every item on your list of 63 things and then re-ring them up on your rewards account. Not that I have specific experience with this particular thing, I'm just saying.

Number Three: Make an effort

One of my faaaavorite things is going to the clothes section and finding all kinds of merchandise thrown about amongst the neatly placed items. So, I have prepared a list for you.

• If you take a thing into the fitting room, take it back out when you leave.
• Put the shoes back the way you found them in the box.
• If a shirt was buttoned when you got it off the hanger, button it back up when you put it back on the hanger.
• And lastly, the golden rule:

One of my biggest peeves is pants, so I have prepared a lovely illustration in MS Paint using a touchpad which demonstrates how to properly fold them for efficient stacking:

The red represents the size sticker. Now, whether or not you took away any kind of folding technique from that beautiful drawing, at least take away this: The size sticker goes on the outside, so that people can see what size it is. The same goes with literally every article of clothing on a shelf that has a size sticker. 

Number Four: Have your payment method ready

This one isn't as obvious, so I don't get quite as mad about it, but it's really awkward and annoying for everyone when you wait until I tell you the final price to go digging for your checkbook, only to spend ten years writing out a check for three items. 

Also, for the love of god, please, if you're going to give me extra change to cut back on the number of coins you get back, please mention it before the cash drawer opens. When the cash drawer opens, the computer has already calculated the correct change, and you giving me extra change is going to fuck up both the till and my brain so please don't unless you do it right at the start.

Number Five: Sales tax is a hell of a thing

Your coupon for $10 off when you spend over $10 doesn't work unless you actually buy over $10 worth of things. If your subtotal is $9.80 and tax makes it over $10, it doesn't work. You can't use a coupon to avoid tax.

Number Six: My manager will tell you the same thing

This one is pretty self-explanatory. I once had somebody ask me if he could get the employees to put together a grill for him before he put it in his car and took it home, and I called up my manager and asked if that was a thing we did. He told me there's a $25 fee for that. The guy asked to talk to my manager, and proceeded to tell my manager that I told him that there was a $25 fee, to which my manager responded by confirming that, yes, in fact, there is a $25 fee. 

Number Six and a Half: I'm not trying to swindle you out of your money

The amount of money the company earns has literally no correlation to how much money I earn. If I tell you there's a $25 fee for putting together a grill before you take it home, do you really think it's me getting that $25? Do you?

Number Seven: Don't try to haggle

This is a retail corporation in capitalist America, not a bazaar or a garage sale. The items we sell are not ours to put a price on. I'm sorry you think it's too expensive, but that's just the way it is.

Number Eight: The cashier knows nothing

I never ever ever EVER get told what's coming in the next freight. I have no idea when that specific brand of goat food is going to be restocked. I also don't know if that gauge will fit that bolt or how many posts you need for a 780-foot fence. I don't know. I can tell you where to find the bathroom and where to go if you're looking for rat traps, but I don't know shit about your trailer hitch.

Number Nine: What's a weekend?

Don't ever tell somebody who works in retail to have a nice weekend. Weekends don't exist in retail. I haven't felt the joy of a Friday in years. In fact, weekends are the most stressful days in retail, since everybody else gets weekends off and therefore use that time to do their shopping. No, I do not have any fun plans for the weekend, because I work here. I understand the sentiment, but I can't "enjoy the sunshine" when I'm stuck inside a fluorescent-lit concrete prison. Thanks anyway though.

Number Ten: Don't be a dick

Like I've stated before, it's my job to be nice to you, but that doesn't necessarily mean that I don't want to brighten your day a little bit, so don't take the fact that it's my job to act happy for granted and brush me off like I'm a goddamn robot. It actually kind of hurts my feelings. I'm a person just like you and I require validation and acknowledgement such that I do not go insane. It's not like I want to do this. I need money. I need to eat. So at least try to be friendly to some infinitesimal degree in return, please. That's all I ask. 

I hope these ground rules have taught you something new today. I always think it's helpful and interesting to get to step into someone else's shoes just to see how they really have it on a daily basis, so hopefully it's had the same effect on someone else reading this. Go hug a cashier today! But only if it's okay with them. :)

Why I love dumb YouTubers

When I was 9 and blogging was popular, my dad had a blog. I saw it and wanted one for the sake of having one, but I didn't know what to write. My dad told me that it was basically a diary that you post online that people can read. A diary is a ventilation system via which you write your deep, persistent thoughts that won't get out of your head despite your best efforts.

It's 5:07am and I have thoughts.

We'll start with a story.

When I was in middle school, I was horrifically depressed. Mentally, I was at rock bottom (at which, let's be clear, I have been since then). I hated everything. I judged everyone. The problem with my perceived elitism was the fact that I was surrounding myself with similar elitists who shared my perceptions of what elite really was, and it was incredibly specific and exclusive. Another problem was the fact that my true self was not up to the standards of the perceived elite. I judged other people for being depressed when I was equally depressed, if not more so. I scoffed at people who were "crazy" when I myself became very close to actually stalking someone. I wore the same thing every day for fear of judging myself with a negative outcome for being too flashy or, conversely, too conservative with my choice of fashion. I never wore makeup because I would never stoop to the level of the girls who want attention, when I myself desperately craved it and wanted nothing more than to feel wanted.

I hated everyone, and I hated myself. I was very anti-feminism, perceiving myself as inferior as a female. I avoided makeup, "girl" colors, "girl" music, "girl" trends. I inundated myself with things I didn't understand and things I didn't give two shits about because boys liked them and I wanted to be one because they had power. Boys liked other boys and I wanted boys to like me.

In 2010, Ark Music released the music video for Rebecca Black's Friday. It quickly became a meme. The hate flowed through me with purity. I perused YouTube videos, poking scathing fun at this teenage girl who was following her dreams. I came across Brock Baker's dub.

Through Brock Baker, I found Jacksfilms, through whom I found Tobuscus (I'm not including a link to him because -- whoops! -- he's a drug addict, alcoholic, and a rapist), through whom I found Markiplier, through whom I found Jacksepticeye and the Game Grumps.

Obviously this transpiration took time. To give you an idea, I didn't subscribe to the Grumps until late 2015. But with the change in subscription came the change of heart.

On his gaming channel, Tobuscus (aka Toby Turner) began ending every video with, "I love you." As a young teenager who had craved unrequited attention for several years at this point, I took it personally. Wow! I thought, Me! He loves me! It's really possible!

It was a slow, subconscious train of thought that went as follows:

So it's possible to love me. I am lovable. My parents aren't lying when they tell me they love me. You know who I've never heard say "I love you"? Any of the people I crave attention from. Those people don't love me. They don't even acknowledge my existence. But you know what? These YouTubers make videos thanking their subscribers personally, and acknowledging their existence as individuals rather than a mass audience or a number on a screen. They're acknowledging that I'm an individual rather than somebody who is unimportant enough to ignore completely. These people have never even met me, but they value my presence on this earth and in virtual space, which, although virtual, is still space. I take up space and it's worth something. I am worth something. I'm worth the space I occupy, I'm worth the air I breathe, I'm worth the money I cost, and I'm worth the fucks people give about me. I'm worth any fucks to be given in the first place. I'm worth enough to love. I can be loved. I can love. I am capable of love. Now I'm on medication and my mental health is improving. I'm receiving love which can be passed on. I've received enough love to value myself as worthy of not only taking it but also giving it. And if those people don't love me back, they're not worth my love, and I don't need to give them any more.

As Dan says, a person only has so many fucks to give. You have to be selective about how you distribute them. What I've found is helpful is the fact that you don't waste fucks on people when they give a fuck back. If you give a fuck about them and they give a fuck about you, it's a net loss of zero fucks. It was not wasted. Your time and your energy were not wasted. Your love was not wasted. You were not wasted.

It's why I want to be a YouTuber. I want to spread that same love to a wider audience than I can reach without it. I want people to know that they're loved. I want to give in the same way that I received. When I say YouTubers saved my life, it's not because they distracted me from suicidal thoughts. I never really had suicidal thoughts. They saved my life because they introduced me to one that believed it was worth something, and that it was worth the love that it could get.

I've heard many people say that "I love you" is a phrase that's overused. But if you take it apart, especially regarding the way it can make a person feel, even on the smallest atomic level, it's a healing statement. If you hear it enough times over the course of a period of time, it can change you. A single phrase can change your perspective.

It's not your fault. You are loved. You are valid. You are worth your space, you're worth giving a fuck.

And if nobody else says it in a way you believe, I want you to know that it's the truth.

I love you.

Adventures In Retail: I'm not as much of an idiot as you think I am

I know I'm relatively new; I've been working here for almost two months. I know I'm relatively young; I'm turning 20 in almost five months. I know I've been gone for three weeks because I had surgery. But this isn't my first job in retail. I know enough about customer service to know what I'm doing to a certain extent. Another thing I know is the fact that our manager just left, and now we're manager-less, and we're severely understaffed. I KNOW ALL THIS.

These things are not an excuse to change everything about protocol. They're not an excuse to take the frustration that we don't have our shit together in the least out on the new kid. The other new kid, who was literally hired the day before me, but just so happens to be ten years older and maybe has some more experience than I do but regardless has a different position than I do, is not picked on.

"I'm not picking on you, these are just things that need to get done." Uh huh. That's why I'm the only one, who gets one thought away from crying because of other asshat customers who got mad at me and went crying to the acting manager when their $10-off coupon didn't work on their purchase of $9.98 which becomes $10.89 after tax and they already paid $11 and I gave them their change and now suddenly they're mad that I scammed them out of their money, I'M the one who gets scolded. I'm the only one who's doing it wrong when the protocol changed two minutes ago. I'm the only one who's doing it wrong when I'm taking my lunch at the scheduled time because I "need to check the daily planner" -- which I did -- before taking my lunch when other people are taking theirs when they weren't scheduled to (which, I come to find out via fly-on-the-wall eavesdropping, three out of the five people working are taking at the same time to discuss plans for changing the inner workings of the establishment completely unbeknownst to me, but possibly not others).

At my last job, the cashiers were in charge of go-backs (putting returned items back on their designated respective shelves) and were not to leave the register out of sight without somebody else watching. At my current job, the cashiers are also in charge of go-backs and are not to leave the register out of sight without somebody else watching. I was twenty feet away, the register in plain sight, no customers around, returning one item whose location I knew immediately off the top of my head. I'm constantly told to work on go-backs when I'm at the register and there's no customers. I'm constantly told to work on go-backs when I'm at the register and there are customers. I'm constantly told that my method of one item at a time which helps with focus is a waste of time. And yet, I'm bombarded by, "WHO'S WATCHING THE REGISTER?! YOU COULD GET FIRED!!!!!111!!!1! and, "Uuuummmmm, no. Never EVER leave the register."

Where I work, we sell farm supplies, which includes bales of various types of hay, and large 50-pound bags of feed and sundry. There are people in a back lot who use forklifts and are qualified to load those objects into customers' trucks/trailers/etc., which said customers pay for at the register, which is entirely out of sight of the back lot. So how in the Good Lord Jesus' name does everybody know except me when we're out of something?

When I was trained, every time somebody paid for a large item, I was taught to call the order over the loudspeaker. Suddenly, that's absolutely not okay because it invades the customers' privacy. I'm told to start calling the orders via phone. I do. For a while. And then nobody's at the back lot to answer the phone. I tell somebody that I'm not getting an answer. They tell me to call over the loudspeaker because nobody's designated to work the back lot. Okay. Sure. Here I go doing it. Nope. Not okay. Call this other phone instead. Nope. The person on the other end can't work the back lot right now and tells me to call it over the loudspeaker so that somebody else can do it. But then I'm supposed to call on the phone because they can't hear the loudspeaker because everybody else is somewhere else. And if nobody hears me at any point, whether nobody answered their phones which I was told to call or nobody can hear the loudspeaker which I'm told to use but am also not supposed to use, I screwed up because I "didn't call the order", and there was a customer waiting.

Somehow it always happens that I'm in the wrong. It was always me, the new kid, that screwed up, because I'm the new kid, I'm young, I'm inexperienced, I'm a ditzy girl from the city who's not accustomed to farm life, why-is-she-working-here, obviously-because-we're-so-desperately-understaffed-we'll-hire-any-idiot-who-doesn't-know-what-they're-doing. Last night at closing I didn't do this right. Last night at closing I didn't have enough time to sweep the floors, take out the garbage, fix the shelves, clean the register area, AND ALSO put back all the returned items to locations I have to scout out because I have no idea what they're for because they're tractor parts and I've never even seen a tractor up close in real life, before my shift ended, and I'm not going to be able to get overtime because that needs to be pre-determined in the schedule, and everybody's waiting for me at the door when I haven't even clocked out yet, and because of all that, I'm in trouble because I left a thing and didn't put it back. I didn't get rid of a sticky note. I didn't put away an unused ink tag. Somehow, in some way, I screwed up. I should be fired. I'm the idiot who didn't go to college because I couldn't afford it. I'm the dumbass who took the test and got my G.E.D. with honors a year before I was due to graduate and who applied and was accepted into the National Society of High School Scholars. I'm the all-around disappointment whose work was used as a reference to grade other students' papers while I was in school. I'm the failure who passed the test to become a transcriptionist which 10% of people pass, and whose friends with office experience all failed.

To all the asshats at my work, I'm not the idiot. You're the exclusionary idiot who doesn't understand why I can't follow your ever-changing rules. I know I don't belong. I hate country music, and I don't know shit about lawnmowers. I would quit in a heartbeat if I could afford it.

Oh, and to top it all off, that customer with the coupon from before? You know what she told me?

"No no, it's okay, I'll find somebody who knows what they're doing. Just make sure that in the future, you remember that it's called customer service for a reason."

Fuck.

You.