Most trips to the grocery store are relatively boring. Get in, get your stuff and get out. Sure, there is the excitement at home of having more to chose from for dinner, but the trip itself is pretty ho-hum most every time. However, every once in a while you get to experience a standoff between a customer and store staff that makes you want to belt out a few bars of Handle’s Messiah. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah!”.
So I woke up this morning kind of early, and thought what better time to pick up a few quick groceries than at 7:00 a.m. so as to avoid the crowded aisles and long lines. The filling up of the cart was uneventful enough, and after finishing picking up all the necessities (yes, gummy bears are a necessity), I proceeded to the check out lines. Now, this particular store has nearly twenty checkout lanes, but given my early arrival at the store, only a limited number of lanes were open. All but one lane had someone with a large cart of groceries, so I chose to get behind the guy with just one item: the 12 pack of Bud Light. I am thinking I will just scoot right over here beyond this fine gentlemen, quickly check out, and make my way home. As I started unloading my cart, I heard the cashier tell the customer his total was ten dollars and some odd cents. The guy stood for a moment in silence, making no move for his wallet to pay for his purchase, but continued to stare at the total screen. “How much?” he asked. His speech was slightly slurred, but I am not completely certain he is inebriated. I do, however, begin to wonder if he is just getting an early start on the day with the beer, or if this was a capper to a long night of binge drinking. The cashier kindly repeated the total. “Well the sign over there said it is 99 cents” the guy said in a voice that quickly took on a somewhat perturbed tone. As a former worker at a retail establishment, the customer with a complete lack of common sense was the bane of my existence. Honestly sir, did you really think your 12 pack of beer was only 99 cents? It would be obvious to most people that either they looked at the price wrong, or someone moved a price tag to be funny, ect. But oh no, not this guy. He was not about to let this go. The cashier tried to explain the possible misunderstanding, but was met with the undignified response, “Well, the damn sign said 99 cents.” He had chosen to take it up a notch by using the expletive in an effort to pressure the cashier. Typical butthead customer move. Unmoved by the beginning of his tirade, the cashier apologized for the mistake (which was obviously his), and told him his total, before tax and CRV, was nine something.
I was starting to sense the tension build, and in a completely unforeseen move, the customer blurted out angrily, “This is complete bullshit. My mother just died, and you guys are trying to screw me over .” To reference the greatest holiday movie of all time, Christmas Story, this guy had pulled out a veritable triple dog dare of retail interactions. Regardless of the fact that the mother’s alleged demise was not even remotely relevant to the price of the beer, the cashier was now placed in the unenviable position of deciding if this guy was full of BS and trying to make the ultimate power play, or if maybe this poor tormented soul really had lost the only person that cared one iota about him and deserved a little compassion. There must have been something that gave him away. Maybe it was a bead of sweat on his forehead, an involuntary multitude of blinks, maybe the twitching of the corner of his mouth, but whatever it was, the cashier decided to call his bluff. Now, she didn’t out and out call him a dirty liar, but she also didn’t offer any type of condolence which would have tipped the scales in his favor in this legendary power struggle for supermarket supremacy. She simply said, “Sir, your mother has nothing to do with the price of the beer.” Well played, m’lady…well played.
At any moment, I could totally see the guy going cartoon style with smoke blowing out of his ears as a verbal explosion of livid expletives rain down on our heroine. The guy practically yelled at her (at least loud enough to be heard two check stands over), “I want to see the fuckin’ manager!” Oh no, he had brought down the lightning and the thunder. The call for manager is the last bastion for the customer, or so they often erroneously believe, as the research shows that in this type of complaint the manager takes the side of the customer only 3.94% of the time. In this particular situation, I really thought the guy knew he had lost, and was asking for the manager as a last ditch attempt scare tactic he thought would bring the cashier to her knees begging, “Oh, please sir. Don’t call the manager. Here, take your 99 cent beer. And have a free Slim Jim.” The cashier, of course, did not acquiesce in his desired manner, and called for the manager. At this point, I started worrying about my chocolate brownie ice cream and its movement towards a liquid state. I seriously contemplated moving to another line, but who the heck watches a 12 round boxing match and then turns off the television before they go to the judges score card, so I decided to stay and see how this played out. The manager came out, and the guy pulled out another classic customer move (I must admit, this guy had quite the repertoire). He played super nice, and talked super calm to the manager when explaining his position so as to show him what a wonderful customer he is, and that it must be the crazy freak cashier that was the problem here. The manager and customer then headed off to the back of the store to check out the “scene of the crime”. While they were gone, which seemed to be forever (not unlike when Jimmy the bag boy is asked by the cashier to grab Ms. Johnson another carton of eggs, but it must be in the store’s annex building because it takes so long now my picture is on the milk carton. Sorry about that tangent) the cashier and I exchanged several glances which silently communicated: 1) what a jerk and 2) you better hope you are right, because if you are not, I am going to complain about the inaccuracy of every one of my purchase prices and it is going to be grocery store anarchy. After a few minutes, the manager came around the corner with a smug countenance of victory and his chest swelled with pride. The customer came a few paces behind, head down in shame, shoulders slumped, and, although invisible to everyone but the cashier and I, a huge scarlet “J” for jackass on his shirt. The manager did not go so far as to hold it above his head in a boastful manner, and make an example of this guy, but I could see clutched in his hand a price tag; irrefutable evidence of his victory that he would certainly take home, laminate and put in his scrapbook that documents his dismantling of unruly customers. Beer-guzzling Billy came up, paid his total, and left in humbled silence. The retail universe was restored to balance as another dirt bag customer was put in his place.
Dirt bag customers are the worst.
ReplyDeleteI want to know where 3.94% came from. I demand answers. Bring me the proverbial price tag.
ReplyDelete