Retail Retell

I start at three, but I get in at two-fifty-five. There are a few reasons for this: time to check the mirror for any plaque-y stragglers swimming between the front-facing teeth; check my hair; pee for the fourth time in the last two hours. Check my hair again. Back up and give the whole figure a once-over: yup, still got it. The mirror doesn’t lie, and the wall-installed garbage bin is filled to overflow with used hand towels and fountain drink empties and stolen goods, reminding me where I am and why it doesn’t actually matter how I look. Fluorescent lights follow me out into the carpet-covered arena. I lift my finger to enter my employee ID and am immediately stopped. A voice begins with something like: “So I was looking for striped ribbons that are six inches. I see here you have these, but they’re a bit too shiny. It’s not really appropriate for a dog’s memorial, obviously. Do you have anything that’s maybe a little more….” Their voice drifts away as they walk into another aisle, adding miles to their faux-exhaustion. My finger is back in the air, the computer screen telling me I have to re-enter my identification. I made an error and must begin again. The woman, older but trying to hide it with numerous topical disguises, comes back to take a domineering stance at me, making intense eye contact with my temple. I have attempted to advise several times by now, but none have my attempts have succeeded in reaching her. She in her expensive spacecraft, me in the control center getting paid pennies a day. I know that we don’t carry what she is looking for. I know that this fact is the least important aspect of such an encounter. I clock in, a little shaky already, uncertain of whether to follow her or to wait patiently. If I physically follow in her steps, I might literally bump into her, and that would be ...verging on disastrous for my customer survey score this week. It’s Thursday night, only three more days until the percentages are reviewed and totaled. I’ll end the week having worked about forty-two hours. The overtime could never make up for the scalding hot reprimands that reflect a low “Your Customer Experience”, a presumed “mathematical” system catering to the overall most frequently used phrases in seven days’ worth of petulant feedback, designed to draw a moody line between store manager and every lower level employee. I am one of those low-levels, and I have rent due every other week just like the best of them, and I will not to succumb to my anxiety. Although, my anxiety is not the creature it used to be. I have almost completely trampled over that monster. No, the real enemy is the anger. The righteousness of it is a steel wall which neither friendly negotiation nor exaggerated sympathy can scratch at. I step out from behind the register counter, allowing the vulnerability of the next nine hours to wash over me, along with the unrelenting dust that naturally arises from this wall-to-wall carpeting. It isn’t a thick carpet, but the strands from it’s ever-stretching canvas provide a constant clog in the vacuum cleaner. No one in upper management seems to have realized this, as they continue to send “repaired” vacuums in exchange for our mail-in duds. Her voice echoes amongst the rest of a childlike army that trickles in all night, in single foreigners and groping female-male duos and nanny-daughter-baby trios and boy groups and girl groups and men with backpacks who come as they please and take without paying and re-sell without coupon offerings or tax deductions.

It’s five-thirty. There are no clocks, the only way to know the time is to address the computer screen where all sale options are available. I don’t know what half of them do, and I have gotten in trouble several times for using the ones I do, or should, know how to use by now. I wait patiently- or rather, indifferently- for the present customer to collect themselves enough to perform an earnest rendition of their Inevitable Dilemma for me. I usually come up with an instant one-through-ten rating based on the tone and often generic factors that house the complaint. Anything with coupons is an automatic five, that’s the baseline. Price checks are easy, placed at a one or two on the scale, depending on any discrepancies in the circular- of which I am generally unaware. Then come the big ones: those customers who take it upon themselves to combine several issues and turn it into an unrecognizable mess by slathering the situation in bad attitude, unbecoming facial expression, and constant interruption. Common hair-pulling combinations may include any, often many, of the following: a refund without receipt, an non-english speaker, a hurrying public commuter, a poor citizen, a rich citizen, a non-citizen, an illiterate citizen, someone late on their prescription refill, and, of course, the free roaming pervert. Some of these traits are assumed, because, well... they have to be. The final tier of a perfect ten, otherwise coded as “I’ll call the manager” or “This is the number for corporate”, is the tremendous amount of fabricated poppycock that need to be maneuvered past. Telling fact from fiction is a learned skill that bumps the title “Cashier” up a whole new skill-set, a set of skills for which I am neither being promoted nor recognized. A more accurate name for this position would be “adult babysitter”. 

The research has begun: I gather data regarding both relevant and irrelevant dimensions of origin and orientation and irreversible damage. None of the answers I get are responses to anything I’ve asked-- I’m silent as they begin their monologue, and in fact completely unconscious when the final report comes in:

Customer Survey Transaction Time 11/14/2019 5:37 PM. Submitted: 11/16/19 12:12 AM: 

My grandmother’s experience at the local grocery store today was absolutely horrendous. She does not speak english, and I felt it only appropriate to help communicate her concerns for her through this website. (I will be checking my email frequently for the discount which was promised in exchange for this review. I don’t understand why this review is necessary at all, I should be able to air my issues to a customer representative over the phone just like any other business…...) My grandmother came into your establishment looking for body soap specific to her skin type, as well as a few other items which she says she has purchased here before without any problems. She took the bus from the doctor’s office and was very tired from her procedure. She has difficulty sitting and walking due to her medical condition, and is often uncomfortable from digestive irregularity. Due to her fragile state, she requires swift attentive service, which she most definitely did not receive during this visit. As far as she can recall, none of your employees bothered to offer help. My nana’s memory is fading but she says she would have remembered such a kind gesture, as she is very grateful to those that can recognize her disability. The teenager at the register refused to make eye contact with my nana, and instead decided to assist a long line of other customers, (many of whom, I’m sure, did not require assistance), intentionally ignoring my grandmother standing at the entrance with her back to the freezing cold. She left her cane at Dr Kowalczyk’s office, a fine practitioner who would also be disappointed if I relayed to him the way that my nana was treated. I understand he is a regular patron, I doubt he would ever return. At this point my grandmother is losing her footing, and must lean against a display of metal canes to balance herself while she waits for someone from your store to acknowledge her. She notes that many of the canes were on the floor, not a great look for you store, is it?.  EVENTUALLY a salesperson asks if she needs any help. ??? OF COURSE SHE DOES! Her ninety-second birthday just passed last Saturday, must she wait until her next to get the respect she deserves? She has done so much for my family and has worked hard her entire life since early childhood when her mother passed from pneumonia and was left to raise her six brothers virtually on her own. To make a long story short: the “employee” could not find half of the items my grandmother was looking for, she was forced to carry all of her items even though everyone else had a carriage, and the cashier refused to honor the newspaper coupons that she spent hours clipping but did not have on hand as she left her purse with her cane at Dr Kowalczyk’s (no one bothered to ring him up to see if he could drop by with her belongings, his office only a few minutes from your building, but whatever). My grandmother did her best to remain calm, but she has high blood pressure and no one there could understand even basic Polish. She can get quite dizzy when dealing with difficult situations, so let’s just say you are lucky that she was able to catch her buses back home safely.

I expect a FULL REFUND and apology for the overpriced soap my nana was forced to purchase at your location.

……..

It’s now Sunday and my boss calls me to his office and confronts me about “So what happened on Thursday?” I look to her computer screen for clues, but it’s just color-coded graphs and kindergarten fonts that use the traffic light system to signify various performance levels. He reads the rather long-winder survey to me, not making any attempt to condense or paraphrase, at least to my knowledge. I realize which customer he’s referring to before he finishes. When he’s done he just stares at me to make me feel bad, and of course I do. But not that bad. It’s my turn to take the stand, and I recall to myself in crystal clarity:

She was upset because I couldn’t understand what she was saying to me-- she was standing far away and speaking another language. I paged Sandra to assist her, but she didn’t hear right away because she was busy vacuuming a trail of crackers that had been scattered and smashed by a large toddler being pushed around in a stroller by an extremely inattentive caretaker. I was trying to get my line down. Sandra offered her help probably within two-three minutes, but the lady was already upset, yelling at her in her language. She seemed like she was about to fall over so I suggested she use a cane from the cane rack, but the customer I was ringing up was speaking too loudly at me for her to hear. Sandra was with her for probably twenty minutes helping her find what she was looking for, but I think the customer thought she was in the grocery store down the block. She wouldn’t believe that we didn’t sell what she wanted. I rang her up right away, the line was short, but she was still upset. She yelled “coupons!” several times but didn’t use any. The people behind her in line were getting upset that I was taking so long, but I couldn’t accept most of her money because it was foreign currency. And then she left. She was really old, I was surprised she didn’t have anyone to help her, or at least a walker…..

“Oh yeah I remember her. Me and Sandra tried to help but there was the language barrier like they said. Sorry, next time I’ll call for help sooner.”

“Everyone got a review like this this week, it’s unacceptable. Next time call a manager to help if they’re not busy. Remember, customer service always comes first. Now go get us lunch I’m starving. Don’t forget to clean the bathroom before you go.”