Yule Tidings

“Mama, can I have this?”

“It’s your money Sally, it’s up to you” came the absentminded retort of the girl’s mama, scrolling through her phone. “But, don’t you think you should be getting something for your sister for the holidays?” Little Sally seemed to mull over this notion of getting something for someone other than herself.

It was always a difficult task to stay in the moment, to concentrate on the ever-mounting purchases laid out on the rolling conveyor line that never stopped. It was the holiday shopping season, and I had taken this position to earn extra dollars for the holiday season, wondering every day as I punched the clock if I would ever be afforded the opportunity of a day off in order to even spend that money. As I scanned each item, I could already tell that Sally was going to decide that mistletoe and goodwill be damned, she would opt to be on team Sally.

“ I earned the money mama. It’s mine, I am just going to use it for myself. If my sister wants something she can earn her own money.”

Even though I had only just started this job a week ago, scanning item after item, the conversations that went on around me day in and day out while people waited in long lines never never ceased to bore me. I found the experience to be absolutely fascinating, providing quite a study in human behavior. If one ever wants to know what someone is really is like, stick them in a long line on the busiest retail season possible.

Then sit back. Watch. Listen.

Sally's mother noticeably rolled her eyes at her daughter as she approached the counter. Waving a hand in the general direction of her soon-to-be belongings, she instructed “I’ll be paying for this and my daughter will be paying for her own things.” I nodded acknowledgment and smiled warmly as I continued scanning her items, taking note that she was doing her best, trying to teach her daughter some sort of life skills. When it came time for Sally’s purchase, the small child presented me with her pre-paid card. Showing her what to do, I watched her struggle as her mom paid more attention to her phone than to her daughter The monitor threw an error code. “Sorry Sally, it says your card isn't working. Try again.” Again the card failed. “Excuse me miss, her card seems to not be working.”

“Well there is no good reason why it shouldn’t be working” she snapped, “you are clearly doing something wrong!” She yanked the card from Sally’s hand, to try it herself, but again the monitor displayed the error code. “I’m sorry miss, are you sure the card was activated?”

“I know what I am doing. You must be doing something to the card, are you new here? How long have you had this job? I want to speak to your manager. You need to call your manager. It’s obvious you have no clue what you are doing.”

I responded in the best customer service sing-song I could muster now well into a nine hour shift. “I’ll call my manger.” I used the paging system to summon the floor manager on shift and quickly flipped on the lane light as I heard the unanimous low growl of great disappointment roll through the ever growing crowd that had been waiting impatiently in line. The girl’s mother dug in her purse and fished out the two dollars in cash and tossed it in my general direction. “ You people are so corrupt and lazy!” Grabbing her daughter’s candy and yanking on Sally’s arm, they briskly walked away, leaving me to ponder what Sally may have learned from this experience.

No longer needing lane assistance, I flipped off the lane light and resumed the monotonous task of running item after item over the scanner, repeating the same phrase after each departing guest: “Have a nice day,” which now, after ten hours, just sounded robotic. I tried focus on the tasks at hand and not so much the conversations around me. I overheard a gentleman near me complain to . . .somebody “So why are there only two checkouts open?. You would think with the holidays that there would be more checkouts open.”

Work. Scan. Roll. Scan. Where’s the upc on this? Got it. Scan. Roll.

“Hello? Did you hear me? Why are there only two lines open?”

Looking up, I saw a man probably in his late-thirties looking slightly miffed. “I’m sorry sir, I didn’t realize you were addressing me.” His eyes wandered to my name tag.

“Well Jessie, who else would I be asking this question to?”

“Right, to be honest, it’s just corporate policy that they only have two checkouts open. They figure everyone would rather use the self-checkout stands. They say it keeps customers happy and the lines down.”

“Well I disagree greatly. Besides, don't you find that many items don’t even get paid for, due to user error?”

“Well that’s what the attendant is there for, sir.”

“Wouldn't it be easier for the attendant to just be the cashier? Many of us are getting off from eight hour shifts, then we have to fight our way through traffic to get over to this side of town. As if that wasn’t bad enough already, we wander around your crowded, hot, busy, disorganized store, picking up things to take them off your shelves, put them in your wobbly excuse for carts, stand in long, slow-moving lines only to pay you our hard earned money. Our reward at that point” he said, now taking an aggravated, sarcastic tone “is to take the same wobbly cart through the badly paved, littered parking lot trying not to get hit on the way to our vehicles, only then to load this stuff out of the cart into the car, to find ourselves fighting the traffic back to our homes on the other side of of town in what is now even worse traffic than where we started! Then!” he exclaimed, now gesticulating wildly, “then when we finally make it home, we take the purchased items from our cars, into our homes only then to put them back on more shelves! Just thinking about the repetitiveness makes me angry and I'll be damned if I am also doing your job as well bagging and scanning my own stuff. I mean, what am I even paying for you at that point?”

Trying my best to not seem confrontational, I mustered up the best customer service smile I could. “Sir I don’t know, I just work here. I don’t make the policies. I am just trying to earn a living.” Someone from the back of the line grunted in agreement, whether at the man’s assessment or my response, it was hard to tell by this point.

“Well if you ask me, you’re doing a poor job of it. You can’t even answer my questions.”

While he seemed not to notice, I had scanned and bagged his purchases during his impromptu address so I was glad to see him pay and leave. I resumed the ever-obnoxious task of scanning. Customer after customer, hour after hour, beep after beep, I could never wrap my head around many of the things people bought, most of it from our impulse isles which just indicated to me that they didn’t know what they really wanted or cared much what they spent their money on. Most of the conversations in line ranged from how cold it was in Phoenix that morning, to complaints that it was December and how ridiculously warm it had gotten later in the day.

“It’s winter for crying out loud, don’t they know that?” Exclaimed one particular blue-haired shrunken elder. What “they” she was referring to was unclear to me, as if outside had a thermostat that some unknown, meddling roommate had tinkered with.

It was worse when school let out. Not only was there an influx of people due to the holiday shopping season, but the snowbirds were down from Canada for their winter migration. To add insult to injury school was not yet on winter break so as the day went on, to say the place got packed was an understatement. Just as I was lamenting the state of humanity, which I often do towards the end of every shift -especially this now-thirteen-hour shift- thankful that this day was almost over, we had hit another snag. CARD DECLINED. “Sorry ma’am. It says your card was declined.”

The woman looked immediately distraught.“That’s not possible” she pleaded.

Giving her a smile, I responded “Well, the card reader does have issues from time to time. It has had a good workout today. Go ahead and try again. If it happens again then it will let you swipe it rather than using the chip reader.”

She inserted the chip again. CARD DECLINED

Then as directed she swiped the card. CARD DECLINED

As panic settled into her features and concern into mine, I could see that the line had finally grown short and that the day was dwindling to a close.

“Oh no no no, hold on” she muttered worriedly. “Let me check my bank. Is that okay?”

“Of course” I said with sincere compassion. Looking at the items in the bags, it was obvious that she had purchased some modest gifts for children, and a few little creature comforts for herself. After retrieving her phone, she started to look around nervously, then she started to cry. I immediately sympathized with her. Now I felt bad. “Maybe you could try swiping the card again?”

“No, it’s not the card. For some reason my check didn't get deposited in my account” she managed, clearly defeated. “I’m just going to have to put some things back.” She started with her own items. Her comfort food items, out. Creams and lotions, out. These were only worth a dollar or two here and there, and she was clearly doing her best to not put back what looked to be her children's holiday presents. I could see tears rolling down her face, though she was trying to sniff them away. This happens more often than one might think, but remarkable things happen if one is open to observation and having their faith in humanity restored. The customer behind her came up and quietly asked “How short are you? I can’t afford to pay two hundred dollars, but I can help.” The girl looked shocked and started to shake with emotion. “I’m sixty dollars short” she quietly replied. The woman who had asked her – a good Samaritan perhaps, possibly an angel or faerie – turned her attention casually to me. “Can we split-pay the purchase?”

I nodded, trying to find my own voice. “Yes, absolutely! Are you sure?”

“I’m not only sure, but I want you to put back all the items that were taken off.”

I unprofessionally teared up through my customer service face as I happily processed the split payments and bagged the entire load. The rest of the people in line registered varying levels of surprise and the girl was mildly sobbing, though now more from joy than worry, thanking her benefactor for the help. “How can I repay you?”

“There is no need” the woman said gently. “We have all been there and I wish someone had been there for me. All I can say is Yule Tidings and Happy Holidays to you and yours.”