I try to learn something new everyday. But most of the time, that doesn't mean at Wal-Mart. The other day, I spent 20 minutes on a guest's cell phone as the guest's brother explained to me the various differences, pros and cons, of lever-, bolt- and pump-action rifles. Still had to wait until the regular staff returned to get the answer, which was "call back during the day and talk to the department manager about a special order."
I'm not a shooter. I'm not a hunter. I know nothing about weapons, ammo or what to kill with anything you might aim at them. I camp, I hike, I photograph. I don't know why people would want to fire paint loads at each other with compressed carbon dioxide. Apparently, my son tells me they hurt a little -- maybe a bunch if you get hit a bunch. Laser tag is fun. Pain is not fun. I try to stay up with hunting seasons just enough to stay out of the woods when people with alcohol and ammunition come through.
My naivete must be why they send me to sporting goods evenings to do lunches. Same reason they send me to the tobacco register, I guess. Never smoked, never chewed, never will. So I'm a complete idiot about all things in the smoke shop. Will this stuff work in your butane lighter? Hope so, but let's not try it here. Do we have that brand, or that type? Do you see it? Then probably not.
One manager once told me that "I present myself well." I think that means I'm polite when I'm telling them I haven't got a clue what they want. I don't get sarcastic when they tell me how Wal-Mart sucks and no one has a clue. We have three kinds of cashiers: 1) Ones that "present themselves well," 2) Ones that get flustered, cry, or quit under pressure; and 3) Ones that get sarcastic, rude or throw things. Since I'm in the first category, I get thrown into the sink-or-swim situations.
Cross training is a much discussed, but never implemented idea at Wal-Mart. We're short-handed, so we don't have staff to send you there when there's someone knowledgeable there to teach you anything. But when they're missing -- sorry, you have to go cover it. Do the best you can, and call a customer service manager or assistant manager if you run into something you can't handle (which you will). What you actually learn will be anything you observe when the manager is bailing you out.
Monday, March 12, 2007
A tourist in the garden center
Sunday. And a four-hour shift. What is the computer in Bentonville smoking?
Scheduling hasn't gotten much smoother. We're short cashiers and the schedule still spits out oddball shifts. 7 1/2 or even 4 hours instead of 8. Then after you've made other plans, they want to know if you want to stay.
Saturday they sent me to the garden center. "You'll probably be there all day." Joy. A greeter and two cashiers and the floor staff were there. What on the planet was I supposed to do? I gave the door greeter a 30 minute 15-minute break (apparently, telling time isn't a strong suit), and then gave one of the cashiers a lunch break. By the time she was back, the second cashier had gone to the front on the excuse that she needed a bathroom break and whined to a manager about the first cashier, that she had taken too long of a lunch. Get it straight -- she was fine -- the greeter was overdue. But a customer service manager came back to bawl out the first cashier and jerked me out of there. And I didn't mind a bit. That place gets scary when the temperatures warm up. The staff are scarier than the guests. At least the guests and I are on the same wavelength.
Do I know which trimmer string goes in this spool? Nope. Do I know if we'll be getting in bigger containers of Preen? Nope. Why don't we have any geraniums? Ma'am, probably because 30 customers before you snapped every one of them up, or they're still afraid they will freeze at night. I don't know if we have any more cushions in that pattern anywhere, nor do I understand why they don't have any matching drain dishes for that particular color of planter. (If it were up to me, I'd sell them as a set, not as singles.) Frankly, about all I can do is scan and bag stuff. I'll help you with that.
See my blue smock. That means I work front-end registers. I wish I had a sign to wear everytime they sent me to garden, tire and lube express or sporting goods: "I don't belong here. I don't know anything about this department. I can't advise you about guns, plants or automotive batteries, and please don't ask me to cut keys. You're lucky anyone is standing here to ring you up. But the usual suspects are all at lunch."
Scheduling hasn't gotten much smoother. We're short cashiers and the schedule still spits out oddball shifts. 7 1/2 or even 4 hours instead of 8. Then after you've made other plans, they want to know if you want to stay.
Saturday they sent me to the garden center. "You'll probably be there all day." Joy. A greeter and two cashiers and the floor staff were there. What on the planet was I supposed to do? I gave the door greeter a 30 minute 15-minute break (apparently, telling time isn't a strong suit), and then gave one of the cashiers a lunch break. By the time she was back, the second cashier had gone to the front on the excuse that she needed a bathroom break and whined to a manager about the first cashier, that she had taken too long of a lunch. Get it straight -- she was fine -- the greeter was overdue. But a customer service manager came back to bawl out the first cashier and jerked me out of there. And I didn't mind a bit. That place gets scary when the temperatures warm up. The staff are scarier than the guests. At least the guests and I are on the same wavelength.
Do I know which trimmer string goes in this spool? Nope. Do I know if we'll be getting in bigger containers of Preen? Nope. Why don't we have any geraniums? Ma'am, probably because 30 customers before you snapped every one of them up, or they're still afraid they will freeze at night. I don't know if we have any more cushions in that pattern anywhere, nor do I understand why they don't have any matching drain dishes for that particular color of planter. (If it were up to me, I'd sell them as a set, not as singles.) Frankly, about all I can do is scan and bag stuff. I'll help you with that.
See my blue smock. That means I work front-end registers. I wish I had a sign to wear everytime they sent me to garden, tire and lube express or sporting goods: "I don't belong here. I don't know anything about this department. I can't advise you about guns, plants or automotive batteries, and please don't ask me to cut keys. You're lucky anyone is standing here to ring you up. But the usual suspects are all at lunch."
Monday, March 5, 2007
Missing the bullet
Sidewalk sale. That's Wal-Mart-ese for "it wouldn't sell inside with a clearance sign over it, and now we're weeks beyond the point which it was supposed to be out of the store, so we're putting it outside, in case this new marketing approach might somehow make someone look at it."
OK, four carts with four shelves each of junk just isn't going very fast. A bunch of picture frames. IPod covers, winter blankets and throws... Better yet, on a busy Sunday, we have to keep a cashier outside to check out anything that someone wants to sell and monitor the stuff. Read that -- keep people from walking off with an entire shelving unit. God knows, they would want the shelving -- not what's on it.
I did sidewalk sale last year. After I told them that working outside in Arizona sun was hazardous duty, they didn't drag me in. Instead, they brought me water, sunscreen and a really dippy woman's hat. Actually, I probably sold more plasticware than anyone in Wal-Mart history. I figured as soon as it was gone, I could come in. I decorated the pile with a summer display. The stuff was blowing out of there -- then they found more pallets.
I shouldn't be here today. Wal-Mart doesn't want another sick cashier today, but they don't want another call-in, either. So here I am, waiting for the customer service manager, waiting for a station assignment. Usually I'm begging for a good register (odd numbers 5-13 are gold if you want the day to pass quickly), but today, I'm thinking, stash me at self-check and let me go to sleep. Under no circumstances send me outside.
"15." Not a please or a question. Is the CSM having the kind of day I am? 15 is the tobacco aisle, but it's also a no-limit lane, so it's bound to stay busy all the time. Three more times back for assignments, three more chances at the bullet. Not once did I get threatened with sidewalk sale. Maybe I do look as bad as I feel.
"What's the date on that can?" a customer asks when I pull his chaw.
"2-19"
"Don't you have any newer than that? Look in one of those stacks over there. There should be some with 2-26."
I'm thinking, you must be kidding. I'm going to open another 10-pack of Cope, just to find you cans with a better production date. Isn't there something to be said for aging? More importantly, why aren't our cashiers opening them in the right order? He shouldn't have gotten 2-26 last week if there are 2-19 cans on the shelf. But a CSM passes by just then, and he appeals his case to her, so she opens the 10-pack. Fresher chewing tobacco -- more potent to give you mouth and throat cancer?
OK, four carts with four shelves each of junk just isn't going very fast. A bunch of picture frames. IPod covers, winter blankets and throws... Better yet, on a busy Sunday, we have to keep a cashier outside to check out anything that someone wants to sell and monitor the stuff. Read that -- keep people from walking off with an entire shelving unit. God knows, they would want the shelving -- not what's on it.
I did sidewalk sale last year. After I told them that working outside in Arizona sun was hazardous duty, they didn't drag me in. Instead, they brought me water, sunscreen and a really dippy woman's hat. Actually, I probably sold more plasticware than anyone in Wal-Mart history. I figured as soon as it was gone, I could come in. I decorated the pile with a summer display. The stuff was blowing out of there -- then they found more pallets.
I shouldn't be here today. Wal-Mart doesn't want another sick cashier today, but they don't want another call-in, either. So here I am, waiting for the customer service manager, waiting for a station assignment. Usually I'm begging for a good register (odd numbers 5-13 are gold if you want the day to pass quickly), but today, I'm thinking, stash me at self-check and let me go to sleep. Under no circumstances send me outside.
"15." Not a please or a question. Is the CSM having the kind of day I am? 15 is the tobacco aisle, but it's also a no-limit lane, so it's bound to stay busy all the time. Three more times back for assignments, three more chances at the bullet. Not once did I get threatened with sidewalk sale. Maybe I do look as bad as I feel.
"What's the date on that can?" a customer asks when I pull his chaw.
"2-19"
"Don't you have any newer than that? Look in one of those stacks over there. There should be some with 2-26."
I'm thinking, you must be kidding. I'm going to open another 10-pack of Cope, just to find you cans with a better production date. Isn't there something to be said for aging? More importantly, why aren't our cashiers opening them in the right order? He shouldn't have gotten 2-26 last week if there are 2-19 cans on the shelf. But a CSM passes by just then, and he appeals his case to her, so she opens the 10-pack. Fresher chewing tobacco -- more potent to give you mouth and throat cancer?
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