I graduated. After working at Walmart for seven Christmases and more than six years, I took a job that didn't require me to wear the blue and khaki anymore.
I stop in now and again. The self-checks are still there, and the new program is even worse than the old one, so it seems from the attendants' frustration.
Lots of the same staff, but of course, some new ones. The constant question: do you miss it?
I miss people, but not Walmart. I'm sure there are Walmarts where managers listen and value their staff. It was a rarity in this store. But it's made me a better supervisor.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Let me see, no ID and you look 17?
Sometimes it's frustrating declining a sale to a minor. Sometimes it's just hilarious.
Recently, two young people came up to my self-check register. They were trying to buy some type of epoxy. The register prompted me to check ID. I asked them to pull their IDs, and of course, the buyer became indignant.
"I'm buying it, she's not." he said angrily. "Why do you need to see her ID?"
I explained that our store rules require that anyone buying certain controlled substances show ID. And if more than one minor is in the party without an obvious adult (as in Dad buying the substance with his children along), then all must show ID.
Resigned to being denied, the boy offered to put the glue back on the shelf. I declined to give it back to him. Unfortunately, I knew that he would just walk to another register. I also knew that there was a good chance that he would go get another tube and go to another register.
Instead, he showed back up at my register, without his girl friend. Once again, the register prompted an ID check. I explained to him that I couldn't sell him the product alone after I had refused the sale to him earlier with a possible minor. He said he thought this product might not be controlled. I couldn't believe that he didn't attempt the sale at another register.
The very same night I saw a group of kids wandering around together, but one boy brought some alcohol to the register. I was on pretty shaky ground declining a sale to him based on seeing him with some other youths earlier, so I asked him to pull his ID. Game over -- he had given his ID to one of the other people he had been hanging around with. When he had to call them over, I asked for all of their IDs, which they couldn't produce.
Then there was the night that a young man tried to buy two bottles of wine and six cans of spray paint (guess that would have been quite the graffiti party). No, he didn't have his ID on him, but he lived just around the corner. He could go get his ID and be right back. I said the stuff would be here when he ran home and came back. Of course, he never came back.
Finally, don't try using someone else's ID in a small town. One night, a young man came in to purchase alcohol and I asked for his ID. He pulled out an ID and I looked it over, then looked at him. I did a double take. The kid on the ID had gone to church with us. I looked back at the boy, who looked a little like the ID, but it was definitely not him. Sorry, I told him. "And give Matt back his ID before I have a chat with Matt's parents."
Recently, two young people came up to my self-check register. They were trying to buy some type of epoxy. The register prompted me to check ID. I asked them to pull their IDs, and of course, the buyer became indignant.
"I'm buying it, she's not." he said angrily. "Why do you need to see her ID?"
I explained that our store rules require that anyone buying certain controlled substances show ID. And if more than one minor is in the party without an obvious adult (as in Dad buying the substance with his children along), then all must show ID.
Resigned to being denied, the boy offered to put the glue back on the shelf. I declined to give it back to him. Unfortunately, I knew that he would just walk to another register. I also knew that there was a good chance that he would go get another tube and go to another register.
Instead, he showed back up at my register, without his girl friend. Once again, the register prompted an ID check. I explained to him that I couldn't sell him the product alone after I had refused the sale to him earlier with a possible minor. He said he thought this product might not be controlled. I couldn't believe that he didn't attempt the sale at another register.
The very same night I saw a group of kids wandering around together, but one boy brought some alcohol to the register. I was on pretty shaky ground declining a sale to him based on seeing him with some other youths earlier, so I asked him to pull his ID. Game over -- he had given his ID to one of the other people he had been hanging around with. When he had to call them over, I asked for all of their IDs, which they couldn't produce.
Then there was the night that a young man tried to buy two bottles of wine and six cans of spray paint (guess that would have been quite the graffiti party). No, he didn't have his ID on him, but he lived just around the corner. He could go get his ID and be right back. I said the stuff would be here when he ran home and came back. Of course, he never came back.
Finally, don't try using someone else's ID in a small town. One night, a young man came in to purchase alcohol and I asked for his ID. He pulled out an ID and I looked it over, then looked at him. I did a double take. The kid on the ID had gone to church with us. I looked back at the boy, who looked a little like the ID, but it was definitely not him. Sorry, I told him. "And give Matt back his ID before I have a chat with Matt's parents."
Monday, February 1, 2010
Accident Free
Accident free. We've been accident free for a little while now, so management is giving us a reward. A snack. I'm underwhelmed. It's happening on a day that I'm not working, and I can't eat what they're serving anyway.
I have always wondered about the Wal-Mart incentives. If you are accident free, how about a lanyard, extra points on your review, a thank you note? Maybe a nifty shirt that an employee can actually wear to work? As it is, there is more incentive to get hurt. You get to stay home and collect worker's comp. No one outside of your small circle of acquaintances actually knows you got hurt and set the "days without an accident" ticker back to zero.
A large part of the store never attends daily staff meetings, during which safety issues are discussed. Thus, a lot of the staff misses the discussions about warming up, lifting, using ladders, reaching, etc. It would seem that management would take notes about these discussions and post them, or provide copies to the employees who miss them. It's their bonus, and their workplace, too.
I have always wondered about the Wal-Mart incentives. If you are accident free, how about a lanyard, extra points on your review, a thank you note? Maybe a nifty shirt that an employee can actually wear to work? As it is, there is more incentive to get hurt. You get to stay home and collect worker's comp. No one outside of your small circle of acquaintances actually knows you got hurt and set the "days without an accident" ticker back to zero.
A large part of the store never attends daily staff meetings, during which safety issues are discussed. Thus, a lot of the staff misses the discussions about warming up, lifting, using ladders, reaching, etc. It would seem that management would take notes about these discussions and post them, or provide copies to the employees who miss them. It's their bonus, and their workplace, too.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Shoplifting doesn't pay (especially when you're not good)
Wouldn't criminals look the type? How could you operate in that kind of fog that you wouldn't even notice that everyone in the area is looking at you?
It's funny when our store walker is onto someone shoplifting. They're hiding stuff under the baby's blankets (teach your children what?), or inside bulky clothing, or in bags that they've already checked out. You name it, they've done it.
So they're in electronics or cosmetics or wherever, stuffing away. And they're caught on video or by a staff member. First one person, then as people notice, more and more staff are watching from afar, trying to be nonchalant. Can't wait for the moment when they try to go for the door, and they're confronted.
Now imagine being that person. You've been stuffing things in. Wouldn't you be looking around, judging if someone saw you? If the same person is anywhere near you when you go to another part of the store? Or are you totally oblivious?
Apparently, totally clueless. Not that criminals are the world's smartest people, but apparently it doesn't take a brain to shoplift. And as the economy gets worse, there are more of them. And the store is chalking up more arrests.
It's funny when our store walker is onto someone shoplifting. They're hiding stuff under the baby's blankets (teach your children what?), or inside bulky clothing, or in bags that they've already checked out. You name it, they've done it.
So they're in electronics or cosmetics or wherever, stuffing away. And they're caught on video or by a staff member. First one person, then as people notice, more and more staff are watching from afar, trying to be nonchalant. Can't wait for the moment when they try to go for the door, and they're confronted.
Now imagine being that person. You've been stuffing things in. Wouldn't you be looking around, judging if someone saw you? If the same person is anywhere near you when you go to another part of the store? Or are you totally oblivious?
Apparently, totally clueless. Not that criminals are the world's smartest people, but apparently it doesn't take a brain to shoplift. And as the economy gets worse, there are more of them. And the store is chalking up more arrests.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Breaking news
"Are gang members really going to kill three women tonight at Wal-Mart?"
What? No? OMG. What?!?!?
Finishing up another express lane order at Wal-Mart last night, this lady decided I needed to be filled in. Apparently, I was in mortal danger at the register 20 feet from the entrance. Mortal danger from idiot guests, someone fixing the stupid air curtain or another staff member wielding a boxed piece of furniture perhaps. A gang member...I highly doubt it. And if it were true -- what the heck was she doing shopping here tonight? Tempting fate?
"I haven't heard anything about it," I said. "Probably another email hoax."
"It's all over the news," she continued. "I got a text from my friend in Las Vegas."
Las Vegas. Las Vegas I might understand. But rural Arizona. Hmmm. Yep, a little wannabe action with fence-painters and high school kids who want to fight with every human being that "dis-ses" them. That's our gang activity. Except for maybe a few police officers who want to make the problem way bigger than it is to frighten us and get a few more gang-prevention grants.
It's now dark, and one of our staff members comes in to let us know there's a squad car parked in front of the store (on the sidewalk, between the doors, by the way). Oh, maybe they're concerned too? Not really. It's an EMPTY squad car, totally dark. Not too much of a deterrent effect from a parked empty vehicle.
I take my break, never even see anything suspicious. A couple of college guys with a case of beer and Jager. The first guy to pull his ID turns 21 today. I decide not to warn them about the gang slayings. Not that they'd care.
A little over an hour to go on my shift. I'm operating one of the good registers. I get told to go back by the door because one of the old lady cashiers can't work there. She gets pneumonia easily. I decided not to tell her about the gangs, OR the fact that you get pneumonia from a virus, not from a door or cold air. But secretly, I wish the gangs would come and drop her. Give me a break. Stupid management allows it. Would that be reverse age-discrimination?
I'm off the clock, and I check out a few things at the single open register. I walk to the door, walk out with another cashier. The empty cop car is still there. Otherwise the parking lot is almost dead. Apparently the gang members are all drinking with the birthday boy, or maybe they road tripped to Las Vegas. I'm going home.
What? No? OMG. What?!?!?
Finishing up another express lane order at Wal-Mart last night, this lady decided I needed to be filled in. Apparently, I was in mortal danger at the register 20 feet from the entrance. Mortal danger from idiot guests, someone fixing the stupid air curtain or another staff member wielding a boxed piece of furniture perhaps. A gang member...I highly doubt it. And if it were true -- what the heck was she doing shopping here tonight? Tempting fate?
"I haven't heard anything about it," I said. "Probably another email hoax."
"It's all over the news," she continued. "I got a text from my friend in Las Vegas."
Las Vegas. Las Vegas I might understand. But rural Arizona. Hmmm. Yep, a little wannabe action with fence-painters and high school kids who want to fight with every human being that "dis-ses" them. That's our gang activity. Except for maybe a few police officers who want to make the problem way bigger than it is to frighten us and get a few more gang-prevention grants.
It's now dark, and one of our staff members comes in to let us know there's a squad car parked in front of the store (on the sidewalk, between the doors, by the way). Oh, maybe they're concerned too? Not really. It's an EMPTY squad car, totally dark. Not too much of a deterrent effect from a parked empty vehicle.
I take my break, never even see anything suspicious. A couple of college guys with a case of beer and Jager. The first guy to pull his ID turns 21 today. I decide not to warn them about the gang slayings. Not that they'd care.
A little over an hour to go on my shift. I'm operating one of the good registers. I get told to go back by the door because one of the old lady cashiers can't work there. She gets pneumonia easily. I decided not to tell her about the gangs, OR the fact that you get pneumonia from a virus, not from a door or cold air. But secretly, I wish the gangs would come and drop her. Give me a break. Stupid management allows it. Would that be reverse age-discrimination?
I'm off the clock, and I check out a few things at the single open register. I walk to the door, walk out with another cashier. The empty cop car is still there. Otherwise the parking lot is almost dead. Apparently the gang members are all drinking with the birthday boy, or maybe they road tripped to Las Vegas. I'm going home.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
It's beginning to look a lot like ... Election Day
I know there are four seasons -- Summer, Back to School, Halloween and Christmas. I know this by working in retail too long. Way too long. Since Halloween is now officially five days past, it's beginning to look (and sound) a lot like Christmas.
In the front of the store, it's still Wal-Mart commercials ad nauseum. "I'm Manny, chairman of Mannyphone" says the surly guy from his scooter, hawking pay-as-you-go cell phone service. But hang around the edges, the back of the store and the Christmas village that used to be the garden center, and you'll hear Christmas music. Hey, that's the last thing I want to hear when I've cast my ballot and want to know who's won.
I'm OK with putting up the Christmas displays. Some people want to start shopping early. Besides, what do you put in the empty Halloween display shelves? Some people are just far more ready for Christmas than me. Like the couple who have already bought $600+ in Christmas toys, electronics and decor, and told me that's just the start. Most of us aren't going to have the finances this year, and having that shoved in our faces for months will be nothing but annoying. It will make me want to avoid that area like men avoid lingerie.
There's a tall, skinny tree in the entry with huge ornaments -- the kind that every passing toddler thinks are toys. There are signs pointing to the Christmas section (as if it moved to frozen foods this year?). Lots of Hannah Montana Christmas clothing (big surprise, after Hannah Montana back-to-school and Halloween stuff). And now, each checkout light is topped by a large, green cardboard Christmas package. Hmm...all green. Not red and green? Not silver, gold, blue, green and red?
Deck the checkouts with big, green boxes...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
50 days to Christmas, clock says...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
Seven weeks of Christmas madness...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
Tire center's still and ad-less...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
In the front of the store, it's still Wal-Mart commercials ad nauseum. "I'm Manny, chairman of Mannyphone" says the surly guy from his scooter, hawking pay-as-you-go cell phone service. But hang around the edges, the back of the store and the Christmas village that used to be the garden center, and you'll hear Christmas music. Hey, that's the last thing I want to hear when I've cast my ballot and want to know who's won.
I'm OK with putting up the Christmas displays. Some people want to start shopping early. Besides, what do you put in the empty Halloween display shelves? Some people are just far more ready for Christmas than me. Like the couple who have already bought $600+ in Christmas toys, electronics and decor, and told me that's just the start. Most of us aren't going to have the finances this year, and having that shoved in our faces for months will be nothing but annoying. It will make me want to avoid that area like men avoid lingerie.
There's a tall, skinny tree in the entry with huge ornaments -- the kind that every passing toddler thinks are toys. There are signs pointing to the Christmas section (as if it moved to frozen foods this year?). Lots of Hannah Montana Christmas clothing (big surprise, after Hannah Montana back-to-school and Halloween stuff). And now, each checkout light is topped by a large, green cardboard Christmas package. Hmm...all green. Not red and green? Not silver, gold, blue, green and red?
Deck the checkouts with big, green boxes...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
50 days to Christmas, clock says...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
Seven weeks of Christmas madness...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la...
Tire center's still and ad-less...Tra, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
Thursday, July 10, 2008
What not to wear, even in Wal-Mart
This has been the week of amazing apparel -- not ours, but the stuff coming in the door. First, there's a large conference in town, so each evening, we get a flood of folks coming in the door for food, dressing very well. Suits, shirts with ties, dress pants, even down to little ones. It's nice to see families so dressed up.
They make a wonderful contrast to our usual crowd. OK, this is a store. Not a street corner, not a bedroom, not the beach. A sign to that effect might be a good addition to the entry.
If you were a parent, bringing your little ones into a store where we sell chemicals, automobile batteries, items in glass bottles, etc., wouldn't you insist that they wear shoes? I thought so. Still, every day, parents bring in little ones, barefoot, throw them into carts and start their shopping. Halfway through the store, little ones get restless, beg to get out of cart, and parents forget "no shoes, no shirt, no service." Better yet, put them in skate shoes so they can fall on hard concrete.
There's the usual mob of kids straight from the pool, still in suits. And in the evening, kids in pajamas and slippers. Sometimes not just kids -- it's a college kid thing, too. And occasionally adult women. Apparently, "I forgot something, and it wasn't just milk. It was too much effort to make myself socially acceptable."
None of them even draw a double take anymore. But a couple of folks did. The first were three sets of two girls who came through self-check. All about 19-22, with large hairdos, wildly-colored overdone makeup and odd layered dresses and heels. By the third set, the "Grease" track "Beauty School Dropout" was firmly planted in my head as I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud!
But the week's badge went to the mom who was wearing green stretch shorts with purple flowers on the leg, about 3 sizes too small. They were so tight they outlined her crack and every wrinkle of varicose veins and cellulose. She was with a teen daughter. Now most teens are pretty oversensitive about appearing in public with their parents. If this one was, I give her an "A" for not keeping a 30 foot barrier between her mom and herself.
The circus is in town. It isn't at Wal-Mart. But it seems that way.
They make a wonderful contrast to our usual crowd. OK, this is a store. Not a street corner, not a bedroom, not the beach. A sign to that effect might be a good addition to the entry.
If you were a parent, bringing your little ones into a store where we sell chemicals, automobile batteries, items in glass bottles, etc., wouldn't you insist that they wear shoes? I thought so. Still, every day, parents bring in little ones, barefoot, throw them into carts and start their shopping. Halfway through the store, little ones get restless, beg to get out of cart, and parents forget "no shoes, no shirt, no service." Better yet, put them in skate shoes so they can fall on hard concrete.
There's the usual mob of kids straight from the pool, still in suits. And in the evening, kids in pajamas and slippers. Sometimes not just kids -- it's a college kid thing, too. And occasionally adult women. Apparently, "I forgot something, and it wasn't just milk. It was too much effort to make myself socially acceptable."
None of them even draw a double take anymore. But a couple of folks did. The first were three sets of two girls who came through self-check. All about 19-22, with large hairdos, wildly-colored overdone makeup and odd layered dresses and heels. By the third set, the "Grease" track "Beauty School Dropout" was firmly planted in my head as I bit my lip to keep from laughing out loud!
But the week's badge went to the mom who was wearing green stretch shorts with purple flowers on the leg, about 3 sizes too small. They were so tight they outlined her crack and every wrinkle of varicose veins and cellulose. She was with a teen daughter. Now most teens are pretty oversensitive about appearing in public with their parents. If this one was, I give her an "A" for not keeping a 30 foot barrier between her mom and herself.
The circus is in town. It isn't at Wal-Mart. But it seems that way.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Monday, Monday
I'd take any Monday like this.
Would you rather be slammed until you can't breathe, or so slow you have to find something to look busy? Slammed is good.
For whatever reason, the moon's cycle, post-holiday, a church conference, whatever, the fates collided to make the post-July 4th weekend Monday a very busy night. Fortunately, regular registers all night. When the belt is full, I'm happy.
Six hours passes like a dream when you don't have time to think. That doesn't mean you don't have oddballs. Crying children, communication issues, strange questions. Last night must have been a record for "where do I find large packages of candy?" Past the cards and stationery. If you get to the bikes, you went too far. Imagine directions in real life like that:
Would you rather be slammed until you can't breathe, or so slow you have to find something to look busy? Slammed is good.
For whatever reason, the moon's cycle, post-holiday, a church conference, whatever, the fates collided to make the post-July 4th weekend Monday a very busy night. Fortunately, regular registers all night. When the belt is full, I'm happy.
Six hours passes like a dream when you don't have time to think. That doesn't mean you don't have oddballs. Crying children, communication issues, strange questions. Last night must have been a record for "where do I find large packages of candy?" Past the cards and stationery. If you get to the bikes, you went too far. Imagine directions in real life like that:
- Past the school and the church, if you've come to the road construction, you've gone too far (Road construction in northern Arizona is just atrocious this time of year. 14 miles of hell on Interstate 17 yesterday, but I digress).
- Past the terrible twos and kindergarten. If you get to graduation, you've gone too far.
- Past the receptionist and two offices. If you get to the boring guy with the droopy mustache, you've gone too far (and Lord help you!).
Old guy brings a bunch of things to the register, including cheapo brand oil. At $145 a barrel, he's worried about the cost of a quart? But he was. It was stocked in two different places with two different prices. Difference, about 8 cents. But he wanted the cheaper price. As he's rambling on about oil and store pricing practices, the next gaggle of girls are chattering in Spanish. They don't notice their chocolate bars have fallen over their clothes, over the divider, into oil man's order. I've already completed his sale when I realize that chocolate bars are now on his receipt. Since I can't do a refund at my register anymore, I have to send him to customer service for his $2 back. If either group had paid any attention to their purchases, it wouldn't have happened. And if I had been any more comatose, oilman would have ended up with chattering ladies' PMS remedy!
Bags. Not paper or plastic, but cloth. From any store, but the common denominator is, they don't fit our bagging stations. So you try setting them up, wrapping the handles so they stay. They set off the self-check alarms because of their extra weight. They slow down the cashiers. The only way they work is if customers assist.
Wal-Mart brains could have devised a way to make this work before pushing an earth-friendly initiative. I hear we're gaining little flowery design logos and losing the hyphen/star in Wal-Mart. Frankly, lose the flowery stuff, the slogans, the marginal ... just keep focusing on saving people money.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
Answers, please
It's bad when a customer can't find a product. It's worse when they can't find someone in a department to help them with an individual service. Worst -- long lines at the checkout.
I hate being compared to K-Mart, because it's so far from the truth. K-Mart -- few customers, one checkout and every 10 minute announcements of "you can also check out at the service desk." Wal-Mart -- lots of customers, lots of help, but sometimes more customers than help.
Welcome to the pre-holiday.
There are guests stocking up for the holidays. Guests who want to stay away from stores on the holidays. And the regular crowd. That made for a busy Wednesday. Guests think we're understaffed. And we are. But there are crowd management skills. Send CSM's to registers. Send back-up "service" cashiers to registers. Call managers to registers. And this is on top of 2 express lanes, 2 sets of self-checks, registers in jewelry/sporting goods/electronics and a half dozen regular registers. It takes the CSM's hours to figure this out, and by then, some of our guests are spitting mad.
A cart full of groceries in the self-check is a pretty good indication that things are backed up elsewhere. And it multiplies. When a guest takes a full cart into self-check, three more guests that could have used these "fast lanes" wait, vent and start looking for options. "Can I check out here (the pay station)?" Nope -- My job is to watch and assist the four customers having issues at these registers. And they had issues.
"This barcode won't scan." Nope, because it's a shipping code. The regular UPC is here."Where's the ice?" Both doors. "Do you carry comforters?" Yes, in domestics, but comforters in THIS weather? What are you thinking? "Do I have to lift this 50-pound bag of dog food?" Fortunately, not. Pull the sticker and scan it, then hit "skip bagging." "Why does the machine keep locking up?" "Because you keep hitting "skip bagging," then put the item in the bag.
I know when a self-check won't read my associate barcode, it's equally stubborn about reading any UPC. So while I'm watching all the registers, I'm especially attentive to that one. Which either pleases or annoys the guest, depending on his/her level of independence. I've even gotten a "am I doing something wrong?" comment for hovering around them.
I can't say it, but "not yet" comes to mind. Give you 30 seconds. I agree with a handful of our guests who tell me the best move Wal-Mart could take is to remove the self-checks. Get back to real customer service. One guest told me his friend was waiting in line at another store that has self-checks and a manager came up to him and suggested she go over and use the self-checks. Her reply: "I suppose you want me to stock the shelves and sweep the floor next?" I wish I had heard that. I would have been on the floor!
I hate being compared to K-Mart, because it's so far from the truth. K-Mart -- few customers, one checkout and every 10 minute announcements of "you can also check out at the service desk." Wal-Mart -- lots of customers, lots of help, but sometimes more customers than help.
Welcome to the pre-holiday.
There are guests stocking up for the holidays. Guests who want to stay away from stores on the holidays. And the regular crowd. That made for a busy Wednesday. Guests think we're understaffed. And we are. But there are crowd management skills. Send CSM's to registers. Send back-up "service" cashiers to registers. Call managers to registers. And this is on top of 2 express lanes, 2 sets of self-checks, registers in jewelry/sporting goods/electronics and a half dozen regular registers. It takes the CSM's hours to figure this out, and by then, some of our guests are spitting mad.
A cart full of groceries in the self-check is a pretty good indication that things are backed up elsewhere. And it multiplies. When a guest takes a full cart into self-check, three more guests that could have used these "fast lanes" wait, vent and start looking for options. "Can I check out here (the pay station)?" Nope -- My job is to watch and assist the four customers having issues at these registers. And they had issues.
"This barcode won't scan." Nope, because it's a shipping code. The regular UPC is here."Where's the ice?" Both doors. "Do you carry comforters?" Yes, in domestics, but comforters in THIS weather? What are you thinking? "Do I have to lift this 50-pound bag of dog food?" Fortunately, not. Pull the sticker and scan it, then hit "skip bagging." "Why does the machine keep locking up?" "Because you keep hitting "skip bagging," then put the item in the bag.
I know when a self-check won't read my associate barcode, it's equally stubborn about reading any UPC. So while I'm watching all the registers, I'm especially attentive to that one. Which either pleases or annoys the guest, depending on his/her level of independence. I've even gotten a "am I doing something wrong?" comment for hovering around them.
I can't say it, but "not yet" comes to mind. Give you 30 seconds. I agree with a handful of our guests who tell me the best move Wal-Mart could take is to remove the self-checks. Get back to real customer service. One guest told me his friend was waiting in line at another store that has self-checks and a manager came up to him and suggested she go over and use the self-checks. Her reply: "I suppose you want me to stock the shelves and sweep the floor next?" I wish I had heard that. I would have been on the floor!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Like Money in the Bank...sort of
Credit cards. Hmm. No real surprise here that financial overlord Wal-Mart would get into a plethora of financial services. There are Discover cards, regular Wal-Mart cards, and several types of reloadable debit cards, as well as money orders and wire transfers. But cashiers are now a strategy for marketing these services.
For years, the registers have had signage and fliers for our credit cards. But they always advocated for applying at a kiosk or online. Now, go ahead and hold up our cashiers and the five guests behind you by applying during your checkout. Just go through these easy 15 steps and you too can have instant credit.
Apparently, each store was to try to market the cards. Some bright store got the idea of putting up a gazebo on the main aisle and pushing cards. That probably sold more gazebos than credit cards. ("Look, Henry, we need one of those." "No Martha, we don't need another piece of plastic." "No, Henry, the blue gazebo. Wouldn't it be wonderful for the backyard?") Our store put up the gazebo and put forms on a table, but forgot one important piece of marketing -- the salespeople. I would be surprised if it netted one application. It came down about a week later.
Now, besides the "get $20 back" (by mail, not at the register) and "no interest for one year" (if you buy $250+ in one trip), each register has a little reminder: "Ask every customer if they would like to apply for a credit card." Sure -- every cashier does this just like every cashier asks guests if they would like to buy a Children's Miracle Network balloon.
Imagine a Sunday afternoon, your line loaded up, and you try to sell those young parents on instant plastic. "You need this, you want this. I know when I was your age, we screwed up our credit badly by having these and not paying them. Every young parent should have some." If Wal-Mart wants to push plastic, they can hire some sales pushers to hawk them at the door. Why do the cashiers have to assume one more job?
Then there are reloadable cards. I'm not sure everyone understands the temporary card, the permanent card, and the reload options. I tried to reload one some time ago, and it wouldn't work. A few weeks ago, I tried another one. It worked, I gave him the receipt, and the guest looked at me like something was wrong. "Where's the card?"
"I gave you back the account number and scannable code. There wasn't anything else."
"Don't I get a card?
Oh, boy. He had a temporary card, never got the permanent one and now I've put hundreds of dollars on an account that I can't refund.
I called a customer service manager, and she took him to the courtesy desk. Later she came back and tried to cancel the original transaction -- which failed miserably. They headed back to the courtesy desk. I never heard what happened. Easiest options -- get a checking account with a Visa or MasterCard debit card or buy a gift card.
For years, the registers have had signage and fliers for our credit cards. But they always advocated for applying at a kiosk or online. Now, go ahead and hold up our cashiers and the five guests behind you by applying during your checkout. Just go through these easy 15 steps and you too can have instant credit.
Apparently, each store was to try to market the cards. Some bright store got the idea of putting up a gazebo on the main aisle and pushing cards. That probably sold more gazebos than credit cards. ("Look, Henry, we need one of those." "No Martha, we don't need another piece of plastic." "No, Henry, the blue gazebo. Wouldn't it be wonderful for the backyard?") Our store put up the gazebo and put forms on a table, but forgot one important piece of marketing -- the salespeople. I would be surprised if it netted one application. It came down about a week later.
Now, besides the "get $20 back" (by mail, not at the register) and "no interest for one year" (if you buy $250+ in one trip), each register has a little reminder: "Ask every customer if they would like to apply for a credit card." Sure -- every cashier does this just like every cashier asks guests if they would like to buy a Children's Miracle Network balloon.
Imagine a Sunday afternoon, your line loaded up, and you try to sell those young parents on instant plastic. "You need this, you want this. I know when I was your age, we screwed up our credit badly by having these and not paying them. Every young parent should have some." If Wal-Mart wants to push plastic, they can hire some sales pushers to hawk them at the door. Why do the cashiers have to assume one more job?
Then there are reloadable cards. I'm not sure everyone understands the temporary card, the permanent card, and the reload options. I tried to reload one some time ago, and it wouldn't work. A few weeks ago, I tried another one. It worked, I gave him the receipt, and the guest looked at me like something was wrong. "Where's the card?"
"I gave you back the account number and scannable code. There wasn't anything else."
"Don't I get a card?
Oh, boy. He had a temporary card, never got the permanent one and now I've put hundreds of dollars on an account that I can't refund.
I called a customer service manager, and she took him to the courtesy desk. Later she came back and tried to cancel the original transaction -- which failed miserably. They headed back to the courtesy desk. I never heard what happened. Easiest options -- get a checking account with a Visa or MasterCard debit card or buy a gift card.
Ghost in the Machine
Well, the good thing is, they've stopped sending me to departments unknown. No, no one paid attention to my complaints or got a clue. The real reason? The "scorecard."
The scorecard is the computer in Bentonville trying to determine what stores thousands of miles away are doing wrong. How many cashiers? What registers? What time? How fast did they run from the timeclock to the front (hmm -- why isn't there a timeclock in front for cashiers)? A perfect score is 100. Our store wasn't perfect, but now, pleasing the Bentonville data cruncher is the most important goal. No matter what.
No matter that no one is using any of the four self-check registers and there are lines six deep on the most popular cashier-staffed registers. Bentonville says keep the fast lanes operating from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. No matter than the express lane cashiers are twiddling their thumbs -- we will have great customer service if we have the "correct" number of those lanes open. The daily staffing chart tells exactly how many of each kind of register should be open, every hour. Even if we don't have that many cashiers -- we solve that problem by pulling people from the rest of the building.
Ingenious managers solve the issue by having pseudo-cashiers sign onto registers but leave the lights off. Computer thinks register is staffed -- higher score. Sign on, then go cover the door. Sign on, then run these items back to the correct department. Sign on, then help the guest to the car with her three carts. Sign on, then go. Eventually, the register logs this inactive person off, unless the neighboring cashier is enlisted to go tap a few keys on the empty station and keep the ghost operator active. It's a numbers game, and by the numbers, the store has an "A" this week.
The scorecard is the computer in Bentonville trying to determine what stores thousands of miles away are doing wrong. How many cashiers? What registers? What time? How fast did they run from the timeclock to the front (hmm -- why isn't there a timeclock in front for cashiers)? A perfect score is 100. Our store wasn't perfect, but now, pleasing the Bentonville data cruncher is the most important goal. No matter what.
No matter that no one is using any of the four self-check registers and there are lines six deep on the most popular cashier-staffed registers. Bentonville says keep the fast lanes operating from 7 a.m. to 11 p.m. No matter than the express lane cashiers are twiddling their thumbs -- we will have great customer service if we have the "correct" number of those lanes open. The daily staffing chart tells exactly how many of each kind of register should be open, every hour. Even if we don't have that many cashiers -- we solve that problem by pulling people from the rest of the building.
Ingenious managers solve the issue by having pseudo-cashiers sign onto registers but leave the lights off. Computer thinks register is staffed -- higher score. Sign on, then go cover the door. Sign on, then run these items back to the correct department. Sign on, then help the guest to the car with her three carts. Sign on, then go. Eventually, the register logs this inactive person off, unless the neighboring cashier is enlisted to go tap a few keys on the empty station and keep the ghost operator active. It's a numbers game, and by the numbers, the store has an "A" this week.
No, no, a thousand times, no!
I have enough parental experience to know you tell children what you want them to do, not just tell them "Don't do (whatever it is they ARE doing)." I mistakenly thought that interaction might work at Wal-Mart.
(By the way, yes I am alive and still "blue." I'm pretty sure that if I keep working at Wal-Mart, my upper torso will take on a navy hue, permanently. But it's still financially necessary, even if I didn't expect to still be here.)
Tonight pushed the limits of my patience. I wasn't on the floor 1 minute and I had my first interaction of this kind. Preschooler riding bike through ladies foundations. Hispanic. Only a 50/50 chance he would understand my words, but the body language and gestures should do it, I figured.
I intercepted him about the time he reached one of his relatives. "He can't ride the bike," I said, motioning for him to get off. "He needs to walk the bike in the store. It's not safe."
Little boy understood the message and didn't like it. He started to whine. None of his family took any steps to get him off the bike. I repeated my request. Then I made another try, to the relative who seemed to understand me. "I could take the bike up to the front registers, and it would be waiting for you when you finish shopping."
Nope, that wouldn't work. Not sure if that was because little boy wasn't going to surrender said bike and no one was going to make him, or because they had no plans to buy the bike -- it was simply entertainment for him while Mom, sisters, aunts, etc. were shopping for bras and panties. But the boy stayed on the bike.
Fine -- looks like I'm going to need to go get a manager. By the way, did I forget to mention little boy was riding barefoot? I went to the front to get my customer service manager, who could decide whether to confront the family herself or call a store manager. At that moment, family comes to front of store, with little boy still riding, right into the checkout aisle. Guests jump from his path.
I hope the family uses more restraint when he comes home and wants to ride the bike without shoes into traffic.
A little while later, it was the tobacco aisle. But handing out death sticks wasn't the end of my worries. I looked up at the guest looking for 25 packs of "Reds" (Marlboro full flavor kings, the most common cigarette people smoke around here) and looked straight into a hand covered with a ball python. OK, I didn't know it was a ball python at the time, but a fellow cashier quickly filled me in. I finished the order and made a request -- "next time, no snakes. We can only have assistance animals in the store."
Wise-cracking fellow cashier: "A seeing-eye snake?"
Actually, we deal with the animal issue every day. Guest with new dog, maybe even purchased in our parking lot (we try to run puppy peddlers off, but it happens). "But he can't stay in the car alone. I just came in for dog food." I recall one night when I was watching the door. Someone tried that line. Naive associate I was, I volunteered to watch Fido while he ran in for "just a bag of dog food." Twenty minutes later he emerged with dog food AND a bed, dishes, toys, treats and a few purchases for himself.
Most of the time, it's little ladies with their tiny, miniature, toy something-or-another stuffed in their purse. They blow by the greeter, then open their purse while they shop. But somehow they still have Furball in the purse when they reach the checkout.
"You know, ma'am, it's a violation of the health code to have animals in the store, unless they're assistance animals," I say.
Lady nods, and it's the cute nod, as if to say "I get told that every time I'm in here and I'll keep doing it."
(By the way, yes I am alive and still "blue." I'm pretty sure that if I keep working at Wal-Mart, my upper torso will take on a navy hue, permanently. But it's still financially necessary, even if I didn't expect to still be here.)
Tonight pushed the limits of my patience. I wasn't on the floor 1 minute and I had my first interaction of this kind. Preschooler riding bike through ladies foundations. Hispanic. Only a 50/50 chance he would understand my words, but the body language and gestures should do it, I figured.
I intercepted him about the time he reached one of his relatives. "He can't ride the bike," I said, motioning for him to get off. "He needs to walk the bike in the store. It's not safe."
Little boy understood the message and didn't like it. He started to whine. None of his family took any steps to get him off the bike. I repeated my request. Then I made another try, to the relative who seemed to understand me. "I could take the bike up to the front registers, and it would be waiting for you when you finish shopping."
Nope, that wouldn't work. Not sure if that was because little boy wasn't going to surrender said bike and no one was going to make him, or because they had no plans to buy the bike -- it was simply entertainment for him while Mom, sisters, aunts, etc. were shopping for bras and panties. But the boy stayed on the bike.
Fine -- looks like I'm going to need to go get a manager. By the way, did I forget to mention little boy was riding barefoot? I went to the front to get my customer service manager, who could decide whether to confront the family herself or call a store manager. At that moment, family comes to front of store, with little boy still riding, right into the checkout aisle. Guests jump from his path.
I hope the family uses more restraint when he comes home and wants to ride the bike without shoes into traffic.
A little while later, it was the tobacco aisle. But handing out death sticks wasn't the end of my worries. I looked up at the guest looking for 25 packs of "Reds" (Marlboro full flavor kings, the most common cigarette people smoke around here) and looked straight into a hand covered with a ball python. OK, I didn't know it was a ball python at the time, but a fellow cashier quickly filled me in. I finished the order and made a request -- "next time, no snakes. We can only have assistance animals in the store."
Wise-cracking fellow cashier: "A seeing-eye snake?"
Actually, we deal with the animal issue every day. Guest with new dog, maybe even purchased in our parking lot (we try to run puppy peddlers off, but it happens). "But he can't stay in the car alone. I just came in for dog food." I recall one night when I was watching the door. Someone tried that line. Naive associate I was, I volunteered to watch Fido while he ran in for "just a bag of dog food." Twenty minutes later he emerged with dog food AND a bed, dishes, toys, treats and a few purchases for himself.
Most of the time, it's little ladies with their tiny, miniature, toy something-or-another stuffed in their purse. They blow by the greeter, then open their purse while they shop. But somehow they still have Furball in the purse when they reach the checkout.
"You know, ma'am, it's a violation of the health code to have animals in the store, unless they're assistance animals," I say.
Lady nods, and it's the cute nod, as if to say "I get told that every time I'm in here and I'll keep doing it."
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Buy it, or don't buy it already
Cold food needs to stay in the refrigerator or freezer. It's pretty simple -- even my son figured it out after he got food poisoning from drinking left-out apple juice. But we dumped a half a cart load of meat, frozen and other perishables last night. A couple had a "form of payment problem" (read that "the card was declined"), and instead of coming back 20 minutes later, they returned 2 hours later, and still couldn't pay.
OK, where are the brains? Customers, cashiers, CSM's? After they didn't return in 20 minutes, wouldn't you have found somebody to sort the food, pull the perishables and at least put them in a cooler? But no, two carts of unsorted food sitting out for 2 hours. It wouldn't have been safe to sell to them at that point, anyway.
So I sorted -- perishable, now perished food in one cart, non-perishables in the other cart. Perishables to claim out and destroy, non-perishables to restock. I left the perishables for another cashier to tag, and left with the full cart of non-perishables to restock all over grocery. Break. 2 1/2 hours of doing nothing that I expected to do.
Now, rest of the night I ended up doing returns -- clearing out things that people returned, decided they didn't want when they came to the checkout, or left lying around the store. Department staff are supposed to come up and get it, but everyone is short-handed. So we take it to their department if their bins are overflowing. Here -- restock this! Unfortunately, most of them are waiting for us with another cart of mislaid stuff that guests have left all over their department. So it's an endless circle of delivery and pickup, ala FedEx. Big difference, if I worked at FedEx, my paycheck would be better!
OK, where are the brains? Customers, cashiers, CSM's? After they didn't return in 20 minutes, wouldn't you have found somebody to sort the food, pull the perishables and at least put them in a cooler? But no, two carts of unsorted food sitting out for 2 hours. It wouldn't have been safe to sell to them at that point, anyway.
So I sorted -- perishable, now perished food in one cart, non-perishables in the other cart. Perishables to claim out and destroy, non-perishables to restock. I left the perishables for another cashier to tag, and left with the full cart of non-perishables to restock all over grocery. Break. 2 1/2 hours of doing nothing that I expected to do.
Now, rest of the night I ended up doing returns -- clearing out things that people returned, decided they didn't want when they came to the checkout, or left lying around the store. Department staff are supposed to come up and get it, but everyone is short-handed. So we take it to their department if their bins are overflowing. Here -- restock this! Unfortunately, most of them are waiting for us with another cart of mislaid stuff that guests have left all over their department. So it's an endless circle of delivery and pickup, ala FedEx. Big difference, if I worked at FedEx, my paycheck would be better!
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
I wish I had lost control this time
I'm not a violent person, but last night's customer would have persuaded St. Francis of Assisi to throw blows. How I escorted this woman to the door without putting her on the tile, I'll never know.
Without going into specifics, the photo department, me, a CSM all told her the same thing: If the deal is online, buy it online. The brick and mortar stores don't get the same deals. But she's already spent $3,000+ in our photo department (in the last week, last month, last year or her lifetime, she didn't say), and she expects she'll get what she wants.
When she doesn't, she resorts to a 4-year-old's tactics. She calls names. My CSM was the target. The name -- doesn't belong in a family blog. His verbal reaction and my facial expression matched. I could not believe this woman would drop to this unbelievably rude level. Then she repeated it, with a description. I finished her order -- +$700, and I would have liked to cancel it, tell her we didn't need her business again and tell her to go buy her camera, groceries and grill somewhere else. But her husband conveniently had started walking out the door with the cart. Probably knew what was going to happen and didn't want to be near her.
My CSM handled it better than I did -- he walked away. I finished the transaction and walked her to the door while she continued to berate our staff. I hope she never does shop here again. But I've checked her out dozens of times -- she will be back within the week -- probably tonight. Too bad the trash doesn't blow away.
Without going into specifics, the photo department, me, a CSM all told her the same thing: If the deal is online, buy it online. The brick and mortar stores don't get the same deals. But she's already spent $3,000+ in our photo department (in the last week, last month, last year or her lifetime, she didn't say), and she expects she'll get what she wants.
When she doesn't, she resorts to a 4-year-old's tactics. She calls names. My CSM was the target. The name -- doesn't belong in a family blog. His verbal reaction and my facial expression matched. I could not believe this woman would drop to this unbelievably rude level. Then she repeated it, with a description. I finished her order -- +$700, and I would have liked to cancel it, tell her we didn't need her business again and tell her to go buy her camera, groceries and grill somewhere else. But her husband conveniently had started walking out the door with the cart. Probably knew what was going to happen and didn't want to be near her.
My CSM handled it better than I did -- he walked away. I finished the transaction and walked her to the door while she continued to berate our staff. I hope she never does shop here again. But I've checked her out dozens of times -- she will be back within the week -- probably tonight. Too bad the trash doesn't blow away.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Cutting it a little close
It's 7:55 and my break is in 15 minutes. Lady with really loaded shopping cart and two boys in tow pulls up to my register. Almost immediately, my CSM comes over and shuts off my light. "Go to break after this guest."
It will be a while -- she's price-matching almost everything. After taking off a few bags and loading them into shopping cart, two boys head for Family Fun Center. More like "Give Kids Loads of Quarters and Don't Bug Me While Shopping" Center, but I digress. Mom looks vaguely familiar, but we keep talking. I keep hoping something she says will refresh my memory about where I've met her.
This is a really large order, but Mom is on the cell phone. Not talking, but repeatedly dialing. Kind of weird. As the belt starts to get emptier, she explains. Every other week, she gets a check that's deposited into her bank account at 8:00. It's 8:05, still no check. Keep scanning, she says. It will come. It ALWAYS does.
OK, my checks are direct deposited, but they come in the middle of the night, sometime. (I try to be asleep when that happens, but I doubt it's at the same moment every two weeks.) It's not at 8:00 a.m., and certainly not 8:00 P.M. There's a fair share of frozen food here. Keep scanning? Really?
The cart is getting full, the belt's now half empty, and still no check. Son #1 comes back and starts rummaging in the candy near the checkout. He comes up with a couple of sugar-laden items. Mom says he can pay for those as soon as she finishes. Few more items to go, still no check. Order finished, still no check. She tries to run the card, just to see if it went in and hasn't registered, card declined. We're looking at each other, she starts to be hesitant -- it's ALWAYS come at 8:00 before. Hmm, wonder if it might be safer to start shopping the DAY AFTER the check is supposed to come, or at least checking out closer to 9:00. I ask her if it would be OK to suspend the transaction so I can check out her son (and anyone else who happens by). My break time has come, and Mom realizes it -- "Sorry, I'm keeping you from your break."
"That's OK," I say. What I'm thinking is "This is way too much fun to turn over. I want to know how it's going to come out."
Son #2 comes back for more quarters. Mom starts digging in purse for cash. My CSM comes over and wants to know why I haven't gone to break yet, and suspends transaction. I ring up her son's candy, and she says it has to be in. I put suspended transaction back in, and card is declined once again.
Once a transaction is suspended and re-scanned, a cashier can't re-suspend it. If I abort it, I'll have to re-scan everything (or more likely, some other hapless cashier will. I'll be on break.)
Mom checks with son #1. He has a $20 bill. She's got some money, and a little more money in the car, and she says she's going to run to the car and get it.
More than half the time, when people "go to the car" after a wallet, checkbook or cash, it's not really there. It's an excuse to escape, and we're going to have a lot of groceries to put back. Kids have now gone back to the game room, so maybe she is coming back. Kids come back to register to find out where Mom went, and head out the door. I see those chances slipping away.
But there she comes. Not looking very excited. There wasn't very much money in the car. She gets back on the phone, more frantic dialing to her bank. And finally, 8:40, check is deposited. We finish the transaction, and I head to break. She promises not to cut it so close next time, but you know she will. I just will try not to be the cashier that rings her up.
It will be a while -- she's price-matching almost everything. After taking off a few bags and loading them into shopping cart, two boys head for Family Fun Center. More like "Give Kids Loads of Quarters and Don't Bug Me While Shopping" Center, but I digress. Mom looks vaguely familiar, but we keep talking. I keep hoping something she says will refresh my memory about where I've met her.
This is a really large order, but Mom is on the cell phone. Not talking, but repeatedly dialing. Kind of weird. As the belt starts to get emptier, she explains. Every other week, she gets a check that's deposited into her bank account at 8:00. It's 8:05, still no check. Keep scanning, she says. It will come. It ALWAYS does.
OK, my checks are direct deposited, but they come in the middle of the night, sometime. (I try to be asleep when that happens, but I doubt it's at the same moment every two weeks.) It's not at 8:00 a.m., and certainly not 8:00 P.M. There's a fair share of frozen food here. Keep scanning? Really?
The cart is getting full, the belt's now half empty, and still no check. Son #1 comes back and starts rummaging in the candy near the checkout. He comes up with a couple of sugar-laden items. Mom says he can pay for those as soon as she finishes. Few more items to go, still no check. Order finished, still no check. She tries to run the card, just to see if it went in and hasn't registered, card declined. We're looking at each other, she starts to be hesitant -- it's ALWAYS come at 8:00 before. Hmm, wonder if it might be safer to start shopping the DAY AFTER the check is supposed to come, or at least checking out closer to 9:00. I ask her if it would be OK to suspend the transaction so I can check out her son (and anyone else who happens by). My break time has come, and Mom realizes it -- "Sorry, I'm keeping you from your break."
"That's OK," I say. What I'm thinking is "This is way too much fun to turn over. I want to know how it's going to come out."
Son #2 comes back for more quarters. Mom starts digging in purse for cash. My CSM comes over and wants to know why I haven't gone to break yet, and suspends transaction. I ring up her son's candy, and she says it has to be in. I put suspended transaction back in, and card is declined once again.
Once a transaction is suspended and re-scanned, a cashier can't re-suspend it. If I abort it, I'll have to re-scan everything (or more likely, some other hapless cashier will. I'll be on break.)
Mom checks with son #1. He has a $20 bill. She's got some money, and a little more money in the car, and she says she's going to run to the car and get it.
More than half the time, when people "go to the car" after a wallet, checkbook or cash, it's not really there. It's an excuse to escape, and we're going to have a lot of groceries to put back. Kids have now gone back to the game room, so maybe she is coming back. Kids come back to register to find out where Mom went, and head out the door. I see those chances slipping away.
But there she comes. Not looking very excited. There wasn't very much money in the car. She gets back on the phone, more frantic dialing to her bank. And finally, 8:40, check is deposited. We finish the transaction, and I head to break. She promises not to cut it so close next time, but you know she will. I just will try not to be the cashier that rings her up.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Is there a support group for that?
Some Wal-Mart Superstores have removed their fabric and craft department. Think about it -- I bought a nice blouse for $5 on the clearance rack last night. It would have cost me more than that in fabric and buttons to make it myself (plus years of sewing lessons, but I digress). My store hasn't given up on crafts. And last night, I found out why.
Scrapbooking addicts.
I am convinced that a few scrapbookers can single-handedly keep the department afloat. Last night, lovely young lady starts piling stuff on the belt. Piles of it. The clear cellophane sticker packs. 30 different kinds of peel and stick type. Plastic stencils. Colored brads.
"I know it's going to be about $300, but I love this stuff."
Wow. $300. My part-time check at Wal-Mart isn't much more than that. This stuff isn't contagious, is it?
The yellow plastic stencil of the beach scene gets tangled with some other yellow plastic stencil. I try to carefully free them -- she grabs the beach scene out of my hand. "Oh, that's going to be hard to do, but I probably won't use the surfer dude very often anyway." Surfer dude in scrapbook in Arizona? Probably highly unlikely, but go for it.
"Don't ya just love them?" she asks, as I scan Disney stickers by the handful.
Actually, no. I have a few Disney shirts, Disney stuffed animals I bought for my son years ago, but I'm not a princess or Tinkerbell fan. I smile and keep scanning.
"I have two whole suitcases of this at home."
I explain that I don't scrapbook, don't have time, work two jobs. Her plight doesn't do anything to change my mind. I would have piles of various stickers, stamps and fancy cutters that I would use very occasionally, then store in something. Truth be told, I'm trying to un-clutter my life. "You've got to make time," she trills.
No, I don't.
"Hi, I'm at Wal-Mart, checking out," she says to her cell phone. "I got a few more scrapbooking things off their clearance shelf."
A few more? Off the clearance shelf? That explains about four items on the belt. How about the other 83? Really. 87 items, almost all full price -- and today's price comes to $380 and some change. Wonder if she will share that info with whoever was on the other end of the phone?
Without choking or gagging at all, she runs her credit card.
If I had an extra $380 in my account, I'd do a weekend in California. Donate something to the food bank. Throw a party for my son and his friends. Bolster my church parking lot fund. Join a couple of friends in a Victoria's Secret shopping spree. Buy gas (OK, slightly overstated, but not far from the truth at over $3 per gallon). Not buy decorations for a photo album that will stay in my closet for eternity.
Somewhere, someone is creating "Scrapbookers' Anonymous." This lady is the future poster child.
Scrapbooking addicts.
I am convinced that a few scrapbookers can single-handedly keep the department afloat. Last night, lovely young lady starts piling stuff on the belt. Piles of it. The clear cellophane sticker packs. 30 different kinds of peel and stick type. Plastic stencils. Colored brads.
"I know it's going to be about $300, but I love this stuff."
Wow. $300. My part-time check at Wal-Mart isn't much more than that. This stuff isn't contagious, is it?
The yellow plastic stencil of the beach scene gets tangled with some other yellow plastic stencil. I try to carefully free them -- she grabs the beach scene out of my hand. "Oh, that's going to be hard to do, but I probably won't use the surfer dude very often anyway." Surfer dude in scrapbook in Arizona? Probably highly unlikely, but go for it.
"Don't ya just love them?" she asks, as I scan Disney stickers by the handful.
Actually, no. I have a few Disney shirts, Disney stuffed animals I bought for my son years ago, but I'm not a princess or Tinkerbell fan. I smile and keep scanning.
"I have two whole suitcases of this at home."
I explain that I don't scrapbook, don't have time, work two jobs. Her plight doesn't do anything to change my mind. I would have piles of various stickers, stamps and fancy cutters that I would use very occasionally, then store in something. Truth be told, I'm trying to un-clutter my life. "You've got to make time," she trills.
No, I don't.
"Hi, I'm at Wal-Mart, checking out," she says to her cell phone. "I got a few more scrapbooking things off their clearance shelf."
A few more? Off the clearance shelf? That explains about four items on the belt. How about the other 83? Really. 87 items, almost all full price -- and today's price comes to $380 and some change. Wonder if she will share that info with whoever was on the other end of the phone?
Without choking or gagging at all, she runs her credit card.
If I had an extra $380 in my account, I'd do a weekend in California. Donate something to the food bank. Throw a party for my son and his friends. Bolster my church parking lot fund. Join a couple of friends in a Victoria's Secret shopping spree. Buy gas (OK, slightly overstated, but not far from the truth at over $3 per gallon). Not buy decorations for a photo album that will stay in my closet for eternity.
Somewhere, someone is creating "Scrapbookers' Anonymous." This lady is the future poster child.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Go ahead and ask me
"Was your store clean today?"
"Was your cashier friendly"
"Did your cashier greet you?"
I'm a customer and I've just spent three hours in Wal-Mart. I'm feeding my toddler Goldfish crackers to stop another screaming fit. I couldn't find the dog food by the rest of the groceries, and when I did find it, I was concerned about all the recalls I've heard about. I just about got run over by an overzealous stocker with a pallet jack. I was fourth in line at the register and finally got my stuff loaded on the belt. Now I just want to stand here and let someone ring up my cartload of merchandise and get home. "Was your cashier friendly?"
Wal-Mart must be in sweeps season, like the Nielsen ratings. There are surveys on the card reader and surveys on the register tape. I have no idea whether the surveys will actually change anything in our store. Personally, considering the bathroom situation in our store, I will never answer the "Was your store clean today?" question "Yes." It is impossible to clean sandstone surface tile that 500 people walk on, drip on, track mud on. And when the definition of clean bathrooms to one of our maintenance people is "put up towel, fill TP holders, sweep a little and spray a lot of disinfectant and run," it's not getting better soon.
Outside of customer initiated surveys, we have Store Trak, a national telephone poll surveying company. They compared our prices, store appearance, guest assistance, etc. with other grocery and discount stores. We have a lock on the "low prices" category. But on store cleanliness and staff questions, we are constantly getting beat. Biggest? Sure. Most selection? Yes. But Wal-Mart has still not instilled enough pride in its troops to make us No. 1 in everything.
I admit, if I ran the store, a couple of staff would go away within the first 20 minutes. If you're really not happy working here, do us both a favor. Find something to do that makes you happy. It's almost as easy to put a smile on your face and welcome the people who pay your paycheck than to frown and work with constant attitude. A colleague and I were discussing a fellow staff member after she stomped past us at the beginning of her shift. "If she were any friendlier, it would be dangerous," she said. Apparently, night help is hard to come by. I've had customers walk past me, complaining about lack of service, or cashiers that don't say a word to them at the register. C'mon.
Sam Walton said something like "The feeling customers have when they leave your store determines how soon they'll be back." (After a recent trip to Target, I know how true that is, but I won't bash the competition.) The same is true for my store. Do your job, but what the heck -- why not spread some goodwill as you do it?
"Was your cashier friendly"
"Did your cashier greet you?"
I'm a customer and I've just spent three hours in Wal-Mart. I'm feeding my toddler Goldfish crackers to stop another screaming fit. I couldn't find the dog food by the rest of the groceries, and when I did find it, I was concerned about all the recalls I've heard about. I just about got run over by an overzealous stocker with a pallet jack. I was fourth in line at the register and finally got my stuff loaded on the belt. Now I just want to stand here and let someone ring up my cartload of merchandise and get home. "Was your cashier friendly?"
Wal-Mart must be in sweeps season, like the Nielsen ratings. There are surveys on the card reader and surveys on the register tape. I have no idea whether the surveys will actually change anything in our store. Personally, considering the bathroom situation in our store, I will never answer the "Was your store clean today?" question "Yes." It is impossible to clean sandstone surface tile that 500 people walk on, drip on, track mud on. And when the definition of clean bathrooms to one of our maintenance people is "put up towel, fill TP holders, sweep a little and spray a lot of disinfectant and run," it's not getting better soon.
Outside of customer initiated surveys, we have Store Trak, a national telephone poll surveying company. They compared our prices, store appearance, guest assistance, etc. with other grocery and discount stores. We have a lock on the "low prices" category. But on store cleanliness and staff questions, we are constantly getting beat. Biggest? Sure. Most selection? Yes. But Wal-Mart has still not instilled enough pride in its troops to make us No. 1 in everything.
I admit, if I ran the store, a couple of staff would go away within the first 20 minutes. If you're really not happy working here, do us both a favor. Find something to do that makes you happy. It's almost as easy to put a smile on your face and welcome the people who pay your paycheck than to frown and work with constant attitude. A colleague and I were discussing a fellow staff member after she stomped past us at the beginning of her shift. "If she were any friendlier, it would be dangerous," she said. Apparently, night help is hard to come by. I've had customers walk past me, complaining about lack of service, or cashiers that don't say a word to them at the register. C'mon.
Sam Walton said something like "The feeling customers have when they leave your store determines how soon they'll be back." (After a recent trip to Target, I know how true that is, but I won't bash the competition.) The same is true for my store. Do your job, but what the heck -- why not spread some goodwill as you do it?
Singing Irishman
Anything can happen to you at the register. Anything...although I'm still waiting for an alien abduction. I've gotta admit, I think that's getting closer.
I've been persecuted, proselytized and praised. I've had psuedo-conversations with tourists and other assorted guests. But I've never been serenaded...until this weekend. Couple in their 60s. Wife is unloading groceries from a full cart onto the belt. Husband is at the register, maybe to see if I overcharge them, maybe to wait until I fill a few bags to put them into the cart. So I think. Actually, he's just conversation-starved, I come to realize.
He starts quizzing me. Staring at my nametag -- "That's good Irish name." Actually, I didn't think so, but I am partly Irish. So I smile and nod, and he goes into a full Irish brogue. And asking me if I really know what "Erin Go Braugh" means. Doesn't it mean something about drink a lot of green beer on March 17? Not hardly. Then he starts into an Irish folk song -- while the six-bag carousel is full, and his wife is still unloading the cart. Had I been filling the belt, I would have added a roll of duct tape. We have those at registers, in the impulse merchandise. (Digressing, a guest just told me that duct tape is "The Force" because it's light on one side, dark on the other, and holds the universe together.)
No, I can't join in. Nor do I want to. I just check groceries as fast as I can scan. I think the best thoughts I can -- he's lonely, he could have been a mean jerk, he might actually get the idea and load bags if I start pulling them off. He does, but the banter continues. The lady finishes and pays. I smile and thank them, and realize I may get 10-15 minutes of him, but his partner has to hear that all the time. Lucky her.
I've been persecuted, proselytized and praised. I've had psuedo-conversations with tourists and other assorted guests. But I've never been serenaded...until this weekend. Couple in their 60s. Wife is unloading groceries from a full cart onto the belt. Husband is at the register, maybe to see if I overcharge them, maybe to wait until I fill a few bags to put them into the cart. So I think. Actually, he's just conversation-starved, I come to realize.
He starts quizzing me. Staring at my nametag -- "That's good Irish name." Actually, I didn't think so, but I am partly Irish. So I smile and nod, and he goes into a full Irish brogue. And asking me if I really know what "Erin Go Braugh" means. Doesn't it mean something about drink a lot of green beer on March 17? Not hardly. Then he starts into an Irish folk song -- while the six-bag carousel is full, and his wife is still unloading the cart. Had I been filling the belt, I would have added a roll of duct tape. We have those at registers, in the impulse merchandise. (Digressing, a guest just told me that duct tape is "The Force" because it's light on one side, dark on the other, and holds the universe together.)
No, I can't join in. Nor do I want to. I just check groceries as fast as I can scan. I think the best thoughts I can -- he's lonely, he could have been a mean jerk, he might actually get the idea and load bags if I start pulling them off. He does, but the banter continues. The lady finishes and pays. I smile and thank them, and realize I may get 10-15 minutes of him, but his partner has to hear that all the time. Lucky her.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Going where you've never gone before...
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.
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.
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."
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