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."
Monday, March 12, 2007
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?
Monday, February 26, 2007
It's 48 cents per pound, and that doesn't help me a bit
I grew up in a rural area and my mom had a huge garden. But she didn't grow everything. To this day, there are a few vegetables I don't recognize. And unless they are marked or in a bag, I'm going to have a time telling apart the various kinds of apples. OK, golden delicious, red delicious and Granny Smith are pretty easy. But is that mottled-looking one a Rome, a pink lady, a Jonagold or a gala? And then there are large and small of each variety. Applesauce sounds pretty good.
When I was in college, I applied for a cashier job at a local market. Part of the application was a produce test. Not common stuff -- the most obscure fruits and vegetables imaginable. I didn't get the job. Instead, I got a job putting housewares stuff on shelves and helping people pick out coffee makers.
It's nice that the growers place little stickers on apples to help cashiers tell them apart. Most produce carries a sticker with the 4- or 5-digit produce code. It's universal, by the way. Bananas are 4011 at Safeway, Kroger, SuperValu or good ol' Wal-Mart. And organic, on the vine tomatoes? 94664 no matter where you get them.
I have this little oddity -- I memorize stuff easily. I have phone numbers from 30 years ago stuck in my head, along with songs, dates, geographical locations I learned in grade school. Wisconsin has 72 counties, and I knew them all at one time. Still know most of them. So produce codes that I have to use pretty often? Toast. Other nearby cashiers know this -- "What's the code of those yellow peppers that look like jalapenos? Caribe peppers are 4772.
That doesn't mean I'm infallible. People bring me things I've never seen before and expect me to ring them up. Of course, those are the items without stickers. If they don't know what it is, if it's not in my "picture produce guide," I probably will have to send a customer service manager scrambling. Telling me something said 48 cents per pound isn't as helpful for inventory as punching in the right code -- although I will resort to department pricing if necessary.
Sunday took the cake -- maybe carrot cake? A customer had a selection of various produce. Couple of this, couple of that, a dozen little bags. First couple, no problem, common stuff. Garlic 4611, green beans 4066, avocados 4046. Then I hit some tomatoes. No stickers. Educated guess -- we sell lots of the hothouse Del Monte tomatoes -- 3151.
"That's not right."
"What?"
"Those tomatoes. That's way too much."
"I'm sorry. The tomatoes didn't have a produce code. Must have fallen off. Let me try another code."
"They didn't fall off. I took them off. I don't like stickers on my food."
I realized that the next 8 bags could be real fun with no stickers, so I quickly scanned the bags. Nothing that was going to be too challenging. I put the tomatoes in as the premium tomatoes -- which I figured would be more expensive. They were.
"Ma'am, do you remember how much the tomatoes were?"
"One dollar."
Uh oh. These were the Del Monte tomatoes, but sticker grabber lady saw the price for the small 3-packs and assumed it was the price per pound for these large hothouse grown ones. I explained the difference and after a bit, she remembered seeing the small tomatoes in 3-packs. "But I want these."
"OK, then we'll go back to the code for these tomatoes."
We had a couple more stutters over small vs. large lemons and small vs. large navel oranges. It could have been an ordeal for a cashier who didn't know the codes to begin with. Next time, I told her, take the stickers off at home when you wash them.
When I was in college, I applied for a cashier job at a local market. Part of the application was a produce test. Not common stuff -- the most obscure fruits and vegetables imaginable. I didn't get the job. Instead, I got a job putting housewares stuff on shelves and helping people pick out coffee makers.
It's nice that the growers place little stickers on apples to help cashiers tell them apart. Most produce carries a sticker with the 4- or 5-digit produce code. It's universal, by the way. Bananas are 4011 at Safeway, Kroger, SuperValu or good ol' Wal-Mart. And organic, on the vine tomatoes? 94664 no matter where you get them.
I have this little oddity -- I memorize stuff easily. I have phone numbers from 30 years ago stuck in my head, along with songs, dates, geographical locations I learned in grade school. Wisconsin has 72 counties, and I knew them all at one time. Still know most of them. So produce codes that I have to use pretty often? Toast. Other nearby cashiers know this -- "What's the code of those yellow peppers that look like jalapenos? Caribe peppers are 4772.
That doesn't mean I'm infallible. People bring me things I've never seen before and expect me to ring them up. Of course, those are the items without stickers. If they don't know what it is, if it's not in my "picture produce guide," I probably will have to send a customer service manager scrambling. Telling me something said 48 cents per pound isn't as helpful for inventory as punching in the right code -- although I will resort to department pricing if necessary.
Sunday took the cake -- maybe carrot cake? A customer had a selection of various produce. Couple of this, couple of that, a dozen little bags. First couple, no problem, common stuff. Garlic 4611, green beans 4066, avocados 4046. Then I hit some tomatoes. No stickers. Educated guess -- we sell lots of the hothouse Del Monte tomatoes -- 3151.
"That's not right."
"What?"
"Those tomatoes. That's way too much."
"I'm sorry. The tomatoes didn't have a produce code. Must have fallen off. Let me try another code."
"They didn't fall off. I took them off. I don't like stickers on my food."
I realized that the next 8 bags could be real fun with no stickers, so I quickly scanned the bags. Nothing that was going to be too challenging. I put the tomatoes in as the premium tomatoes -- which I figured would be more expensive. They were.
"Ma'am, do you remember how much the tomatoes were?"
"One dollar."
Uh oh. These were the Del Monte tomatoes, but sticker grabber lady saw the price for the small 3-packs and assumed it was the price per pound for these large hothouse grown ones. I explained the difference and after a bit, she remembered seeing the small tomatoes in 3-packs. "But I want these."
"OK, then we'll go back to the code for these tomatoes."
We had a couple more stutters over small vs. large lemons and small vs. large navel oranges. It could have been an ordeal for a cashier who didn't know the codes to begin with. Next time, I told her, take the stickers off at home when you wash them.
Friday, February 23, 2007
Shopping carts, anyone?
If Wal-Mart wants to pay me to check out people's groceries, that's great. If the store wants me to work for the same pay to be a people greeter, sit at a table, clean bathrooms or push carts, that's fine too. Put it another way that a friend states it: doors or windows, makes no difference to me.
When the store has been busy all day and goes dead in the evenings, cashiers get farmed out. Fold and straighten clothes in softlines. "Zone" toys. (Yes, "zone" is a verb at Wal-Mart. It means clean up after lazy customers and bratty kids that leave things all over, out of place. Put them back into prescribed places so someone else can mess it up again 5 minutes later). Giving people greeters a break is stand-around-and-smile duty. And then, there's "go push carts."
No, not push abandoned carts around the store. No, not do a carry-out for a customer. What the managers mean is, clean up all the stray carts from around the parking lot and bring them back to the entrance areas. This involves making a train of carts on the front of the little cart pusher engine and using a remote control to drive them in. Because it involves machinery, people have to be 18 to do the job, and what 18-year-old wants to be a cart pusher at Wal-Mart? So 20-, 30- and 40-somethings in other departments have to fill in for this chronically-understaffed job (the proper title is "guest clerk"). Our managers never send 70-year-old cashiers outside to push carts, which is probably some weird reverse age-discrimination, but that's another story.
Depending on the weather, this can be a nice outdoor change of pace, or a tremendous pain. It's February. It snows here. I work evenings. You figure it out. But worse yet, you are usually teamed with another person. Sometimes that's fun. Other times -- you would have been better off alone.
A couple of nights ago, it was the control freak. She had to have the remote, she had to tell me what I was doing wrong, she had to tell us where to go next. I finally just went off on my own and started lining up carts in the nearly deserted lot so she could get her kicks driving the cart pusher into them.
Worse yet, two nights before that, I was paired with a partner that couldn't grasp simple natural laws: gravity and inertia. Two things you must realize -- one, the cart pusher will stop on a dime, but the carts will keep rolling (into cart racks, cars, people....) And when our parking lot is not flat, carts will roll faster and easier downhill. She would take her finger off the button, the cart pusher would stop, and carts would keep going. Then, I'd have to grab them, and we'd have to get the pusher lined up again.
I wish all of our customers would get into the "go for 10,000 steps" exercise habit, and spend just a few of them walking carts to the "corrals." Loose shopping carts are a hazard -- I'm sure no one likes their vehicles scratched and dented by carts that aren't secured. It's also a lot easier to pick up 10 carts from the corral than scattered across the lot.
Finally, my favorite is the RV'ers who live at Wal-Marts across the country and appropriate shopping carts as their trash receptacles. You know the ones -- park at the far end of the lot and keep one cart next to the RV -- piling bags of discards into it, and leaving it there when they drive off to the next Wal-Mart. Carts covered in gook and goo from whatever oil and residue was in the bag. I know I want that cart next, not! RV parks cost money, but can you imagine telling people at the end of your life "I spent the last 15 years driving from Wal-Mart to Wal-Mart?" Wal-Mart could be a little more proactive with some trash receptacles in the lot, but until that time, please pack in/pack out.
When the store has been busy all day and goes dead in the evenings, cashiers get farmed out. Fold and straighten clothes in softlines. "Zone" toys. (Yes, "zone" is a verb at Wal-Mart. It means clean up after lazy customers and bratty kids that leave things all over, out of place. Put them back into prescribed places so someone else can mess it up again 5 minutes later). Giving people greeters a break is stand-around-and-smile duty. And then, there's "go push carts."
No, not push abandoned carts around the store. No, not do a carry-out for a customer. What the managers mean is, clean up all the stray carts from around the parking lot and bring them back to the entrance areas. This involves making a train of carts on the front of the little cart pusher engine and using a remote control to drive them in. Because it involves machinery, people have to be 18 to do the job, and what 18-year-old wants to be a cart pusher at Wal-Mart? So 20-, 30- and 40-somethings in other departments have to fill in for this chronically-understaffed job (the proper title is "guest clerk"). Our managers never send 70-year-old cashiers outside to push carts, which is probably some weird reverse age-discrimination, but that's another story.
Depending on the weather, this can be a nice outdoor change of pace, or a tremendous pain. It's February. It snows here. I work evenings. You figure it out. But worse yet, you are usually teamed with another person. Sometimes that's fun. Other times -- you would have been better off alone.
A couple of nights ago, it was the control freak. She had to have the remote, she had to tell me what I was doing wrong, she had to tell us where to go next. I finally just went off on my own and started lining up carts in the nearly deserted lot so she could get her kicks driving the cart pusher into them.
Worse yet, two nights before that, I was paired with a partner that couldn't grasp simple natural laws: gravity and inertia. Two things you must realize -- one, the cart pusher will stop on a dime, but the carts will keep rolling (into cart racks, cars, people....) And when our parking lot is not flat, carts will roll faster and easier downhill. She would take her finger off the button, the cart pusher would stop, and carts would keep going. Then, I'd have to grab them, and we'd have to get the pusher lined up again.
I wish all of our customers would get into the "go for 10,000 steps" exercise habit, and spend just a few of them walking carts to the "corrals." Loose shopping carts are a hazard -- I'm sure no one likes their vehicles scratched and dented by carts that aren't secured. It's also a lot easier to pick up 10 carts from the corral than scattered across the lot.
Finally, my favorite is the RV'ers who live at Wal-Marts across the country and appropriate shopping carts as their trash receptacles. You know the ones -- park at the far end of the lot and keep one cart next to the RV -- piling bags of discards into it, and leaving it there when they drive off to the next Wal-Mart. Carts covered in gook and goo from whatever oil and residue was in the bag. I know I want that cart next, not! RV parks cost money, but can you imagine telling people at the end of your life "I spent the last 15 years driving from Wal-Mart to Wal-Mart?" Wal-Mart could be a little more proactive with some trash receptacles in the lot, but until that time, please pack in/pack out.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
If you're using a credit card...
Let's state the moral of the story first. If you're using a credit card, have ID. And it's a very good idea to use YOUR credit card.
In 16 months, I've only refused two people use of a credit card. One, last year, when a young guy and his girl were buying a bunch of clothes and the credit card came up for verification. He handed over the card, with a woman's name on it.
"Her card?" I asked, gesturing toward his girl.
"No, my mom's," he said.
When I told him that I couldn't process the card, he was perturbed. "I've been using this all over town all day," he said. "No one has had a problem with it."
Well, just because other store autobots have been letting you get away with using someone else's card without asking for ID all day doesn't change my responsibility. My customer service manager gave him the same spiel, and he eventually only purchased a couple of items with cash. Wonder if he had the card with or without his mother's permission?
Pretty much the same situation the other night. Two young ladies, probably 21 or 22, with a cart full of Valentine stuff in self-check. Stuffed animals, cards, candy, food. The overhead light goes red as they attempt to process a card. "Check ID" situation.
"It's asking me for credit card verification. I need to see the card you used. She hands it over, and I see Nick something and a business name. OK, I have a friend named Michelle who goes by Mike, but her legal records and cards all say Michelle. I would have believed she was a Nicole, Nichol, Nicki, Niki, Nikki, Nickie or any of the millions of ways princesses spell that name, but not Nick.
"I need to see your ID."
"She starts to open a pocketbook with probably 100 cards of various kinds in it, but stops. "I don't have any. She looks at me -- irritated. "It's my company card."
"You don't have any ID? A school ID, even a Costco card with your picture on it?"
"You have a Costco card," her friend says helpfully.
"Nick" glares at her. "Not on me."
I told her I wouldn't be able to process the sale without ID. She keeps pushing. My replacement shows up. I ask her to get a manager, a customer service manager. Fortunately, one of the CSMs who backs her cashiers comes over. She listens and gives the same response. "Nick" ends up re-scanning the entire sale and paying in cash. Credit card fraud is a major issue. My guiding thought -- if it were my card, would I want a cashier erring on the side of caution, or letting it slide?
In 16 months, I've only refused two people use of a credit card. One, last year, when a young guy and his girl were buying a bunch of clothes and the credit card came up for verification. He handed over the card, with a woman's name on it.
"Her card?" I asked, gesturing toward his girl.
"No, my mom's," he said.
When I told him that I couldn't process the card, he was perturbed. "I've been using this all over town all day," he said. "No one has had a problem with it."
Well, just because other store autobots have been letting you get away with using someone else's card without asking for ID all day doesn't change my responsibility. My customer service manager gave him the same spiel, and he eventually only purchased a couple of items with cash. Wonder if he had the card with or without his mother's permission?
Pretty much the same situation the other night. Two young ladies, probably 21 or 22, with a cart full of Valentine stuff in self-check. Stuffed animals, cards, candy, food. The overhead light goes red as they attempt to process a card. "Check ID" situation.
"It's asking me for credit card verification. I need to see the card you used. She hands it over, and I see Nick something and a business name. OK, I have a friend named Michelle who goes by Mike, but her legal records and cards all say Michelle. I would have believed she was a Nicole, Nichol, Nicki, Niki, Nikki, Nickie or any of the millions of ways princesses spell that name, but not Nick.
"I need to see your ID."
"She starts to open a pocketbook with probably 100 cards of various kinds in it, but stops. "I don't have any. She looks at me -- irritated. "It's my company card."
"You don't have any ID? A school ID, even a Costco card with your picture on it?"
"You have a Costco card," her friend says helpfully.
"Nick" glares at her. "Not on me."
I told her I wouldn't be able to process the sale without ID. She keeps pushing. My replacement shows up. I ask her to get a manager, a customer service manager. Fortunately, one of the CSMs who backs her cashiers comes over. She listens and gives the same response. "Nick" ends up re-scanning the entire sale and paying in cash. Credit card fraud is a major issue. My guiding thought -- if it were my card, would I want a cashier erring on the side of caution, or letting it slide?
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