"Peace on Earth"--not at the grocery store, there isn't. "Hell on Earth" is a closer approximation.
It used to be busier. Hard to convince myself of that, but numbers don't lie: five years ago, before everybody and his hairdresser started selling groceries on the side, it was considerably busier than it is now. Customer attitude seems to deteriorate every year, though, and that's what really puts the stress into your day.
It didn't help that they put Turtles on the front page. Nestle Turtles, the 200g size, for $1.97. We booked fourteen skids. For reasons never explained--probably because they're inexplicable--we got one. One skid.
We could have sold all fourteen skids on Friday, the day the ad broke. You can imagine how long one skid lasted. And is there any more forthcoming? We're trying, but frankly, I doubt it.
This--surprise, surprise--was not welcome news for many customers. At one location in our fair city, a gentleman expressed his displeasure by kicking the front door of the store off its track. Nobody has threatened that kind of reaction in our store. So far.
As a person on the receiving end of vitriol, you're really torn when things like this happen. Part of commiserates as best you can. It's always good practice to agree with an IRAAC--an Irate, Rude And Angry Customer--as a disarming tactic. "Yes, I understand how frustrating this is for you." Believe me, I do. "Yes, I understand you came here specifically to buy 48 boxes of Turtles." By now we could have sold 48,000 of the damn things, buddy, so you tell me who's really more upset they're not here. "I agree, this is completely unacceptable." Somebody should lose their job over this, you're right. Nobody here, though...we ordered them, after all.
And part of you--a part you keep locked up, if you know what's good for you--is all the while thinking things like they're fucking chocolates, buddy. You're acting like they're crisp new $1000 bills. Get a life.
"I'd really like to help you out. Which way did you come in?"
"You never have anything I need!" Proclaimed by someone who invariably has half a cart full of groceries. My standard response to this--I've used it several times--is to smile sweetly and exceedingly politely offer to return all the items in their cart. "You know, since you don't need them." One of these days somebody's going to kick my door off its track, but it's worth it just to watch the sputter.
Work life could be worse. I could work in the produce department. Yesterday, we received 800 cases of produce we didn't order and don't have room for. This happens, from time to time: the warehouse is overloaded with product that the stores aren't buying (on account of their customers aren't buying it) and so, periodically, it's time to pass the buck "encourage supplemental sales opportunities". Good thing we have a hollow shell of a building next door, or we'd be putting bins of produce in the parking lot.
Pardon the vent, but this last week has been gruelling. I'm sore all over, with cuts on each finger of my right hand. The time has come--after nearly a decade--to start wearing gloves at work, like a normal person. I rarely do, because I find I can't grip anything with them on. My hands are used to temperature extremes...a Ken-shower is typically about 50C (122F) and my frozen bunkers are -27C (-16F) and I'm comfortable in both (especially the shower, mind you). My co-workers look at me like I'm some kind of freak, but really, gloves are yet another thing I'd continually be misplacing, like my box-cutter, my pen, and damn near anything else I can possibly misplace.
No matter, though. What with all the cardboard boxes I continually root around in, I get nasty paper cuts, often right around the nail. It'd probably be worth pudgy, unfeeling fingers and a case of the dropsies if I could just stop cutting myself already.
Outside of work, it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. Last weekend, we met my dad and Heather, and aunt Dawna and Barry, for lunch. Our Christmas get-togethers are always too short, this one very much so, but it was wonderful to see everyone. My boss held a gathering at his home that night...a perfectly lovely affair, with excellent catered food and warm hospitality. And we've spent some time with two sets of friends, in whose company I really do feel I can relax.
Eva is the primary shopper in this house, a fact for which I am eternally grateful. My Christmas shopping skills are negligible. I go out with the best of intentions, only to find...well, nothing, really. The stuff I really want to buy is either out of stock or waaaay out of my budget. And by that I don't mean "this person's only getting a gift worth $10 because, hey, I'm cheap and besides, I don't really like him anyway." I mean "damnit, that's the perfect gift and he's worth the $500 it costs....let me check the money tree...argh, no fruit yet."
I still have some shopping to do, just for my love. We're only doing stockings this year, which is perfectly fine by me every year, but especially this one. What with a deck, a Disney trip, a new computer and a ring for Eva, we've had several Christmases already. Really, Christmas isn't about gifts anymore for me--either giving or receiving. It's nice to get and even nicer to give, of course, but for me, now, the best thing about Christmas is the atmosphere. The cheer. The long winter's nap after it's over.
Into the homestretch we go, faster than a skid of Turtles.
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