She stared at me through her old-fashioned, horn rimmed glasses. I couldn't help but think she looked stuck in the '80's. "I have 10 things" she repeated defiantly. I inwardly sighed and pressed 15 sign on. I began naming off the things she bought that were part of the sale. I counted 8 things total. "You need 2 more items, ma'am." "No, I have 10," she insisted. Good grief. "What did I not name that you thought was part of the sale?" She began to think as I went through the list again. "The cheese. Did the cheese not come off?" I looked through the list, then turned to my bagger, Sami. "Can you find the cheese?" Sami began digging though the bags, bringing up 16 oz. shredded cheese. I consulted the ad. "It's only on the 8 oz. cheese, ma'am." And then begins the defense. IT wasn't clearly labeled, she just grabbed what was under the sign, the print was too small. Sami couldn't get back fast enough with the right cheese to suit me. And this is one of the less ugly scenarios.
I am a trained cashier. It's been a good 9 months. That's long enough to create a baby. That's long enough to know what I'm doing behind a register. Yet, because of my age, and sometimes I wonder if it's my blond hair, people don't trust me to know what I'm doing. They think I'm stupid and incapable. But it's their own lack of knowledge that is the issue. I know my register and I will consult my ad, and between these two key things I am very capable. I know how to manipulate the machine to do what it needs to do. IF that's what I want it to do, of course. I love a challenge, and the satisfaction of pointing out to a difficult customer that they were wrong is a satisfaction unparalleled. I do know what I'm talking about, so next time, if I were you, I'd listen.
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