I told this story to my partner and he looked at me in an incredulous way. “Why does this keep happening to you?” he wanted to know.
That’s what I want to know, too.
A while ago, I visited a newly opened, very modern and big LCBO (Liquor Control Board of Ontario) to purchase some wine and beer. I placed my items into a basket and walked to the register. Then I emptied my wares and placed the basket on the counter ahead of me.
There was no one at the register, no one behind me, and no other customers anywhere near me.
An employee approached the register and said “the basket goes over there”, pointing toward the front door.
I’m thinking: you’re the one who works here….
I nodded and continued fishing around for my payment card. I had quite a bit of stuff which he packaged up for me in two paper bags, and as I struggled to hold it all to carry out of the store to my car, he made another comment about the basket.
I had left the basket on the counter.
Apparently he didn’t notice that I had both my arms full.
How unprofessional, I thought.
Ultimately I chucked it up as one of those things.
Yesterday, I went to another location to purchase some wine and beer. The store is not one I frequent often, as it is out of the way a bit. It’s an older store, not renovated, and quite a bit smaller, but it had what I needed and it was near the grocery store I was at, I figured I’ll just pop in and get everything here, rather than drive around to other stores.
There were customers in that store, and an old, rather scruffy looking man who tended the register.
“The basket goes over there”, he barked at me.
I looked at him, and thought the same thing I did before – this is YOUR job, not mine. But, as I did before, I nodded and noticed that in the meanwhile, there were several other customers in the line behind me.
Once again, I left the basket on the counter, and started to look for my wallet. I figured, having worked in retail myself, getting people through is the priority here…not walking off to deal with the stupid basket.
The old guy huffed something at me which I didn’t quite get, took my basket, shuffled off to the other side of the store, placed the basket into the others stacked there, and on the way back to the register he picked up another random item which he then slammed underneath the counter where I was standing.
I stood there with my payment card and watched. As did the other people who were now standing behind me.
“Blah bla bla,” he said to me.
I said, “pardon, I didn’t quite hear you. What did you say?”
He didn’t repeat what he said, then commenced ringing in my stuff.
By then, I smelled a strong whiff of booze. I looked up…then behind me. The guy standing behind me was a normal looking middle aged clean cut type of guy. He had a little six pack of beer. A few other people were standing behind him, and I did not notice much about them. Only people in my smell-zone were my dude at the register, the guy behind me, and myself.
I can guarantee you that at 11 am, I was not the one that smelled of booze.
Gross, I thought. I grabbed my stuff, and left.