thcrdr, novzv&zT 1 1, 1073
third dirrcnt! on
flove em in,
check 'em out
By Jerri Willson
IV
it
You're willing to overlook that you
have caught your work smock in the cash!
register drawer about three times in the last
few minutes. You're running out of sacks,
the customer lines stretch back to the
men's wear and somewhere close a child is
nagging his mother for a Zippo comic or
a tuiti-fruiti gum. . .
listen, you're a discount store cashier.
You can endure all that. Taken lightly,
it's even rather humorous.
I've worked at two Lincoln discount
stores: Treasure City, 27th St. and
Highway 2, for 2Vi years part-time, and
Woolworth's at 1 1 til and 0 streets, for
about four months.
Treasure City's eight-register, modern
department store houses several different
companies under its massive shelter, from
ladies' wear to automotive. At the 45-year-old
Woolworth's downtown all
merchandise is owned by the F.W. Wool
worth Co., where school supplies, cos
metics and records are carefully marked to
be checked out at one of three small,
antique cash registers.
Customer knows best
Perhaps to the customer-the "always
right" customer-who breezes past you and
exchanges money, even greetings, perhaps
to him, it's humorous. But not to you.
You try to be a good sport, when dimes
keep slipping out of the register and irre
trievably are lost in the garbage box
beneath'it. But when you staple your
finger with the receipt to the sack, that's
when the whole day starts to become an
annoying, painful process. .
If the lines are long, and you have al
ready called your full force to their button
pushing posts there's not much to do but
duck under the counter briefly to scream a
muffled curse.
"What's that you're doing down there,
Miss?" cross, shopworn customer
demands.
Your face is flushed from bending down,
but it starts to throb with indignation at
her insensitivity. .
"Just looking for a dime I dropped,
Ma'am, you say demurely.
"Well, I don't have all day..."
Take it easy, you think. It's people like
that, in their over-sized coats covering
equally large frames with their grating
voices, that cculd cause you to miscount
your change, or make an overring-pitfalls
which befall a careless cashier.
.Have a nice day y
"Fifty, seventy-five, and one dollar
you spew tht words out diHherately, care
fully counting her change with a hint of
irritation but enough control to show the
customer hasnt gotten the better of you.
"Have a nice day, you say and try to
sound like you mean it. (After all, you
can't hold a grudge forever.) One of two
things then happens. The customer ignores
your attempt at a truce, snatches her
package of candy bars and hair color, and
flounces out the door. Or she looks up
from her coin purse which she has been
concentrating on to ignore you, and smiles
and says, "You too. You feel better
inside. And when you smile back, you
really mean it.
. That does it You've blown your keep-it-cool,
move-'em-along cover and she
knows youre a soft touch.
First, she asks you if the store carries
glittering gumbos, soon she's telling you
about her grandchildren, her great great
grandchildren, and her plans for a fancy
funeral, all in 42 seconds.
"Puff the magic dragon happens to be
in line behind her.
"Hey, ya, listen, got any matches?" he
asks. You look at the pathetic, grimy 14-year-old
who is demanding if you have
matches for him to light some noxious
weed. - . :, '
"No, I'm sorry. However, of course,
I'm not really sorry. Maybe I've spared him
lung cancer.
- Missing merchandise
He uses plenty of expletive deletives as
he. sweeps past, smelling of dirt and the
open air, to make you look apologetically
at the little old lady waiting patiently in
line behind the teenage clown.
She chirps up at you before you have
time to ring up her sale, "How much is it,
dear?" Patience is a virtue. How much is
what? 1 don't see anything on the counter.
And if there's nothing on the counter to
pick up and mull over to hunt for a tiny
tag with faded numbers on it (the price),
then the job has come to a standstill.
A cashier is a creature of habit,
repeating the same slide-the-merchandiss-into-a-bag,tuck-the-money-into-the-drawer,
send-the-customer-on-his-way
routine 1,000 times a day.
Look-you don't care how sweet she is,
or that her B Bird hat mslches her canary
yellow coat. The woman simply has
nothing to buy.
In a moment she's chuckling.
"Oh, here it is. And she produces a
wad of embroidery thread from her slight,
gloved hand.
You're gentle. She reminds you of your
grandmother. And anyway, it won't be
long until you are old and loviMe and a
little forgetful yourself. (And if you work
here much longer, youll be her age in fio
time.)
Lcaditfse v.""'.
The only thing to interrupt your con
trolled, concentrated movements is a sound
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PSseta by Scott Srobsgs
Displays for '"compulsive buyers such as this casiy lade caa be tovszi argrwbsis.
from very close by. Your stomach always
knows when it's break time, even if your
fingers work overtime.
Break is a hot dog or sandwich or
maybe something edible in a brown bag
brought from home.
Only a few more hours of this. Can you
iskt it? It's your feet that aren't too
anxious to answer. But ycu're SO per cent
in gear, so it's back to the cu-byhole, your
station in life, amidst teddy bears, coloring
books, ladies pantyhose and shoe pclLh.
44 Cksck okay please. . .change please. . .
customer assistance please. . .
Is that your own voice over the public
address system? You hadn't realized you
could sound so authoritative.
When things get really dull, you
condescend to sweep under the counter,
which locks as though it hasn't been swept
under since the store's grand opening 40
years ago.
Just as you've got an old grubby rag in
your hand or a panfull of dust, a well
dressed middle-aged woman comes through
your line. You're a fool-standing there
with a portion of the store's dirt in your
hand. Your hair is mussed and there's a
smudge on your face. She takes advantage.
You won't soon forget that superior
lock, or the how-tmdigniffed'Can-ycu-get
lock.
listen, lady, your thoughts yell back at
hers; how dignified caa one be in a
discount department store, where every
thing is sold at prices for the not-so-big
spender loose in a jungle of tempting but
useless items? - -
"Where are your cigarette lighters?
she asks.
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