Opinion
Cliff
Hicks
Retail madness
Clerks deserve more consumer courtesy
Next time you decide to go out
shopping, think before you open
your mouth.
You think I’m joking? If you
haven’t seen the movie “Clerks,” you
should. If you have and you haven’t
worked retail, you still don’t really
understand. If you’ve worked behind
a counter or in a retail store, you
know exactly what I’m talking
about.
I work at an anonymous toy store
that’s incredibly well known. I admit
it. I confess. I pay my bills by work
ing in a retail store (journalism
doesn’t pay squat at the moment). Of
course, I’m not doing much at the
moment, but that's not the point I’m
making.
What was the point I was mak
ing? Oh, yeah! Retail!
A while ago, I received a call.
“Hello thank you for calling [insert
toy store name here] my name is
Cliff; can I help you?” This is the
standard greeting, with no pauses
because people try and think like
you’re expecting them to say some
thing, which you aren't... you’re
only catching your breath.
“Yes, I’d like to speak to someone
in the toy department, please.”
There is a long period of silence
on my end of the phone before I say
“I’m sure I can help you, ma’am.
What do you need?”
It seems like people would be
smarter than this, yes? No. This is a
prime example of the kind of idiocy I
see every day. I wear a dark blue shirt
with the store’s mascot on my back,
and the store insignia over my lapel.
People ask me if I work in the store.
“Do you carry toys?” they ask.
“I’d like to complain. I can’t find
a toy that was made 45 years ago on
your shelves! Why not?” they bicker.
Once, back when I was working
at a different branch of this same toy
store in Omaha, I heard a woman
arguing with one of our managers.
Our manager kindly explained to the
woman that we were out of stock of
the item she was looking for (if
memory serves me right, I believe it
was the Green Power Ranger - yeah,
I’ve worked in and out of the store a
lot over the years).
The woman yelled at her, saying
“I know you’re keeping them all in
the back and I want one!”
“Why, ma’am, would we keep
them in the back when we could be
selling them out here?”
“You’re going to buy them your
selves and sell them at a higher price
on the street!”
At this point, the conversation
degenerated into the customer
yelling obscenities at my manager,
and the manager asking her to leave
the building. This was during the
Christmas rush, of course, when
things get a little crazier than nor
mal, but still....
Is it any wonder why the motto
for the movie “Clerks” was “Just
because they serve you, doesn’t
mean they like you....”
I used to think people were gen
erally gopd at heart, just trying to get
what they thought was rightfully
theirs. Then, one night as I was work
ing someone tried to pick my pocket.
I couldn’t prove it, but I threw the kid
out of the store. A few weeks later,
one of the other managers (this is all
still back in Omaha, mind you) along
with myself and another employee
took off running after some kids who
were trying to steal some of the elec
tronic diaries the store carried. Since
then, those have been kept under
glass, quite wisely I might add.
See, not only are the parents
awful, but so are the kids. It’s so dis
illusioning. Kids shoplifting, parents
leaving kids in the store while they
spend the day somewhere else. I
almost begin to lose faith in the
whole thine.
Then something happened about
a week ago.
I was walking through the bikes
again, where I often give people
advice on buying bikes. A little girl
who was about 11 or 12 years old,
ran up to me and started tugging on
my shirt.
“Mister?”
It had been a long day and I tried
to force a smile. “Can I help you?”
“I just wanted to say thank you. I
bought a bike from you a few weeks
ago and it’s so cool. It doesn’t make
my butt hurt like that last one did,
and Mom says I should say thank
you to people who help me, so thank
you, Mister,” she said to me, then
skipped back over to her mom, who
smiled and waved at me.
I smiled and waved back as they
walked off, pushing their shopping
cart along the linoleum floor. It’s
things like that that keep my sanity
from waning
So I ask of you, think about the
people who are serving you, wherev
er you go. Remember that they’re
working their butts off for a couple
of bucks an hour, just to keep a roof
over their heads and food on their
tables.
A little courtesy won’t kill you
and you’ll be surprised how well
clerks remember the people who are
nice to them.
Hicks is a junior news-editorial
and English major and a Daily
Nebraskan columnist.
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Jessica
Kennedy
Summertime blues
Grown-up longs for days of ice cream, Miami Vice
I remember the lazy, hazy days of
summer. Vaguely.
The days when you played with
the neighborhood gang until your
parents dragged you off your banana
seat dirt bike (I had one); days when
the ringy-ding-ding of the ice cream
truck made your night (back when
there were ones); days when your
parents bought the ice cream; days
when after-dinner play seemed to last
forever.
Summer was great as a kid — no
responsibilities, few worries and lots
of play time. It’s hard to remember a
muggy summer evening when we
weren’t building a club, riding our
bikes, stealing fruit from neighbor’s
bushes and trees or playing hide-and
go-seek.
One of my favorite kiddy pas
times was cops and robbers.
Actually, it was the ‘80s. We played
Miami Vice. The game included
wild chases through the alleys (hence
the dirt bike), dodging through yards
and stalking each other.
I’m not bitter. We all grow-up,
despite Peter Pan’s protests. It’s just
that, well, I miss the good ol’ days of
summer vacation.
If you’re reading this, then I’m
comforted to know I’m not alone.
You’re either taking classes or work
ing or both. The lucky ones get paid
vacations. I am not among the fortu
nate.
School still sucks in the summer,
regardless. One remedial speech
class down, one hellacious broad
casting class in the process and two
long history classes to go. Thirteen
hours of staring at a professor instead
of lounging in the sun, catching up
on the soaps and being a bum.
There is a higher goal, I suppose.
Even though I’m risking a nervous
breakdown, the 13 hours I’m taking
this summer will allow me to gradu
ate in December. Which translate
into no more mac-‘n’-cheese and
bye-bye to student loans.
This summer, my vacation is a
weekend getaway to Kansas City. A
day of thrills and ills and a major
league game. Of course, there are
weekend retreats to my family’s
cabin, which is marvelous!
The time is relaxing and fun.
With a plethora of children and a
laid-back attitude, it’s impossible to
be stressed.
And this summer, I will learn
how to water ski.
I even got a little taste of it this
past weekend.
My cousin Ruth and I noticed
that one of the neighbors had this
cool little ride called a Ski Chariot.
Being the brash and obnoxious souls
that we are, we decided to ask for a
ride.
In retrospect, I guess this was my
pathetic attempt at being 12 again.
After hoisting myself into the
contraption (which resembled two
intertubes stacked on top of each
other, with the back cut out.. .like a
chariot) and pulling Ruth in, we were
off.
The straight-away of the lake
offered only thrills. The sheer enjoy
ment of bouncing back and forth
across the wake. The turn, however,
offered a different experience.
Entering the turn, it became
painfully apparent that the 12-year
old should’ve been on the outside,
not the 21 -year-old.
As the tiny raft began to roll to
the side and my position shifted from
good to bad, I knew my dry time was
limited. Sure enough, after the turn,
my legs went flying off the back of
the chariot. It was at that instance
that I noticed our driver didn’t have a
spotter, which meant that if I went
down, no one was going to see.
So for about 20 frightening sec
onds, I held on for dear life. Finally
Bill, the driver, turned around.
I let go and was brutally emerged
into the deep, merky, green lake,
water shooting up my nose at 20
miles-an-hour.
I guess I’d better get used to it.
Last time I tried to water ski, I took
about six consecutive nose-dives into
the lake at mach speeds.
So my last collegiate summer
will be spent in class and face first in
the lake. It’s not Miami Vice, but I’ll
take it.
Kennedy is a senior broadcast
ing and advertising major and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist.
