More on the Smiling Cashier

Stupid people smile a lot (and people like me mostly grimace--it may look like a smile, but it's more an effort to not vomit on your shoes.)

I have more observations on the Smiling Cashier.

Several days ago, I had a conversation with a co-worker on the oddities that are the Smiling Cashier. First and foremost, we both noticed that she will not bend over. My co worker noted that it was "odd" to not ever bend over, and I commented that if there's a chance you'll get lost on your way back up, it's not a good idea to bend over in the first place. (At that point, I was told I was an ass. Probably right, but an ass just the same. Personally, I'm offended--I may be an ass, but it's not because I'm honest or right, it's just because I'm an ass.)

So, Saturday, I saw the impossible. The Smiler bent at the waist (and, for the record, there was no crack, thank-you-very-much.) She didn't get lost and it didn't seem like she had physical discomfort, so now, I have to say, I just don't get it. Why won't she BEND? She doesn't bend at the waist or the knees. I don't get it.

Later in the day, she hit a snag with a gift card. The PIN number was barely readable. This is a pain in the arse, but not really a problem. She made ONE guess at it, and since you get two chances to get it right, she made the SAME guess the second time. Of course, the system won't accept that, and it spit out the standard "Call this toll free number for assistance" slip. She turned to ME, not the head cashier next to her. (Granted, that head cashier was on a register with a customer at the time, but seriously? The Smiler calls ME over any supervisor--I am not a supervisor!--if I'm visible to her. She'll call me on the phone if need be. One time dial. That's it. If there's no answer, or it's busy, she calls me. If I tell her to call someone else, she acts like they charge her to use the phone. *sigh*)

So, I step in. Since I've got my own stuff to cover (self-checkout baby, I'm the Queen!) I tell her to go over there and cover that while I'm dealing with this.

She stands behind me, just enough out of the way to not get elbowed. My spot is now without coverage, but I'm up to my neck in someone else's problem and an automated phone system.

When I realize she's still standing there, but there are customers at the SCO, I tell her to go cover SCO. She says, "I'm watching it from here." Now, for a normal person, I wouldn't be worried. But this is a woman who will stand, smiling, watching someone who needs assistance not get it. (Oh. Did you need help with that?) She also moves slower than a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter. Yeah, standing here is going to keep us both in jobs. "Get over there, NOW." Yes, I was snippy about it.

I get that the register has her number on it--and if I screw something up, they're going to be looking at her. BUT, in my defense, MY number is on the SCO central terminal (where I told her to go), and I have the middle management equivalent of backup next to me, AND, to brag on myself for a minute, I'd be sure the Powers-That-Be would know that, for that invoice, I was the one calling the shots, regardless of whose number is on it, it's MY behind that should roast for any mistakes. I like my credit when it's due, but I'll take my lumps if I earned 'em too. (And this is well known by management--she was relieved of responsibility from that point forward on that invoice.)

No, I don't think she was worried I'd make a mistake and God knows she wouldn't have learned anything from it even if she had been able to remember what I did past her quitting time; I honestly think she was afraid to be at the SCO for fear she'd have to actually help a customer.

I've watched her this past 6 weeks of being trapped inside the building. The more customers we have marching through our freshly mopped floors, the further back she stands. No customers? She's in the aisle, standing and smiling. Mobbed with customers? She's standing in the register lane, even with the leading edge of the counter, hunched over so she's barely seen unless you almost step on her. If there gets to be more than one person at a time in any line, we have to open more registers because she'll be there, but she'll try and make herself invisible so nobody asks her anything.

I also notice that any customer who asks her any question that doesn't start and end with, "Are you open?" she immediately refers them to someone else. "Where are the ceiling fans?" and she'll defer to whoever else is available--which happens to be me these days. (For the record, ceiling fans are directly in front of her--on display. Same with batteries, and the batteries are part of what she's hiding behind.

Now, before you, the reader, says, "Wow. You are an ass." let me explain--I understand that not everyone's brain runs like mine. I get that for some people, seeing the merchandise 5 days a week for 52 weeks a year for upwards of 3 years doesn't cause even a minimum of memory retention in some people. But, I do believe that in this case, she willfully chooses to not have a clue--whether it's from a fear of making a mistake (although, generally speaking, you have to actually DO something in order to make a mistake) or whether it's just that she doesn't care to know, it's annoying to ALWAYS have to interupt MY job duties to cover for her.

Again, case in point: Our store received an email. There's a theft ring going 'round, and the email describes the thieving jerks, what they are stealing and how they are stealing it. What information from this email does she retain? The vague description of the guys . The arbitrary number observed at the latest hit ("three young males"--now, there's a description that makes it easy to spot 'em). She doesn't clue in on the modus operandii; she doesn't begin opening everything that should be being opened anyway. "Three young guys." Yeah yeah yeah. I know, but it's three young guys. 'Cuz, you know, a theft ring would never, ever change the way it's stealing in order to avoid being caught.

The scariest of all possibilities? Her boyfriend is ever dumber.