Random Rants

Last night in Hell, er, uh, I mean, at work, I was, of course, at Returns. And the standard Return Rant goes like this:

Sure, there are some stores where you go to one place with the crap you're taking back, and you get the replacement crap, and then they subtract what you're bringing them back, and add what you're taking with you. You pay or they hand you back the difference. And sure, there are some places where they have registers scattered throughout the store, and you can approach any one of those and they can do that math for you. But where I work, we're very specific (and yes, we have our reasons) about where all that transferring takes place. And where I work, we don't do that math. We take back the crap, and we return your money. Then you go get your new crap, and take it to a special place where they take the money back. Again, there are reasons for this, not the least of which is that, believe it or not, people have been known to wander through a store, and swap stuff out on their own, and this is known as stealing.

Also, things like inventory control happen on, get this, NOT pricing. Even if you tell me two different items are the same price, it's my job to actually process a refund, and purchases are kept track of separately. No matter how many times you insist that I will do one transaction, "an Exchange," it's not going to happen. Not because I'm stubborn (which, of course, I am) but because it's not physically possible for me to do it. Computers can, and sometimes do, miraculous things, but in this case, an "Exchange" is NOT going to happen. No matter how special you think you are, it's simply NOT.

Along with that, let me tell you, once-and-for-all, we do not have face recognition technology, and my computer may very well "have all my stuff in there," unless you give me a clue, there ain't Jackshit going to happen for you. Cough up a receipt, or an ID. And no matter how important to the Universe you consider yourself, telling me you've given your phone number to God-Alone-Knows-Who for whatever reason is NOT the same as giving it to me when I ask for it. I ask for it for a reason, and that means I'm not fucking psychic, and, DUH, neither is this computerized cash register.

Next, for those who are new to Hell, perhaps they didn't make this clear in your orientation, or perhaps you were napping at that point, or perhaps you just figure that your 20-something year old ass isn't expected to actually pay attention to anyone who has already served several years in this particular incarnation of Hell, I don't care. You're wearing a vest, you're here to WORK. And in retail, as the Weasel enjoyed telling me all the fucking time, that means you do what you need to do to encourage the unwashed masses to spend their money here. (And duh, that's why you have a job, fucktard--those annoying customers do actually spend their money here.)

When I ask you to help me, or help a customer, I don't give a flying fuck if it's your department or not. I'd rather have a customer have compentent, knowledgeable help, but since that's not currently available, we'll take what we can get, and that, darling, is YOU.

And if I ask you to deliver a bunch of crap I've got that needs to go back to a department that isn't your department, but you walk right past that department. DUH, you can go there, I can't. Take it with you. I've considered it, and I have come to the conclusion that there while there is no I in Team, there are two I's in IdIot.

Maybe you haven't noticed, but there are no walls between these departments. You don't need a security clearance to go there. There's also no special training necessary to push a cart--trust me, Honey, I've seen dumber than you do it, you'll be fine. Take this crap, put it where it needs to go, and don't give me any crap about it. Do. Your. Job.

Thanks for stopping.