The All-New Reality Layaway Payment Plan

The beauty and the burden of working with the general public is that there is no filter. Eventually, they all seem to come out of the woodwork.

I am seldom struck speechless by someone's otherworldly bizarre remark. Especially since Bush left office. There are, though, rarified exceptions...



I confess that I chose to spur this person on rather than simply detaching myself from the situation. I somehow knew from his askew stance and perniferous aroma of vodka that this would be "one for the blog".

Sooooooeeeeeeeey, piggies!!! The trough's full, and I'm a-waitin'!!!

Team Member X

The Dime Bag

The theme this weekend seemed to be the value of a dollar...or rather...the value of 10% of a dollar. I felt it bizarre that on multiple unrelated occasions, disputes swelled over the matter of TEN FUCKING CENTS.

This guest was very aforethought about redeeming her rain check. The whole time, she glared at me as though I was going to steal her purse.




This incident really caught me off guard. I wasn't expecting violence to errupt over something as banal as double-dipping one's coupons. The funny part was that this occurred at the returns desk, after she'd already made her purchase. And then, due to FTC policies beyond my control, she didn't even get her refund anyway. The story here is somewhat truncated; I was really just confirming what the head cashier had already told her.




This lady must have had a victim complex, since she was obviously more dead-set on throwing a tantrum than clearing the matter of a dime's discrepancy up.

Take two; they're small,

Team Member X

The Twilight Zoning

If you haven't noticed already, a lot of these anecdotes come from working the service desk. This is chiefly because this is the place where people tend to become the most unhinged, and therefore, mildly hilarious. At times, though, I am positive I have entered an alternate dimension, or been dosed with MDA, or both.

Sometimes the most enjoyable perspective is that of the fly on the wall, being forced to observe slices of other people's lives exclusively by dint of proximity.

I felt it was particularly important to point out that this person a.) had just donated plasma (see bandaging on left arm), and b.) was wearing a short sleeved dress shirt and a tie. Both of these elements convey the sense of desperation that effectively frame the tone of this guy's outburst at a Target ATM.

This exchange defies any further explanation, except to assert that this is exactly how it transpired, including the four words I contributed to the dialogue and where it went from there.

Submitted for your approval,

Team Member X

What We Have Here is a Failure to Communicate

One thing that makes working the returns desk at Target relatively palatable is that we have a very loose returns policy. Do you have a receipt or form of payment I can trace this purchase to? No? How about a driver's license? Is this resellable (presuming it is not already visibly so)? Okay, here's your refund. Wham, bam, thank you for choosing Target. No long-winded explainations are necessary. You can go now. Thank you.

The first frame was just my astonishment that people actually return crap from the Dollar Spot. I may be shameless enough to bust out the Moonwalk at random in the grocery aisle, but even I have my limits.

Working in customer service naturally privileges me to examine an expansive cross-section of humanity. In stark contrast to those who suffer from diarrhea of the mouth, I get to witness a
healthy sampling of a subspecies I have yet to be able to completely comprehend or define. They somewhat resemble a side branch of the Darwin scale which spun off somewhere around the Cro Magnon. To dismiss them as merely quiet or antisocial is to ignore the subtext of their deeply disturbing absence of evolutionary hallmarks. Sometimes I am amazed to even see that they have opposable thumbs. Although they sporadically display the ability to formulate complete sentences, they tend to primarily grunt and flail their way through the bulk of their transaction. I contend that these life forms are the reason that Denny's has pictures on their menu; so they can merely point and grunt at what they would like to order. In fact, last time I ate at Denny's, I saw just such an occurrence transpire. A presumably upper-middle class lady literally pointed to the Moons Over Mi-Ham-i and mumbled as the means of placing her order. To be fair, though, she was too engaged in an inappropriately loud conversation into her Bluetooth to be bothered to address her lowly server with any level of civility.

I concede that the notion that this guest was laden with feces and ate her refund was more a matter of general impression than hard fact, but the rest of the elements are pretty much verbatim. The scary part was that this person worked at a hospital, and as such, her astute perception and keen responsiveness may well mark the difference of life or death to someone.

Inside voices, folks!

Team Member X