Cashier Secrets

#1: I secretly love it when kids put toys up on the conveyor belt. Rainbow Dash? And Batman? At my register? Day made.

#2. I have the same conversation sometimes hundreds of times per day. If you scramble a step, sometimes you'll scramble me. (I have told many innocent people who asked for a price check how my day was going.)

#3. Having the same conversation a hundred times doesn't mean I don't mean it every time. And it doesn't mean I'm a robot that won't feel it if you ignore me.

#4. I also forgive people for ignoring me quite a few times a day.

#5. I know you don't want me to circle all the stuff on your receipt, but if a secret shoppers sees me skip it, I could lose my job.

#6. If I'm more nervous with you, it might be that I still have PTSD from the last customer who looked like you. I know that's not fair, but I can't remember faces super well, and when something is traumatic, it can take a little while to feel safe again. (Men with long, gray hair took a long while for me to like again.)

#7.  Yes, you are being racially profiled. But not for whether I card you for liquor. For how hard I brace myself for whatever you do after I card you for liquor. There are a million exceptions to every rule, but some groups are more likely to scream at me than others.

#8. Frequent customers that have not screamed at me are a really welcome sight. Seeing your face makes the day a little easier. It's like seeing a little bit of home.

#9. I am not going to remember your name unless it's printed on your chest. When I look at you, all I remember is whether previous interactions have been happy or sad. I can remember if you've screamed, not why. I can remember that I like you, but usually not why.

#10. Maybe one in fifty people who ask how my day is going actually mean it. When you treat me like a person, when you notice that I'm there? It really does make a difference.

Last one:

I'm still going to love you if you're a jerk. I'm still going to wrap your groceries like a present and wish you a wonderful day and mean it. Because you are always going to be more important than the hurt you cause, more important than the mistakes you make. You are worth it, and I get to remind you of that. That's the tiny way that I get to be a hero.

But when you see that I'm there? When you take the time to connect with me as a human being, with a smile, or a joke, or a sincere question, or even remembering my name, I am really grateful for the way you hold me up, the way you help me do my job better and love others better. I'm grateful for you being a hero to me.

Thank you.

Two Questions (a not strictly cash-register related post)

2 Questions:

 God, if you love me, why does this hurt?

And God, if this is good, am I evil to be hurting?

And just like that, all this fear and hurt, all this seeing Him as an angry, disappointed dad that I can't please, floods back, and in the wake of doing what I know to be right I am overcome with shame that it still hurts so badly.

I was crying here, and I remembered: "Jesus wept."

Before going to the cross, before doing the most right thing ever, he was in agony, he sweat blood, and he asked God to change it.

 In front of Lazarus's tomb, knowing it was God's plan to let him die and knowing he'd raise him again, he wept.

Speaking to a crowd, he said, "And now my heart is troubled, and what shall I say? 'Father, save me from this hour?' No, it was for this very reason I came to this hour. Father, glorify Your name."

If Jesus is my role model, if Jesus is what God wants, apparently when I do what's right, it's okay to cry.

The "I Cannot Sell You the Beer" song, re-written

Today I repeated the following about 15 times in a row, until it became a song.

"I cannot sell you this beer.

"I cannot sell this to you.

"It is the law.

"It does not matter.

"The law IS ridiculous. And that doesn't matter.

"I cannot sell you

"I cannot

"I cannot

"I cannot sell you

"I cannot SELL you the beer."

...this is what I would like to say instead.

"Ma'am, there is no setting of crazy in the universe that would move me to endanger my livelihood by breaking the smallest letter of the liquor law.

"My give-a-flip switch is in the off-position.

"Do you still want the candy bar?

"You misheard me. I just said that caring is not my job. Do you want the candy bar?

"Would you like to use your rewards card with that?

"By not using your card and thus paying extra, you are probably flaying my soul open to the harsh winds of remorse. Just kidding. Thank you for donating to my college fund.

"I hope you have a nice day. Again, I don't care and your day is not my job. Just have it elsewhere.

"You are welcome to call corporate. Perhaps they will give me a medal. Or even better, maybe they'll dismiss me.

"Thank you for shopping with us.

"I cannot sell you

"I will not sell you

"I don't even want to sell you

"By now I'm happy to not be selling you

"I am not selling you

"the beer."

The Choice

I feel defeated before I start. I feel like it’s pointless before I try. I feel beat up before I show up.

Around five people told me last shift that "I didn’t look as happy as I used to.” I had nothing to say. I used to look happy in agony, look happy in grief, look happy no matter what. 

I have to go in again. Have to.

I don’t know what today will be like. It’s a really good guess that it’ll be super hard. But. I have to hold on to but.

Maybe I don’t like the company I work for.

Maybe I feel like satisfying the customers is hopeless.

Maybe I feel hunted and investigated and unsupported and alone.

But if this is a bad store, I still serve a good God. If this is a bad store, I still have the chance to be a good cashier.

I might have a bad employer, but I can be a good employee.

This is not forever. But tonight- I'll treat it like it's just tonight- I have this chance to take a bad situation and be cheerful.

I can make the choice to love people. I can make the choice to go the extra mile. Or, if we’re busy enough, just to try and go any mile. I can do my best, I can love you when you come to my line, and I can accept that it’s hard, but I have a choice to be myself and serve Whom I serve no matter what.

I’ve changed the rules. My job isn’t to make everyone happy. That option is gone, and with it my desire to keep this wretched job. My job is to show up, take the hard knocks, and still love each person as they come.

I feel unloved. I feel beat up. I feel alone. But I’m not alone. And each moment I persevere will be the proof of that.

Hello. I am the cheerful cashier.

_________________________________________________

Post-shift update: success.

I was slow.

I rang you up too slowly for your tastes. You didn’t sigh with impatience- I do appreciate that; you don’t know how much- but you bounced on your heels and looked away and when I said goodbye, you interrupted with “THANKS,” and snatched the receipt out of my hand.

I didn’t want to slow you down.

That’s the dumb part. The thing that makes me cry- man, am I exhausted- is the thought that maybe you believed I wasn’t fast because you weren’t important.

I don’t think you noticed that the light for my register was off. I don’t think you noticed, because people usually don’t. They just get in line. That’s what I like to think. That you didn’t see that I had been trying and trying and trying to leave, that my shift was over, but I didn’t want to turn you away.

I rang up a bad rain check one hour before. 2 bad rain checks. The people had falsified them, they weren’t stamped, the signature was someone who didn’t work here with us, a Bethany? A fake- and I didn’t know enough to stop them. The service leader told me, and said, “Next time…just this once…” and I had to look into the eyes of people I knew were stealing from my store, making me help them steal from my store, and I had to finish helping them.

Ten minutes later, my hands were still shaking, and my voice still sounded like it was coming from a tunnel.

Normally, I stretch my shifts as long as I can make them, but I knew if I stayed today I would only mess up. I would only slow people down. The couponers had sunk their fangs into my soul and I was still bleeding. I turned off the light 2 minutes before seven. But they kept lining up. You lined up.

I’m sorry. I did my best. I honestly could not be faster today. But it wasn’t because you weren’t important. If you weren’t important, I would not have been there. You would have been in the other line, and it would have been another 20 minutes, and I didn’t want to make you wait. You were important.

Have a good week.

I'm Somebody

There was an American flag lying in the suicide lane on Parsons. I saw it and thought, this is awful. Somebody should stop their car and get out and fix this. Then I was like, but I'm somebody.

A few harrowing turns and emergency lights and some running later, and I have a flag now.

Weirdest Nickname Yet

Customers who spontaneously nickname are regular. I am accustomed to Sweetheart, Honey, Babygirl, Sis, Mami, Happy, and Smiley. I have even answered to Leprechaun.

Today a guy called me Teflon.

I smiled, frozen and confused, and he clarified, "I try to give you a hard time and you smile. You're Teflon! Nothing sticks. ^_^"

...I can dig it.

And I was unkind o___o

I always thought that moments of heroism were precipices, and I’d get to stand at the edge and draw my breath and then jump. They’re not.

They come to me in seconds. There is no time to breathe, no time to think or gather or remember whose I am: there is a single second in which I will or will not.

Be or not be kind. Do or not do more. Give or not give people more than they deserve.

Today I came to that second, I stared into eyes, and on a 9 hour shift, I chose not to try.

Me: “Do you have your card?”
”No.”
”Do you want one? I can-“
”No. … I thought that was on sale.”
”All the sales are with the card. #_#”
”THAT SUCKS.”

In the half-second after he said the words, I had the chance to explain store policy. I could offer him a way around the rules. I knew I could help him and maybe keep his obnoxious business.

I didn’t. I was tired. I was weak. I didn’t want to.

I said nothing, and I stared. I stared.

For the first time in my entire career, a career in which I have been insulted and berated and intimidated and ignored, I let a human being feel the force of the contempt I held for his behavior. I didn’t look at him with eyes that said, “I’m sorry.” I looked at him with eyes that said, “Little man, you overestimate your importance.”

I regret it.

I had the chance to be a hero. I had the chance to do more, to be more. And maybe I taught a small man a lesson. But I…I don’t know how I feel.

He faltered. He’d expected some kind of respect for his outburst, some kind of amusement or camaraderie, I don’t know. My coldness froze his smile to sheepishness. He paid and left without the discount he could have easily received if he had not been pigheaded. Or if I had been heroically kinder.

I turned to the next customer, horrified but heady with power, heart frost-chilled and spun and confused. I made sure to take every extra step to love them.

Excuse Note

"Hi! Did you find everything you were looking for today?"

"No, and I want a note to my wife saying you don't have it, so I had to buy this cake-mix. :|"

I got a bit of receipt tape, which was the closest thing to letterhead I had, and wrote an apology confirming the absence of the missing grocery item. Midway through writing the grocery store's name at the bottom, I forgot how to write cursive. Hopefully his wife won't notice that I spelled the name wrong.

The Screaming Man at Register 4

Today a man came through register four, and started screaming. Not words, just screams. Waving his arms. I looked up from register two, and he looked back, and he had this huge smile on his face, psyched up as all get out.

A little older lady I took to be his mother grabbed his shirt and smiled. "He likes the music."

I wonder what the world would be like if everyone was that happy about Michael Buble.

Both Hands

Today I got to help a man who, guessing by the bandaged stumps, had just lost both of his hands.

He was a pleasant, solid kind of older gentleman. His little plum of a wife, sitting on the bench, waved and smiled and pointed me out as someone who could help him. He gestured with a hook on a bandaged nub and told me what he needed, said that he could show me where it was. As we walked there,  a rocking, hitching kind of gait said he was getting used to a prosthetic foot.

I did my job cheerfully and told him if he thought of anything else, please ask.

As I was getting carts in the lot, the two of them drove by and waved at me, called out "thank you!" I called back, "No, you're welcome! Thank you!" They looked confused. I hope they knew how loved and important they were.

How One Sells Ice Cream

Today working as a bagger, I was flagged down to help a gentleman who has previously been irrationally insulting to find ice cream. I explained the sale prices, and he grimaced. "Will you like me if I'm fat?"

I searched the bottom of my heart for something nice to say.

"I will like you exactly as much as I do now."

This is how one sells ice cream.

My Face is the Problem

Today a woman at the grocery store, full of compassion, said this:

"Oh, sweetheart. It's your face. Your face is offensive. That's why people don't like you. You can't help it. You should just apologize all the time. It's just your face."

Then she hugged me.

._.

Well, that's...a really horrible superpower.

The Cold War and the Latin Gentleman

There is a little older Latin American gentleman who comes through my line smiling hugely. Today he mentioned in conversation that he speaks Russian. I expressed admiration , and asked him where he learned it, and this is what he said.

"Oh, I fought in Cold War. I had to learn it to know my enemies. I interrogate people, they say 'I don't speak that language,' I say, 'Fine!,' speak Russian. Then they have to tell me everything. ^-^" He laughed. This was delightful to him.

"Now, Cold War is over. We are not great friends, but Russians not enemies. We make friends all over. Russian good for talking to people. The Cold War is over, but...people do not appreciate it. They think, 'We are free because we are America,' but that is not true. We are free because people fight. We are free because people bought it. And they do not appreciate this." He was still smiling, still twinkling. "I am glad to have been a part of this."

I thanked him. Soon people would line up, soon I would have to ring up someone else, but I got to ask, "Were you in the American military?"

"No," his eyes shone. "SECRET." His chest puffed out. He put a finger to his lips.

A woman came with a few dozen cans of cat food. He tipped his head and his eyes twinkled and we parted.

America is free because of some very strange people, and they seem to be the happiest ones.

Whisperers

Customers? Sometimes, you say things that you don't think I can hear.

Sometimes the things under your breath are mean.

You: How are you?
Me: I'm glad to be here!
You {whisper}: Yeah, right. They tell you to say that.

Sometimes you have a song floating under your mustache, and I don't let on that I can hear you singing along to the elevator track.

But sometimes there are moments when your broken heart is on your sleeve and I don't know how to help. Sometimes sadness is loud, like the lady who was belting out about her stepson's death, or today when that one little woman found out she had cancer, and she said it ever couple minutes.

"How are you today?"
"I'm sad. I found out I have cancer."

"Did you find everything you needed?"
"Yes. It was hard, because I'm sad because I was diagnosed with cancer."

"Would you like help out to your car?"
"Yes, please. I'm so stupidly weak because of the cancer."

Sometimes it's loud. Sometimes you need to be. But sometimes you still whisper.

Me: How are you?
You: Just wonderful!
Me: *continues conversation...*
You {whisper}: I'm lying.

Me: I hope your day gets better!
You {whisper}: I hope my life gets better.

Is it the same kind of need? The need to be noticed, to have pain acknowledged, to receive caring? Is that why you holler?

Is that why you whisper?

Even when you respond to my, "I'm sorry your stepson died," with a hand-wave and a loud, "Nah, it's natural," even when you downplay your suffering or reject acknowledgement that what's happened to you is wrong or hard, you need a voice. You need recognition. You need to be loved, whether or not you'll let on. Whether or not you know.

Please don't hold back. Don't worry about making other people sad. Let us share a little of the sorrow- you have so much, and we can take a little. We'll be okay.

Come through my line. If you need to whisper, it's okay. I'll hear you.

The Saddest Man Ever and the Soul Candy

Once there was a man who came through my line every day buying a sandwich, without ever smiling.

He was older, with a mustache and a uniform with "Rupert" on the pocket, and he was the gloomiest man I had ever seen. Lots of people pass with their eyes averted and their mouths turned down, but even Rupert's eyes were glassy with sad. I wanted to help him. I just never could.

Then one day, he came to the register with a bag of shiny hard candy.

"Ah!" I chirped. I wrapped it. "Good choice! These are the best."

He mumbled, his eyes downcast and glassy. "Grumble grumble not good for you."

"Nooo!" I cried, the same line I'd used a dozen times. "Happiness is good for the soul!"

And then something happened that I still don't understand.

The man, Rupert, looked up. He smiled. He made a joke. He started laughing, big, manly chortling giggles. And then he started singing.

I was too much in shock to remember the song, but the picture of his face, lit up and the eyes engaged with mine and laughing, is plastered across my soul.

The Saddest Man Ever hopped and sprung out of the store, singing. And all I could think, as I scrambled for purchase on reality, was that I had absolutely nothing to do with it.

The next time I saw him at the grocery store, he was buying hard candy, and he was smiling.

"You always say that."

"Hi, how are you?"

"I'm having a great day! How are you?"

"You always say that."

Mister?

You say it like an accusation, like you've caught me, red-handed, like there's something I'll confess. You're shoving it in my face, like you've won a prize. "Congratulations! You found the Easter Egg on the DVD! You found the ring in the cereal box! You got up in the face of the little cashier!"

What do you expect?

Today I woke up with my guts tied in knots missing someone I won't see today. My blood sugar is low because I've been at this register for four hours without eating, and that means I'm very tired. A guy dropped a 12-pack on my pinkie finger, and it still smarts. And you are not the first randomly uncongenial person I have met today.

But I made a decision 8 months ago, and I stand by it.

When I took on this job, I made the call that you were more loved than you were mean, you were more important than you were troublesome, and no matter what happened while I took care of your food and counted your change and handed you your receipt, you were worth being cheerful for.

Not because you deserve it; you don't. Because you're worth more than you deserve.

I made the decision that any day taking care of you was a great day. Even this one. And every moment I spent here I was glad to. And I'm glad to be here now.

I meet your eyes. "I do always say that. It's true." I hand you your receipt. "Thank you for shopping with us."

Parking Lot Ballet

It's late. I should be so, so asleep right now. But there was a moment singing to my heart and I needed to share it.

The weather today was so bad that all the words I find to describe it are German, words like schreckig and furchtbar. Words that mean the trees were technicolor and the sky made a dark portal to another dimension and our customers staggered in wind-battered and wet.

When I got off work, the sun was long set, and it was still raining. I hugged the closing cashier goodbye, pulled on my sweater, and walked outside.

It was beautiful, everything black and slick and puddled and water falling. At first I ran to make sure a car wouldn't hit me, to make sure a kidnapper wouldn't grab me. But then there was nothing between me and my car, and I realized I didn't care if I got wet. The asphalt was bright with wet, the air was bright with wet, water fell from the sky and I wanted to dance.

I did soft-shoe, badly. I leaped over puddles, half-gracefully. And then, I leaped too fast and too far because I'd reached The Paraclete (my car) and it was too soon. I hesitated by the door, till I realized what I feared was looking silly. I tossed the fear into the slish, and scurried back to the streetlight.

I'm not a ballet dancer. I'm a grateful student. Over and over, I am lectured to stop jerking from motion to motion, to stop focusing on trying to be perfect, to have fun. My teacher has told me to stop finding, and fall.

In the wet parkinglot, under the lights, the last little distance to my car, I got to dance. I wasn't perfect. Maybe I wasn't graceful. But I stopped finding, and fell.

And maybe that's what wet expanses of parking lot are for: for using the little strength I have, and learning to trust God so I can fall.

[Wrote this late at night and forget. Saved it so I could make sure it wasn't awful in the morning. Now I can post.]

Someone Saw Me

A few days ago, a man came to my line, and we had a conversation that went like this.

Man: I saw you here Friday.

Me: I don't think so. [I work a different job Friday.]

Man: I thought I saw you outside. You were coming to get your check or something.

Me: Ummm...

Man: You were twirling around with your arms out like an airplane.



...

Me: Oh. Yep. That was me. .__.

Man: You looked really happy.

Me: I was.

Pink Cupcakes

Yesterday the Vietnam veteran I had been afraid of came through buying pink cupcakes for his 8-year-old girls.

We had a pleasant conversation regarding cupcakes and 8-year-olds, and when he was leaving, I called out, "Oh! Thank you for your service."

He turned, pulled up to attention, and said- just said; his voice boomed enough to make calling unnecessary- "Thank you for your recognition."

Then he left the grocery store singing "JOY, JOY, JOY, JOY..."

I prayed that his pink cupcakes would be blessed. I don't know how to pray, a lot. But food-blessing I can do. May your pink cupcakes be blessed. In Jesus name.

"I forgive you."

"I forgive you" doesn't mean "what you did is okay." It means, "You are more important than the thing you did."

I asked God for practice on forgiving, and I got it. All day.

You are more important than what you're doing, girl rolling her eyes at me.

You are more important than what you're doing, man dropping things on my fingers.

You are more important than what a jerk you're being, old greasy guy calling me names.

No, what you're doing's not okay. Yeah, you should totally stop. But you are so, SO much more important than what you do, and it's not my job to set you right. It's my job to love you.

Also, the CSL has offered to kick your butt. Be warned.

(Found this in a journal from January 1, 2014.)

Bagging for the Scary Man

I like having a counter between me and people a lot.

Some people seem like they have "DANGEROUS-KEEP OFF" written all over them. This guy actually did. He had a "KEEP OFF- UNSOCIABLE VETERAN" decal on the shoulder of his jacket, and Vietnam War paraphenalia over the rest of it. His hair hung down long and stringy under his hat. His eyes were hard. He didn't talk, but his lips were moving.

My stupid heart was beating hard. I moved to the bagging area to do my job, but I was praying in my head, "God, help me love this guy right. Please, help me not be scared."

He got to the register to pay, and I heard what he was saying.

"Reunited and it feels so good. Reunited and it's understood..."

Thank You, God. Thank You for scary-looking people who sing along to elevator music. Thank You for making me not scared.

Mini Spanish-Soap Opera Moment #1

And then there was that moment when, in the middle of the mini Spanish soap-opera unfolding in front of my register, I broke in to ask in Spanish if they wanted things double-bagged.

And then People Hug Me

Today a lady hugged me for wishing her a happy birthday. I see her two or three times a week. I don't even know her name.

This evening, as I was running to the bathroom for my break, an elderly Latin man asked for help finding something for his wife. We combed through three sections of shelves, and when we found it, he beamed like the sun and hugged me too. Then I ran back to make sure I wasn't late.

6 months ago, a woman came through my line buying a cake. It was a triple chocolate tort, something stacked and gooey and iced. She was bright and cheery and smiling, and I exclaimed over her cake and asked what she was celebrating.

"Actually," she said, still smiling, "my stepson was found unconscious this morning. His wife got him to the hospital, and he died. Just died. He was thirty two years old. His four children are at my house. The oldest is eleven. I have no idea what to tell them. So...I'm buying cake."

She was still smiling. Her voice trembled with cheeriness, and she was smiling.

What do you say?

"I'm sorry," I got out. "I'll..." I didn't want to lose my job. I didn't want to get in trouble. But my heart bled, and there was only one thing I could say. "I'll pray for you."

Her face crumpled. She came around the cash register and hugged me. Then she took her cake and left.

That was the first time someone hugged me at the grocery store.

Mistaken for a Homeless Person

Today, I was mistaken for a homeless person by a homeless person.

Apparently I looked newly-homeless, because I was given lots of advice and the old gentleman was very kind. Also, there was no kind way to turn down his tangerines, so today I was given food by a homeless man. ._.

I need to find a way to give this man a wonderful turkey sandwich or something.

(December 21, 2013)

Ten Bottles of Red Food Coloring

Today I rang up a kid buying ten bottles of red food coloring.

Me: So what are you making?

Guy: *embarrassed* Oh, well, it's a project, and...you know...

Me: Fake blood? *-*

Guy: Um...no. Kind of. Well... .__.

Me: Fake blood AND GUTS? 8D

His enthusiasm when he realized he was at the one cash register that wanted to hear about his special effects was heart-warming.

(November 23, 2013)

Befriending Grumpy

When I first started working at my job, there was this guy who came through and was very gruff and abrupt. 
 
Me: "Hi! How are-"

Guy: "No time, don't want to talk, I'm tired!"

This happened two or three times, till I finally remembered what he looked like.

The next time he came through, I had been chatting and laughing with all the customers ahead of him, and when I got to his food, I went dead silent. I wrapped up his order without making a peep. He looked weirded out. The other people in line looked surprised. But when I handed him his receipt, I beamed at him, "And no conversation, because you're special and important!"

He stuttered. He stammered. He blushed a little.

Next time, he came back.

Sometimes he starts a conversation. Sometimes I just smile at him and we're quiet. But every time I ring up his coffee, I'm glad to have him in my life.

And that's how you turn someone being grumpy into a new way to love them.

(December 10, 2013)

Dear Loser who Tried to Get a Fake Check Past Me Today:

Dear Loser Who Tried to Get a Fake Check Past Me Today:

When you are caught trying to defraud a shining institution such as a grocery store, such as the BEST grocery store, the proper course of action on your part is to hang your head, apologize, and leave.

You are not allowed to get angry. You are not allowed to be mad. You are not allowed to complain that I wrote on your stupid fake check.

Why? Because I just spent five minutes trying to give you the benefit of a doubt, and then another five pretending it was possibly the fault of your bank. Oh, I'm sorry, sir, your bank gave you a fake check that looks like it was forged by an idiot.

You should be grateful. Grateful that other people were saved from suffering for your greed and malice. Grateful that you were too stupid to forge a check. Grateful that I rescued you from committing the evil you had purposed in your heart to do.

And you know what else you should be grateful for? You should be grateful that EVERY CASHIER that is gratefully employed in our wonderful grocery store didn't attack you and rip you apart with our teeth. You should be grateful that, compared to how you were trying to treat us, we were really, REALLY nice.

Because you ARE a loser. You pull something like that, you try to be evil, and you are losing at life. What you did was wrong, and you're wrong, but you DON'T have to stay that way. Jesus freaking died because he thought you were worth more than your stupid fake check.

Stop losing, and live up to what he did for you.

And while you're being grateful, while you're changing your heart, and while you're hopefully repenting to my manager with tears for how unkind you were to her, send up a prayer of thanks that I didn't break your face with a spaghetti squash.

Sincerely,

The Cheerful Cashier

(January 8, 2014)

Cool Teenaged Girl in My Line

Cool teenage girl in my line: *chats with friends*

Me: *[name removed to protect subject]* ? O:

Cool teenage girl: ...yeah? o__o

Me: Oh my goodness you're so grown up!

Cool teenage girl: How do you know me? o__o

Me: Oh...I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. .__.

Cool teenage girl: No, go ahead. o__o

Me: We played with tiny ponies and little dinosaurs and you bossed me around a lot...

Cool teenage girl: OH MY GOSH!!! O____________O

...babysitting rocks.

And go you being all grown up, tiny pony girl. Go you.

Things I Have Learned from Customer Service

Things I have learned from customer service:

1. There are more kind people than nasty people.

2. Most rude folks are just afraid.

3. People can be won over about 99% of the time, if you just keep loving them.

4. Evil exists.

(October 15, 2013)

I thought I would add something to the above, because I've been working for longer now. It seems I should know more. But...I think that really sums it up.

Soul-Halves and Old People

It is such a satisfaction every time a regular customer comes through with a spouse on his arm.

I get to see his face calmer, more peaceful than it usually is. I get to see her for the first time and realize that I recognize this lady I've never met, because she matches him. I get to exclaim, "Ah! I've met him, but I've never met you before. You're lovely together."

Their eyes move in tandem. They smile or blush or turn carefully away, but as a pair, without realizing that, whatever it is, the expression is in sync. They are beautiful.

Children look like parents. Siblings resemble siblings. But the older couples are like seeing two halves of a soul. It's wonderful.

"Blissfully Happy"

There was an older lady who came through my line in my first week of work, when I'd just begun dating Collin Pennington, and she asked in a grumpy, robotic voice how I was, to receive "BLISSFULLY HAPPY. *-* " 

She looked at me like I had sprouted alien antennae and asked why, and I told her, and she responded with continuing incredulity.

She has come through my line five times now, and every time she asks me if I am still blissfully happy.

Yesterday, for the first time, I saw her smile.

(Oct. 1, 2013)

Update: The last time I saw her, she invited herself to my wedding, whenever it happens. She scowled at me and informed me she would stay alive that long. I'm so glad to have this story in my life.

And Another Human Being Absolutely Rocks

Customer: How are you?

Me: I was sad missing someone and then I realized how wonderful it was to have the opportunity to be lovesick and missing him so now I'm happy! ^-^

Customer: Aw. Is he out of town?

Me: ...

>_>

<_<

v_v

Me: No. I saw him an hour ago, but I don't get to see him again till tomorrow. :c

Customer: ...it's okay to be silly and feel feelings. Good for you. I hope you have fun tomorrow.

...and another human being absolutely rocks.

Sept. 23, 2013

Blog Post 1: Dear Customers

Four months ago, I posted an open letter on Facebook:

"Dear Customers,

"When I tell you I'm glad to be serving you, I am telling the truth.

"When I tell you I like my job, it's not because anyone ever asked me to.

"And when I say that I hope you have a good day, it's not because you've been nice, or even passably polite. You are not loved for what you do. You're loved for what you are.

"Do you want to come through my line and deride me for seeming happy a few more dozen times? Bring it on. I'll be here, and I will bag your groceries like a gift and tell you again, if not with my words with what I do, that you are important, that you are more loved than you're gross, you're more wanted than you're mean, and you're more looked-for than you're missing.

"Try me. I'll be here.

"Sincerely,

"The Cheerful Cashier"

Since then, I've rung up a lot of groceries. I've smiled at a lot of people who didn't smile back. I've met people whose mothers would be ashamed of them. I've had a lot more practice being cheerful.

And I've been asked to share my adventures.

I don't know if this will go anywhere. I don't have plans to regularly post. But, hello, fellow adventurers! My name is Joy. I work at my favorite grocery store in the entire world. Life is hard, but I'm with Jesus, and it's always worth it. I am that cheerful cashier.