Island Richards

Remember…we are always watching! If you know Veronica, make sure you tell her “Hi!” for us!

That’s it! I have to say something! Yes, I have a hang up, and it’s because of something you refuse to do!

Hang up!

I know that fifteen minutes is way too long to be away from your husband and you can’t bear to not speak to him for the twenty seconds that it’s going to take for me to ring up your ho-ho’s and Diet Coke. I know that it is super important that you tell your wife how much you miss her while I ring up your cup of coffee and bag of M&M’s.

I know how important it is that you tell your little thing on the side exactly where you are every step, and every second; “I’m walking down the candy aisle, sweety. I’m standing in front of the pop cooler, twinkie. I’m walking toward the front counter, sugar. I’m standing at the counter, sweetcakes.”

I’m going into diabetic shock listening to you, jackass!

I know how incredibly important it is that you have that cell phone glued to your ear 24 hours a day, seven days and week!

You, though, apparently don’t know how incredibly rude and obnoxious you are! First of all, I know that, to you, I’m just a piece of crap convenience store clerk. But, do you know what? You can at least show me the common courtesy of acknowledging my existence during the twenty seconds of time that our lives are forced to intersect. Beyond me, you are also being rude to the people who are forced to stand in line behind you while you stumble through the buttons on the credit card machine while your phone sex operator whispers sweet nothings in your ear. Stop forcing the rest of us to listen to your little love chat with your stud muffin!

If speaking to an actual human being is too complicated for you, I suggest that you avoid human interaction completely and buy your Midol from a veding machine. Otherwise, just HANG UP!

I was working the counter last Thursday when three travellers came in looking a little lost. The threesome was composed of two young South African men and a young white woman with what I think was a New Jersey accent. One of the gentlemen and the young lady came up to the counter, and asked if I could help them with directions.

“I’ll do what I can,” I answered, “what can I help you find?”

“Can you tell us how to get to here?” she asked, point at a line on her Mapquest printout that said Merge left onto I-84 Westbound.

“I’m sorry,” I told them, “You can’t get there from here.” I pointed at the first line on their printout, that referred to an intersection in Kansas (we were in Western Wyoming) and said,”See here where it says ‘turn left’? Mapquest was wrong, you should have turned right, then you’d be heading the right way.”

The young lady immediately turned around and punched the man she was with in the arm and yelled, “You son of a bitch! I told you we were going the wrong way! Now we have to go all the way back!”

“No, no, I was kidding,” I quickly interjected, trying to control my laughter, “You’re going the right way. The turnoff is another 130 miles or so West of here.”

“That way?” she asked pointing confused toward the East.

“No, that way,” I told her pointing toward the West.

“Yeah you dummy,” her friend said in his heavy South African accent. “W – E – S – T, West! Do you understand? West!”

They were still fighting when the three of them got in their car and headed out of the parking lot in the wrong direction.

These are the moments when it is all worth while

Wisdom

Really. Yes, Really. We love our customers. If we didn’t, there’s no way we could make it through day after day of dealing with them without going completely insane. That doesn’t mean that we don’t get a few people every day that test our loving resolve.

Take, for instance, the idiot that doesn’t know how to prepay for gasoline. Yes, I know that you’re not that idiot, so don’t get offended, but those other idiots can really try a convenience store clerks patience. Just for arguments sake though, let’s just say you are that idiot, and let’s just pretend I’m talking directly to you.

If you’re going to buy gasoline, you’re going to have to prepay. So, to help you out, I’ve put together these ten laws of prepay, just for you.

First, prepay means just that. You pay me for the fuel before I turn on the dispenser and let you fill your tank. Prepay takes many forms. It can mean you handing me cash. It can mean you handing me a check (if my store is one of the rare stores that take them). And it can mean you handing me a credit card or debit card to be charged a set amount or for me to hold while you pump. You can even hand me your driver’s license (yours, not your wife’s, not your husbands, yours). All of these things work. Don’t, however, try to make up some new way to do it, like calling me on your cell phone so I have your phone number. I don’t want your phone number, and I don’t have time to explain to you why your way doesn’t work.

Second, please, please, please, don’t try to tell me that this is the first time in your protected little life that you have ever come across a gas station that makes you prepay. Yeah, I know it’s relatively new in that podunk town in Arkansas that you grew up in, but if you’ve driven on even a county highway, you’ve run into a gas station where prepay is required. So don’t tell me that this is your first time.

Third, don’t be the guy who walks in and just alternates staring at me and looking back out through the window at your car parked by the pump. I’m not pyschic. Yes, I do know what you’re thinking, but I’m still not psychic. If you want something, say something. Otherwise, I’m just going to pretend you’re stupid and talk to you like you are four.

Fourth, don’t stick your nose halfway through the door and order me to turn the pump on for you. I’m not going to. Likewise, don’t push the ‘help’ button or the ’speak to attendant’ button on the pump and tell me the same thing. Just save us both the grief and don’t argue with me about it. Yes, I know you’re honest, just like I knew all those people who stole gas and forced the industry to require prepay were honest. (See Wisdom’s Law #4)And yes, I know you’re special, too, and deserve to be treated better than the other thousand people or so that I see every day. But I’m not your mommy, and I’m going to treat you just like everyone else, which means you are going to prepay.

Fifth, please, please, please, don’t be that sweet little old lady (or the nasty crack whore for that matter) that comes in and says, “My husband’s getting gas out there. I’ll stay here untill he’s done and pay.” No, no, no. I don’t want a hostage. I don’t want to be the guy that has to tackle a 74 year old lady when she decides not to stay in the store when her bladder tells her to head out to the outside bathroom! Just work with me here. Prepay. Prepay. Prepay.

Sixth, don’t show me the wad of cash in your pocket and say, “But I don’t know how much I’ll need?” I don’t know how much you’ll need either, so don’t ask me. It’s your car, remember? Make an educated guess. Please don’t be that person who makes me make you feel stupid when you say with a blank look, “I don’t know what to do.” I don’t want to make you feel stupid, but I will. I will, damn you. And don’t give me half of what you think you’ll need and say, “If it takes more, I’ll be back in to pay the rest.” No. No. No. If you want more, give me more money now. That’s why it’s called prepay. On the same note, don’t make make five trips inside and give me five bucks each time. It is a complete waste of both of our time. Just give me the twenty five bucks the first time. And don’t give me thirty bucks, then come back after you use it, and give me another ten when you’re gonna pump 18 more cents! You’re going to be embarrassed.

Seventh, after you throw a hundred dollar bill on the counter and say, “That’s for gas out in the white truck.” (because your white truck is surely the only one out there), and I say, “Thank you,” you really don’t have to stop, turn around, and tell me, “It probably won’t take it all.” I know already. It’s understood. And don’t ask me what happens if you don’t use it all. It’s common sense. But you’re still going to make me say it, aren’t you? OK, I’ll say it, here it goes, “It’s alright, I’ll get you change if you don’t use it all.” There, I said it. Happy now?

Eighth, don’t shove that hundred dollar bill in my face while I’m taking care of another customer. I know you’re more important than him, but I’m trying really hard to build up that other guy’s self esteem, so don’t interrupt. Just pretend your mommy taught you that one manner, okay. Along those same lines, don’t just toss your money onto the counter and walk away, either. I’ll just assume it’s a gift. People give me free money all the time and I’ll just confuse you with them.

Ninth, don’t tell me how you don’t like to leave your cash/check/credit card/debit card with a clerk because you’re afraid that we’re going to steal it. If I wanted to steal your cash, I wouldn’t do it while I’m wearing a name tag. If you’re that worried, ask for a receipt when you give me your cash. I don’t mind. In fact, I’m shocked that everyone doesn’t. And as for your credit card numbers, if I wanted to steal them, I don’t need for you to leave the card with me to do that. Credit card transactions are so insecure that it’s almost scary. I can take them out of the computer any time I want. Sorry, it’s just reality. Don’t shoot the messenger.

Tenth, take half of a second and look at the number of the pump you’re parked at, BEFORE you come in. Don’t hand me your hundred bucks or your credit card and stand there staring outside for thirty seconds. Don’t tell me, “that far one up here,” and Dear God, don’t guess your pump number. When you tell me the wrong pump, and someone else uses it, IT IS A COMPLETE PAIN IN THE ASS TO FIX. More than that, it can mean erroneous charges on your credit card. I really want to do it right, but I need you to help out just a little, OK?

So, there it is. Ten laws of prepay. What? Are you telling me again that you don’t like prepay? Too bad! I don’t care that you don’t like prepay. I don’t like it either, but it is a fact of life. I don’t care that you don’t have time to make two trips. I don’t care that you think it is inefficient. I don’t care if you feel untrusted. I don’t care that you are driving a ‘work truck’ or that you drive a Mercedes. I don’t care that you’re a doctor and I don’t care that your uncle’s bosses cousin knows the owner of the store. I don’t care. You still have to prepay.

Have a nice day

Anyone who works in a convenience store with prepay for gasoline knows that every customer thinks they are special and shouldn’t have to prepay for their gas. Some think their status as a “life long” customer makes them too important to have to put up with prepay. Others will tell you how much money they are worth. Some will tell you their religious inclinations. Still, others will tell you how good a friend they are to your mother. The only consistency is that each and every one of these people will drive off without paying for gas. What’s worse is that unwary clerks, not wanting to fight with them, will turn on the pumps without making them pay first and let them do it!

This week, a customer in my store decided to make my life difficult while I was making a new brew of coffee, and lectured me about why he shouldn’t have to prepay. “Do you see those red letters on that white truck out there? Do you know what those letters spell? Those letters spell HALLIBURTON! Do you know that Halliburton is one of the largest companies in the world? I think they can afford to pay for the gas I put in their truck,” he grumbled, sucking on the wad of Longhorn Long Cut Natural rotting away at his cheek.

“Come here, I want to show you something,” I told him, leading him back to the sales counter. “These are drive offs from people who somehow convinced my clerks that they were honest, just like you,” I told him, pulling the most recent slip from the wall where it hung above the cash register.

“Yeah, so what?”

“Do you see those letters on the top of this slip? Do you know what those letters spell?”

He read slowly, his face turning red as his argument fell to pieces in his balding head.

“Yep. HALLIBURTON. Now, are you going to give me your credit card so I can turn on your pump?”

“Fucking assholes,” he whispered, shaking his head as he handed me his credit card and turned to stomp back out to his truck. “Someone always has to screw it up for everyone else!”

My sentiments exactly.
Wisdom

Found this one at WayOdd.com. Can you imagine?

Wisdom

Woman Complains To Police About Bad Cocaine She Purchased

December 19, 2006
In the strangest ever complaint lodged to police, a 50-year-old North Carolina woman said that the crack cocaine she had just purchased wasn’t very good.

Police arrested Eloise D. Reaves after she approached the Putnam County sheriff’s deputy at a convenience store Friday, complaining him that another man had sold her “bad crack” that contained wax and cocaine.

According to the Palatka Daily News’s Tuesday editions, Reaves reportedly pulled an alleged crack rock out of her mouth and placed it on the deputy’s car for inspection.

Reaves was informed by the police that she could be arrested if the crack tested positive for cocaine.

According to AP, the woman was charged with possession of cocaine and bonded out for $1,504.

Additionally, the Police also searched the man whom Reaves accused of selling the cocaine but he said he did not know Reaves.

After the deputy searched him, he found the man did not have any cocaine or money on him.

Sometimes a trip to the convenience store is a real trip!

Wisdom

E02. Adagio’s Trip at the Convenience Store

It all began when I had internal dialog stating reasons why I should not venture out into society. Why I should stay in my residence safe and sound away from any uncertainties; yet a friend calls to have discussions and request to venture out to fill our bellies with warm comfort food and I ponder for a moment…I have food here, I have books, I have music, I have Internet access, I have DVDs, I have drink, wait…I’m out of wine. But I have tea, I have coffee, I have vitamin water, I have all that I need.

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A few years ago, I was in the liquor store section of one of my C-stores, hurriedly throwing up a just delivered order, while a wisened assistant manager was training a new clerk.

A customer walked into the liquor store, with about a 10 year old little girl at her heel, and asked the new clerk, “How much are your minis?”

The new clerk replied, “What kind are you looking for ma’am?”

“I’ll tell you what kind I’m looking for when you tell me how much they are!” the customer quipped in an increasingly agitated voice.

The assistant manager quickly stepped up to the counter and said, “I’m sorry ma’am. I think what she’s trying to ask is what kind are you looking for. Whiskey, schnapps, rum, vodka? There’s about thirty different kinds of minis down here and I’m sure you don’t want all the prices.”

The now livid customer looked at the new clerk and asked her, “Is this lady training you?” She gestured toward the assistant manager and continued, “Because if she is, you don’t stand a chance. She’s the rudest, most incompentent trainer I’ve ever seen!”

At about this time I decided to step into the discussion. “Is there a problem ma’am?” I asked.

“Yes there’s a problem, these people are rude and incompetent. All I want is a price and they won’t give me one!”

“Well, ma’am, I’ve actually been standing here listening the entire time, and my people have been nothing but polite to you. They’re just trying to get an idea of what you want so they don’t have to give a big list of prices.”

“My God!” she yelled, “will you just tell me how much your fucking minis are?” throwing up her arms.

In a soft but level tone of voice, I asked quietly, “Ma’am, are you from Utah?”

Taken aback, and a little confused, she stuttered, “Why?”

“Because,” I answered, “You’re being a real bitch, and someone from Wyoming wouldn’t be treating people like this. So…you must be from Utah. Are you?”

The lady grabbed her daughter by the arm, yanking her nearly off her feet, and dragged her out through the front door, into her gold colored Honda Civic, sporting Utah plates, and sped out of the parking lot.

Sometimes, everything just falls perfectly into place.

Wisdom

A catchy story I came across

Wisdom

Sat 18 Nov 2006

“Terror at the Mini-Mart”

Posted by Steve B under Creative Writing , Fiction , Work Avoidance

“Do you take checks?”

“I’m sorry, sir, no checks.”  He felt a sudden tightness in his chest, the first hints of a panicky fear.  Oh please, dear god, no.

“Uhmm….Credit Card?”  he ventured hopefully.

“No, sir. Cash Only, I’m afraid.”  The tightness became a vise around his ribs, crushing against his heart.  He gulped once, then twice, and with a trembling hand, drew out his wallet and fished out a couple of bills.

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