Sh*t My Customers Say

Wearing a name tag at work creates a gross imbalance of power that is certainly not in my favor.  People who I have never seen in my life refer to me by name as if they know me.  They get a little too familiar, and I don't like it.  I would prefer to be largely anonymous in my subservience to others.

When a well-meaning older gentleman who happens to be a complete stranger says to me, "Hi Katie, how are you?" it feels more like he is saying, "Hi Katie, what size bra do you wear?"  That might be an overreaction, but it feels like a violation in some way.  I may be wearing a name tag, but the use of my name in the customer/employee context should be reserved for complaining about my service if I have failed in some way.  I don't want to make pleasant small talk with you so that you feel good about being nice to "the help."  I'm here to scan and bag your purchases and collect your payment, not to bolster your feelings of self-righteousness. 

Some of these people might even be genuinely friendly and enjoy conversing with everyone they meet.  That's great for them, but imagine how it makes me feel.  Do I really need to discuss the weather with scores of people over the course of an eight hour shift?  I suppose I should be grateful that the customers who want to chat far outweigh the scary malcontents who refuse to communicate beyond grunting one word answers to questions such as "paper or plastic," "debit or credit."  However, I would take that over people who seem endlessly fascinated by the fact that it's cold, or that it's snowing, or that it's sunny.  Or the people who want to know my life story, or who want to tell me that their sister's best friend's daughter's name is Katie. 

Really, I just don't care.  All I need or want is an opening hello and a closing thank you.  Just basic politeness.  I'm spending three minutes in your presence, performing a service for you for an hourly pittance.  We don't have to be best friends for those three minutes, just stand there and be quiet so I don't accidentally charge you three times for the same item.  But if I do, then you can feel free to use my name when you complain to the management. 

Sometimes, people just go beyond anything annoying and enter the realm of WTF.  The other day, something must have been tainting the water supply because people were acting all kinds of weird.  First, a middle-aged man came through my line and asked me if I ever watch this British television show called Doc Martin.  I told him that I couldn't afford TV, so no, I hadn't seen it.  He proceeded to tell me how I look EXACTLY like the character named Louisa.  EXACTLY.  He was adamant.  I'm surprised he didn't ask for my autograph, because he seemed to be a huge fan.

Naturally, I googled this Louisa when I got home.  Life fail.  This chick is played by a 40 year old actress, and she's kinda busted looking.

Louisa, played by actress Caroline Catz.  Source:  Wikipedia

I mean, she's not ugly, but really?  Not much of a compliment.  At least he didn't say I looked like Steve Buscemi with boobs or something.

A short while later, a woman approached my counter and leaned forward with an ominous look on her face.  "You have a cat, don't you?"

"Pardon me?  Uh, yea, I do.  I'm sorry, are you having an allergic reaction or something?"

"No, you have a cloak of invisibility.  All cat owners have it."

"Huh?"

"I walked right past you a minute ago and didn't even see you.  Then I saw you, and I knew you must have a cat because you were invisible."

So I guess Timothy Leary must be working for the water company these days because honestly, these people were tripping on some serious Kool-Aid.  I didn't even know what to say to that, because I had become so accustomed to discussing exclusively weather-related topics that I forgot how to talk about deeper, metaphysical issues like invisibility vis a vis cat ownership.

Begin rant.  Food stamps.  Okay, I get falling on hard times and the cycle of poverty, but why are you buying gourmet imported cheese and artisan bread and effing YAK MEAT when you are so poor that the government has to buy it for you?  I work for my damn money and I'm not running around like a gourmand or a Rockefeller.  I'm also not pumping out children like my ovaries are a pre-recession assembly line.  End rant.

I'm glad I'm getting all this off my chest now, because I am at that critical point where I get to stop caring entirely.  Yesterday I put in my two weeks notice!  I'm still not ready to reveal the details of my grand scheme but I am 97.5% certain that my master plan of making a triumphant return to New Jersey is going to succeed, and soon.  I just have a few formalities with which to dispense in a couple weeks, and then I can hopefully reveal a glorious truth.  Yay!