A Bad Egg
Today I went to Target. At the Target near me, you can pretty much get anything you need. They have a huge, expanded grocery section and I happened to need to get some eggs, so I got a carton. Then I went to the checkout.
One thing I used to give Target credit for was their checkout system. Rarely have I had to wait in winding lines, or have I arrived at the checkout to see only two cashiers open with rows of closed registers while employees wander the store. So even though it was a little busy on a Friday afternoon, the lines weren't catastrophic. I got in one line and started to unpack my things when I noticed the cashier and for some reason, he gave me the creeps. So I moved cashiers to a nearby register. I remember thinking, hmm, I wonder if this is terrible of me to judge this guy and just move. Then I thought, well, this is Target, get over yourself, don't be a weirdo.
I shoulda been a weirdo.
Daysha wasn't the best, right off the bat. She sort of grunted at me when I put my stuff down on her conveyor belt, but I'm used to the lack of verbal interaction from customer service employees. Recently I was talking to my friend who told me she tries to count the number of words exchanged between her and a cashier. She says she has gone through a transaction with the count never leaving zero, and I believe her. Too bad for me, this exchange would go well above that mark.
So to cut to the chase, after everything's been rung through, I go to pick up the packages and as I do, I ask her which one has the eggs. I've probably got a skeptical look on my face because I can't seem to find the one bag with just eggs wrapped around it, like most grocery store places do.
"Why?" she asked.
I was momentarily silenced because I guess her question made sense, but I didn't really understand why she needed to know why. Maybe I wanted to eat one on my way home, for all she cared. "I just want to be careful with it, I guess," I said. I think I gave one of those little laughs to be friendly. No dice.
"That one." She jabbed a finger at the heaviest bag.
"This one?" I raised the bag.
"That one," she nodded. She turned to start the next customer as I looked at what Daysha had thrown on top of a carton of eggs: a cake mix, frosting, some pencils and erasers, a magazine, a toothbrush, a DVD, mascara, a container of Clorox wipes, and my personal favorite, a jar of tomato sauce. On the bottom? A carton of eggs.
Excuse me, a crushed carton of eggs.
"Umm, excuse me," I said. "But all of these things on top of the eggs crushed them, so I need to get a new carton."
"Huh?"
I sort of waved the bag at her. "See, all this stuff on top of the carton crushed it, so now I need to replace it with a new carton." I looked into the bag. "And actually, some of my things have egg all over them, so I'm going to need to replace those too."
"Huh?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Whatchu say?"
It took a lot to repeat myself, but I did it. Pretty much word for word.
"How come you need new eggs?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Why you keep saying that?"
"Because I don't understand your question."
"I said, why you need new eggs?"
"Oh, no. I heard you. I just don't understand why you're asking - you know what, nevermind. I need new eggs because these are cracked now and ruined because you put the packages on top of them in the bag."
"I did not."
"Did someone else bag my stuff? I honestly didn't see anyone else." I said this politely, like I was actually sort of asking her legitimately if I might have missed Daysha's friend come over and stuff everything on top of the eggs.
"No, I bagged it, but I didn't put everything on top like that."
"Umm..."
"Yeah, I didn't do that."
"So you bagged my groceries, but you didn't put them in the bags the way they're in there?"
"Zactly."
"Is there someone I can speak to?"
She got on her cashier phone and paged Heather. Then she shut off her light on her cashier line.
"I don't mind waiting to the side for Heather," I told Daysha. I looked apologetically at the person behind me.
"Oh no," Daysha said. "we gonna just wait. I'm on probation as it is here so I bet if she thinks I did this then I'm gonna get canned, so might as well just shut it down."
Hmm. Good work ethic, Daysha. Way to be working hard and doing your best when your supervisor comes to check out what's happening. Excellent plan.
But here's where I felt bad and I made a nearly fatal mistake. "I don't mean to cause any problems for you," I said. "I'm not even saying that you put them just like this in the bags. I'm just saying that the way they were bagged caused the eggs to break and now I need to replace some things."
I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have said the thing about me not saying that she was the problem. Because let's face it. I know Daysha was the problem. You know Daysha was the problem. Daysha knew Daysha was the problem. Heather probably even know Daysha was the problem the moment she answered that red phone. So I should have just kept my stupid big mouth shut. But no. I wanted to make HER feel better. Stupid stupid stupid.
Heather arrived.
"What's the problem?" Heather said. She actually breathed this more than said it. One of those really heavy breather talkers. It pained me to listen to her. But I knew from my previous customer service debacles that Heather was going to have to be my friend, so I had to accept her breathing and just go with it.
"Her." Daysha pointed at me. So much for my olive branch. Big snap there.
"ME?"
Heather sighed. At least I think she sighed. She might have said something there too but I can't be sure. "Daysha, please don't speak to the customer like that." She turned to me. "What's the problem?"
"I just need to replace these eggs because the way they were packaged in the bag caused them to crack. And also, I need to replace the mascara, magazine, and tomato sauce. Everything else luckily looks okay."
"You need to check the egg carton before you purchase it," Heather said to me. Very matter-of-fact.
Again, and maybe because it was Friday afternoon and I was tired, but I engaged with this and told her, "Oh no, I did check it before I purchased them. It was after I purchased them and picked up my bag that I realized that how it was packed caused the weight to break them."
"And Daysha packed the bags?"
Before I could even say anything, Daysha piped up. "Oh, she said she wasn't saying it was my fault. I got witnesses."
She had witnesses? Where were they?
"Hmm," Heather sighed. "Well, I don't know. I just don't know."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, don't apologize, ma'am," Heather said to me.
"Oh, I'm not apologizing. I'm asking a question. Why don't you know?"
"Well, I have to see if they were bagged like this or if you may have caused this when you picked up your packages."
"Are you serious?"
"We just have to be sure, because if we find that Daysha did this, then we'll have to put this as part of her record. Otherwise, it will be difficult to attribute the cost of replacing the items."
"Can't that happen after you solve the customer problem here?"
"Well, it would be helpful to get a statement from you," Heather said.
"And mine," Daysha said. "And I got Tara here to give a statement too." She pointed at a girl who I hadn't seen before. Like she had literally just materialized. "She saw everything."
As I watched this unfold, I realized that I had to cut the bullshit and stop acting nice and polite and rational in a situation where nobody else was doing any of it.
"Look, I gave you a statement. I told you what happened. Now I just need everything replaced. Like now. Not after I say it again, not after they give a statement. Figure that out later. I need my things."
"I have to make sure that it was the store at fault," Heather repeated. I really wonder about the Target management program. They say you have to go through a whole training. I would settle for an IQ test. Actually, scratch that. I'd settle for a pulse test.
"Well, it was. It was the fault of the store. I can tell you that much."
"So it was Daysha's fault then?"
Maybe this Heather chick, if she got her breathing under control, could be a litigator. She really had this cross examination stuff down.
"I guess so. Whoever bagged my groceries - not me, one of your employees - put everything on top of eggs."
"And Daysha was your cashier."
"Yes."
"Cashiers bag their own merchandise."
"Okay..."
"So then Daysha bagged your groceries, and she put them on top of the eggs, causing the problem." There's some Latin phrase that basically means: yes, then it is so. My father knows it because he knows shit like this. But basically yes, ipsum locutum something-um.
I didn't bother saying that to her because even with her bunk legal proceedings, I didn't think she'd get it. I did consider saying to her, "Yes, it was Ms. Daysha, in the cashier line, with the tomato sauce" a la Clue, but I decided against it.
Daysha shrugged. "Maybe I did," she said.
"Daysha," Heather sighed. "Apologize to the customer."
What was this, mediation?
"That's really not necessary. It was a mistake. Can I just get this exchanged now?"
"Yes, ma'am, we'll take care of it."
"Thank you," I said. I was getting what I wanted, what I rightfully deserved, even though it was fifteen minutes past when it should have happened and I was pretty sure my blood pressure was now rivaling stupid Heather's. Daysha seemed pretty calm about this.
Until, that is, Heather started to walk away to make a receipt change or something. "What a motherfuckin bitch," she said.
"What?" Heather turned around.
"I said, 'What a motherfuckin bitch,' " Daysha repeated calmly. I was looking down at my wallet, trying to become invisible. So awkward. Please don't make this woman actually TRY to breathe heavily to make a point. I'm afraid she'll blow the place down.
"Me?" Heather asked.
"Yeah, you," Daysha said.
"In my office," Heather said.
"You mean the booth by the popcorn machine?"
Pause. "Just get over there."
Daysha put down her things and started to walk over to Heather's office/the booth by the popcorn machine.
Heather turned to me. "Rob will take care of you," she said, pointing toward the next available cashier. Turns out, it was the original guy I had rejected because he'd creeped me out. And wouldn't you know it, he packed the eggs all by themselves.
One thing I used to give Target credit for was their checkout system. Rarely have I had to wait in winding lines, or have I arrived at the checkout to see only two cashiers open with rows of closed registers while employees wander the store. So even though it was a little busy on a Friday afternoon, the lines weren't catastrophic. I got in one line and started to unpack my things when I noticed the cashier and for some reason, he gave me the creeps. So I moved cashiers to a nearby register. I remember thinking, hmm, I wonder if this is terrible of me to judge this guy and just move. Then I thought, well, this is Target, get over yourself, don't be a weirdo.
I shoulda been a weirdo.
Daysha wasn't the best, right off the bat. She sort of grunted at me when I put my stuff down on her conveyor belt, but I'm used to the lack of verbal interaction from customer service employees. Recently I was talking to my friend who told me she tries to count the number of words exchanged between her and a cashier. She says she has gone through a transaction with the count never leaving zero, and I believe her. Too bad for me, this exchange would go well above that mark.
So to cut to the chase, after everything's been rung through, I go to pick up the packages and as I do, I ask her which one has the eggs. I've probably got a skeptical look on my face because I can't seem to find the one bag with just eggs wrapped around it, like most grocery store places do.
"Why?" she asked.
I was momentarily silenced because I guess her question made sense, but I didn't really understand why she needed to know why. Maybe I wanted to eat one on my way home, for all she cared. "I just want to be careful with it, I guess," I said. I think I gave one of those little laughs to be friendly. No dice.
"That one." She jabbed a finger at the heaviest bag.
"This one?" I raised the bag.
"That one," she nodded. She turned to start the next customer as I looked at what Daysha had thrown on top of a carton of eggs: a cake mix, frosting, some pencils and erasers, a magazine, a toothbrush, a DVD, mascara, a container of Clorox wipes, and my personal favorite, a jar of tomato sauce. On the bottom? A carton of eggs.
Excuse me, a crushed carton of eggs.
"Umm, excuse me," I said. "But all of these things on top of the eggs crushed them, so I need to get a new carton."
"Huh?"
I sort of waved the bag at her. "See, all this stuff on top of the carton crushed it, so now I need to replace it with a new carton." I looked into the bag. "And actually, some of my things have egg all over them, so I'm going to need to replace those too."
"Huh?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Whatchu say?"
It took a lot to repeat myself, but I did it. Pretty much word for word.
"How come you need new eggs?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Why you keep saying that?"
"Because I don't understand your question."
"I said, why you need new eggs?"
"Oh, no. I heard you. I just don't understand why you're asking - you know what, nevermind. I need new eggs because these are cracked now and ruined because you put the packages on top of them in the bag."
"I did not."
"Did someone else bag my stuff? I honestly didn't see anyone else." I said this politely, like I was actually sort of asking her legitimately if I might have missed Daysha's friend come over and stuff everything on top of the eggs.
"No, I bagged it, but I didn't put everything on top like that."
"Umm..."
"Yeah, I didn't do that."
"So you bagged my groceries, but you didn't put them in the bags the way they're in there?"
"Zactly."
"Is there someone I can speak to?"
She got on her cashier phone and paged Heather. Then she shut off her light on her cashier line.
"I don't mind waiting to the side for Heather," I told Daysha. I looked apologetically at the person behind me.
"Oh no," Daysha said. "we gonna just wait. I'm on probation as it is here so I bet if she thinks I did this then I'm gonna get canned, so might as well just shut it down."
Hmm. Good work ethic, Daysha. Way to be working hard and doing your best when your supervisor comes to check out what's happening. Excellent plan.
But here's where I felt bad and I made a nearly fatal mistake. "I don't mean to cause any problems for you," I said. "I'm not even saying that you put them just like this in the bags. I'm just saying that the way they were bagged caused the eggs to break and now I need to replace some things."
I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have said the thing about me not saying that she was the problem. Because let's face it. I know Daysha was the problem. You know Daysha was the problem. Daysha knew Daysha was the problem. Heather probably even know Daysha was the problem the moment she answered that red phone. So I should have just kept my stupid big mouth shut. But no. I wanted to make HER feel better. Stupid stupid stupid.
Heather arrived.
"What's the problem?" Heather said. She actually breathed this more than said it. One of those really heavy breather talkers. It pained me to listen to her. But I knew from my previous customer service debacles that Heather was going to have to be my friend, so I had to accept her breathing and just go with it.
"Her." Daysha pointed at me. So much for my olive branch. Big snap there.
"ME?"
Heather sighed. At least I think she sighed. She might have said something there too but I can't be sure. "Daysha, please don't speak to the customer like that." She turned to me. "What's the problem?"
"I just need to replace these eggs because the way they were packaged in the bag caused them to crack. And also, I need to replace the mascara, magazine, and tomato sauce. Everything else luckily looks okay."
"You need to check the egg carton before you purchase it," Heather said to me. Very matter-of-fact.
Again, and maybe because it was Friday afternoon and I was tired, but I engaged with this and told her, "Oh no, I did check it before I purchased them. It was after I purchased them and picked up my bag that I realized that how it was packed caused the weight to break them."
"And Daysha packed the bags?"
Before I could even say anything, Daysha piped up. "Oh, she said she wasn't saying it was my fault. I got witnesses."
She had witnesses? Where were they?
"Hmm," Heather sighed. "Well, I don't know. I just don't know."
"I'm sorry?"
"No, don't apologize, ma'am," Heather said to me.
"Oh, I'm not apologizing. I'm asking a question. Why don't you know?"
"Well, I have to see if they were bagged like this or if you may have caused this when you picked up your packages."
"Are you serious?"
"We just have to be sure, because if we find that Daysha did this, then we'll have to put this as part of her record. Otherwise, it will be difficult to attribute the cost of replacing the items."
"Can't that happen after you solve the customer problem here?"
"Well, it would be helpful to get a statement from you," Heather said.
"And mine," Daysha said. "And I got Tara here to give a statement too." She pointed at a girl who I hadn't seen before. Like she had literally just materialized. "She saw everything."
As I watched this unfold, I realized that I had to cut the bullshit and stop acting nice and polite and rational in a situation where nobody else was doing any of it.
"Look, I gave you a statement. I told you what happened. Now I just need everything replaced. Like now. Not after I say it again, not after they give a statement. Figure that out later. I need my things."
"I have to make sure that it was the store at fault," Heather repeated. I really wonder about the Target management program. They say you have to go through a whole training. I would settle for an IQ test. Actually, scratch that. I'd settle for a pulse test.
"Well, it was. It was the fault of the store. I can tell you that much."
"So it was Daysha's fault then?"
Maybe this Heather chick, if she got her breathing under control, could be a litigator. She really had this cross examination stuff down.
"I guess so. Whoever bagged my groceries - not me, one of your employees - put everything on top of eggs."
"And Daysha was your cashier."
"Yes."
"Cashiers bag their own merchandise."
"Okay..."
"So then Daysha bagged your groceries, and she put them on top of the eggs, causing the problem." There's some Latin phrase that basically means: yes, then it is so. My father knows it because he knows shit like this. But basically yes, ipsum locutum something-um.
I didn't bother saying that to her because even with her bunk legal proceedings, I didn't think she'd get it. I did consider saying to her, "Yes, it was Ms. Daysha, in the cashier line, with the tomato sauce" a la Clue, but I decided against it.
Daysha shrugged. "Maybe I did," she said.
"Daysha," Heather sighed. "Apologize to the customer."
What was this, mediation?
"That's really not necessary. It was a mistake. Can I just get this exchanged now?"
"Yes, ma'am, we'll take care of it."
"Thank you," I said. I was getting what I wanted, what I rightfully deserved, even though it was fifteen minutes past when it should have happened and I was pretty sure my blood pressure was now rivaling stupid Heather's. Daysha seemed pretty calm about this.
Until, that is, Heather started to walk away to make a receipt change or something. "What a motherfuckin bitch," she said.
"What?" Heather turned around.
"I said, 'What a motherfuckin bitch,' " Daysha repeated calmly. I was looking down at my wallet, trying to become invisible. So awkward. Please don't make this woman actually TRY to breathe heavily to make a point. I'm afraid she'll blow the place down.
"Me?" Heather asked.
"Yeah, you," Daysha said.
"In my office," Heather said.
"You mean the booth by the popcorn machine?"
Pause. "Just get over there."
Daysha put down her things and started to walk over to Heather's office/the booth by the popcorn machine.
Heather turned to me. "Rob will take care of you," she said, pointing toward the next available cashier. Turns out, it was the original guy I had rejected because he'd creeped me out. And wouldn't you know it, he packed the eggs all by themselves.
