"Wanted to wear my skates but they said 'No dice'" ? Okay, so it doesn't QUITE rhyme...
About the soda lady...GAAAAHHHH!!! Reminds me of what goes on at the grocery down our main street: okay, to put this in perspective, in Europe, you'd be out of a job-- we don't have people to bag out groceries, the customer does that themselves. (When I was in the US this summer, I was SO pathetically awed: "You mean...the cashier does it FOR you?!?!") Story One: The Bitter Old Korean Checkout Lady. There's this bitter old Korean checkout lady (BOKCL from this point on) at our grocery. Her only expression os a glare that says, "I want to squash you." So how does she check things out? SLOOOOOOWLY, because she hates you personally. She picks up item. Looks at it. Scans it SLOOOOOWLY. Because of how slow she scans it, of course, the bar code-reader can't read it. So that means she has to examine the item to see what's wrong with it. Look, look, look. Turns it over. Look, look, look. Scans it sliiiightly faster, so it actually registers! Whee! Then, if you're having the slightest TINY problem opening your stupid bloody plastic sack and making sure the items won't smash each other, she GLARES at you with this accusitory look, because, as you're the one preventing other people from sacking their groceries, YOU'RE holding up the line. Story 2: The Absent-Minded Indian Guy. The AMIG picks up my bottle of milk. The lable has a slight tear on the barcode, so it can't register. Nevertheless, he spends FAR too long trying to flatten out the rip and scanning at new angles, while everybody in line is starting to glare at me. Finally he admits defeat and asks one clerk how much the milk is. She doesn't know. So he calls another worker, who-- not even walks,*moseys*-- to the cash register. AMIG sends Wyatt Earp back to the back of the store (of COURSE the item came from the exact opposite end of the store) to check the price. The guy takes off. Slooooowly. "Yup, ged alawng li'l dogies"-pace. Meanwhile, the rest of the line is ready to lynch me with a rope of salami. When Doc Holliday finally gets his arse back, the AMIG glares at ME because, obviously I deliberately grabbed a bottle with a ripped lable to make his life difficult.
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branchandroot
Suggestion from Ruby...
Date: 2004-09-26 08:11 pm (UTC)Okay, so it doesn't QUITE rhyme...
About the soda lady...GAAAAHHHH!!! Reminds me of what goes on at the grocery down our main street: okay, to put this in perspective, in Europe, you'd be out of a job-- we don't have people to bag out groceries, the customer does that themselves. (When I was in the US this summer, I was SO pathetically awed: "You mean...the cashier does it FOR you?!?!")
Story One: The Bitter Old Korean Checkout Lady. There's this bitter old Korean checkout lady (BOKCL from this point on) at our grocery. Her only expression os a glare that says, "I want to squash you." So how does she check things out? SLOOOOOOWLY, because she hates you personally. She picks up item. Looks at it. Scans it SLOOOOOWLY. Because of how slow she scans it, of course, the bar code-reader can't read it. So that means she has to examine the item to see what's wrong with it. Look, look, look. Turns it over. Look, look, look. Scans it sliiiightly faster, so it actually registers! Whee! Then, if you're having the slightest TINY problem opening your stupid bloody plastic sack and making sure the items won't smash each other, she GLARES at you with this accusitory look, because, as you're the one preventing other people from sacking their groceries, YOU'RE holding up the line.
Story 2: The Absent-Minded Indian Guy. The AMIG picks up my bottle of milk. The lable has a slight tear on the barcode, so it can't register. Nevertheless, he spends FAR too long trying to flatten out the rip and scanning at new angles, while everybody in line is starting to glare at me. Finally he admits defeat and asks one clerk how much the milk is. She doesn't know. So he calls another worker, who-- not even walks,*moseys*-- to the cash register. AMIG sends Wyatt Earp back to the back of the store (of COURSE the item came from the exact opposite end of the store) to check the price. The guy takes off. Slooooowly. "Yup, ged alawng li'l dogies"-pace. Meanwhile, the rest of the line is ready to lynch me with a rope of salami. When Doc Holliday finally gets his arse back, the AMIG glares at ME because, obviously I deliberately grabbed a bottle with a ripped lable to make his life difficult.
I don't shop there anymore.