Email Complaint.

The following email chain was copied and pasted from my work email minutes ago.

Hello everybody. I have a customer who rolled up to the Pearl St. location last night at (according to his watch) 5 minutes until 8:00. We’ve checked the time the alarm was set, and nothing in the closing procedure gave Jeff nor I reason to think that the store was shut down unnecessarily early. That being said, he is a bit unhappy due to his perception that the store was closed before scheduled time. He and his wife were coming in to pick up a Kenai for his daughter. He is requesting that we give him the sale price on this. Jeff and I feel that it is not unreasonable and a chance to get another fan for life. If you do not have the product in-house, offer him the in-store shipping, and if we need to credit something back on our end, reply to this e-mail with the order number and the amount we need to credit him. His name is Jon Wolfe, and he plans to come in this evening between 5:00 and 8:00. 

My response:

As the closing manager last night, I can assure everyone involved that we did not close the gates until 8pm. It's unfortunate that an extremely slow watch on the wrist of a customer warranted a complaint and investigation. My faith in humanity has once again been compromised.

Can I hold a particular size for this customer?

God Save Us,

Matt

If Jon Wolfe ever ends up reading this post...it was my turd wrapped in your Kenai jacket, Jon.  Maybe next time you can buy your fucking jacket during the ten hours that the store is actually open.

Love,
Matt

.

Memorial Day.

When in retail, Memorial Day is a living, breathing hell.  It's about as bad as Christmas Eve or Black Friday--maybe worse.  The reason being is that everyone you know has a long weekend--they are drinking beer, going to the lake, having backyard BBQs, and enjoying the kickoff to summer.

Everyone you don't know has decided to go shopping.  It doesn't matter if your particular store is having a sale or not, the masses have decided what better way to enjoy an extended, summertime weekend than to go to the mall and buy unnecessary crap.  Go to the cemetery and lay flowers on your war-vet grandfather's tombstone?  Nope, spend two full hours in Matt's store trying to figure out which shirt won't shrink as much.  Float around the lake with a cooler full of cold ones?  Nada, see how many shopping bags you can accumulate during a three-day crap-buying frenzy.  Idiots.

So needless to say, I'm already pissed that I signed up for this.  Over ten years into it--still not sure how it happened.  And when I get absolute morons filling my day with stupidity, it amplifies my frustrations even more. 

A sampling of the ridiculous questions that were asked over the weekend:

Dipshit #1:  "How do I tell what size this is?"  The shirt that this gentleman is looking at is not unlike any other shirt that everyone has in their closet.  The size of the garment is clearly marked on the shirt-tag, and it's even listed a second time on the price tag.  He's frantically looking at the sleeves, the hanger, the rack it's hanging on--every place except for the fucking tag, where all sizes are always marked on all shirts.  "It's right here, dude.  On the tag."  I explain. 

Dipshit #2:  "Is this raincoat waterproof?"

Dipshit #3:  "Is this jacket meant to be worn over something else?"  As in, this ass clown was in the process of taking his shirt off and trying the jacket on over his bare chest.  There was absolutely no mistaking this jacket for a shirt.  In fact, it was one of those raincoats that Dipshit #2 was asking about.  "Most people wear a shirt or something under their jacket, but it's your call bud."  I answer.

Dipshit #4:  "Hi Matt.  Do you work here?"  Unfortunately, I have to wear a name tag at this particular retail shop.  And in this instance, I obviously was.  I've got nothing else to say about this one...

Dipshit #5:  "Is this the same jacket I bought from you all? 
Me:  "I don't know.  Did you just buy one from us?
Dipshit #5:  "No, it's been a few years."

Hope you all enjoyed your holiday weekend. 

Hippie Nonsense.

This is a Real Thing.

In this entry I am not going to bitch about the frustrations of retail and dealing with the general public everyday.  I am going to instead bitch about a select demographic that frequents my Boulder, Colorado store.  The hippie.

In this instance, a hippie has approached upper management of my store (definitely not me) and asked to place this homemade "Gratitude For Water" crap on our cash wrap for customers to take with them.  If you can't tell by the picture, it's a star-shaped tin with small elaminated pieces of paper with printed sayings on them, such as, "Love and Gratitude For Water" that you are supposed to tape near your faucet at home, so you remember to thank Jesus or Buddha or Lemmy for the water.

I'm sure that wasting water is not a great thing.  But because of this hippie-chick's nonsense that is forced upon me daily, I now let the water run about a minute or two longer after I'm done washing my hands, out of pure spite.  So now, she's wasting more water than she's saving.  See how that happens?  She should probably get off her hippie soap box before she kills any more fish.


Fuck You, Weather-Hippie.


Scene:  It's a cold, rainy day.

Hippie: "Enjoying the weather?"

Me: "Ha! Yeah, pretty gloomy out there." Thinking he spoke with sarcasm.

Hippie: "No, it's amazing. We need water. I want what's good for the earth and not what we as humans prefer."

Me: Thoughts of decking a hippie and burning down Pearl Street engulf my mind's eye. I grit my teeth and smile.

FMJ.

Sunday's Happenings.

No Sense of Humor

Lady comes up to me with a return.  She's got a dress in a shopping bag, pulls it out, and says while pointing at snags in the fabric, "I already have runs in this dress!"

I says to her, "Well, it's better than having the runs in that dress."

She did not laugh.

Belt Idiot

Old crazy guy comes up to the register while it's really busy and looks around for some help.  I dart over there and quickly ask, "Sir, you ready to check out?"

"No, I was just wondering about these pants."  Oblivious that it's super-busy.

"Okay, what'd you want to know about those pants?"  I reply.

"Well, the belt loops don't seem all that big."  He explains.  "I like to wear a big belt."  He lifts up his shirt, showing his belt--which is abnormally large, both in height and girth.  It's got to weigh about 12 lbs.  For some reason, it's the thickness of about three regular leather belts.  Probably has his name branded on the back.

"Yea, bud.  Doesn't look like that sucker's gonna fit through these loops."  I try and tell him.

He looks at me, completely unsatisfied with my response.  "Why are the belt loops so small?  My belt ain't gonna fit through them!"

"Yep, it's not looking like that's going to happen.  My guess is that the product designers are trying to cut back on weight and assuming that the belt being used for these pants is going to be a lightweight one--you know, for hiking, backpacking, outdoor activities that are generally more comfortable with less weight."  thinking that explanation would end the conversation.  I look over at all the other customers that need to be helped, but that I can't assist due to this crazy old man's belt loop concerns.

"Well I've bought a shirt from you before, and it was just fine.  But these pants just won't work because of the belt loops."  he lifts his shirt again, showing me his ridiculously oversized belt.  "I got this belt at Cabela's, and I believe that they sell pants that will fit it.  I like my belts bigger."

Obviously.

"Bud, that big belt won't fit in these pants.  I suggest getting a different belt, or finding some different pants to buy that will accommodate that giant belt."  I bark fairly bluntly at this point.

He continues to beat the fuck out of the dead horse, "Why is it the belt loops are so small?  My belt would never fit through there.  I bought a shirt from you all, and it's just fine.  These pants just aren't gonna work, though."

No shit.  We've covered that four times already.

He goes on, "Why do they make the loops so small?  Is that something you messed up on?  Seems like a regular belt (It's not a regular belt--it's a ridiculous, giant belt) just wouldn't fit in there.  I bought one of your shirts----"

-blunt interruption-

"---Doesn't look like those pants are going to work for you, my friend!  If I were you, I'd try Cabela's."  I walk away.

As I walk away to help 15 other people that this braindead retard has jumped in the way of, I hear him saying from across the store, "I bought a shirt from you all, and I really like it.  Don't think those pants were made right, though......."

Fuck, man.

C'mon, Guys

Today, I once again noticed two dudes shopping together.  That happens much more that it should.  Two, seemingly heterosexual young adults, out on a weekend day, shopping together.  To each their own, I suppose.

The two gents, with their other shopping bags in hand, approach the register with their purchases from my store in hand.  I just had to say something, so I keep it innocent, "Whatcha guys out doing today?" I ask...genuinely.

"Oh, not much.  Just hittin' some shops." 

"Nice.  Finding some neat stuff?"  I ask, as I realize that I'm starting to get that sarcastic, condescending tone that I sometimes do when I dearly want to make fun of someone to their face, but know I shouldn't, but still kind of do.

"Yeah! There are some great sales today!  Your guy's sale is epic!"  Guy-shopper #1 says, very excitedly.

"Yeah, it is epic.  Really epic."  I continue in my asshole-ish tone that they are not picking up on, but that satisfies me.  "Okay, you two are all set to go."  as I finish the transaction.  "Have a great time shopping the rest of the day!"  I say entirely too dicky.  They didn't pick up on it though, so it's cool.

On to the next shop they go...shopping together.

I've never once thought to myself to call up my buddy Bryan, or my brother-in-law, Vic, and say, "Say man, it's the weekend!  What say the two of us head to the mall--do a little shopping!!??"

Maybe that's just me.

Dick.

In retail, it is generally one's job to greet customers at or near the front door.

One of my employees (we'll call him "Carl") was assigned to do just that. Then this happened...

Carl: "How are you doing today, sir?"

Dick: "I don't answer that question!" stated very pretentiously. Dick then turns around and leaves.

If Carl would have then said, "Go fuck yourself, sir!" I wouldn't have fired him. I would promote him.

Don't be a Dick.

The Helpless.

The helpless customer has graced me with their presence more times than I can count--three or four times today alone. It would get redundant to single each one of them out. So in order to bitch about them efficiently and effectively, I have decided to use diagrams to punctuate their worthlessness and group them all into one category.

It doesn't matter how many signs you have advertising a particular item, or how clear and simple the price tag is, the helpless customer has zero idea how much it is.  They typically hold the item in their hand while staring at the price tag when asking how much it is.  Or on occasion, they won't even bother looking at the price tag--apparently yelling at me from across the store, "Sir!  How much are these??" is easier than trying to decipher this mystery on their own.

Also, the helpless customer is too stupid and/or lazy to get their own size.  This particular customer is usually an older woman for some reason (the diagram doesn't depict the customer well).

My normal response to these customers is patronizing them, pointing out the clear and obvious to them in a tone that you would speak to a child in. 

If there is any shadow of a doubt that the customer might have reason to ask these questions (ie: multiple prices, no price tag, sizes are missing, etc.) I will do my job and politely answer said question.  But if they're just being lazy and stupid, I will treat them that way.  This has gotten me in trouble, most recently a couple weeks ago when a lady (who may have been retarded) said that I was getting "flippity" with her.

Retarded Lady: "How much is this jacket?"  While holding the price tag in her hand.

Me: "Well let me take a look at that PRICE TAG and I can tell you." Reaching for the price tag in her hand.  "Looks like the PRICE TAG reads $20."

Retarded Lady:  "Okay, can I see a medium?"

Me:  "Sure.  Let me just reach over here on the rack right next to you and grab one for you."  I am severely annoyed that she not only asks me to get a size for her, but also hands me the small jacket that she already has in her hand.  She is between me and the rack.  I have to ask her to "excuse me" so I can get her size.  I hand it to her.

Retarded Lady:  "Can I call my daughter?"

Me:  "Huh?"

Retarded Lady:  "Do you mind if I call my daughter?"

Me:  "Are you asking if you can use the store phone?"

Retarded Lady:  "No.  I have a cell phone."

Me:  Laughing, "You can call whoever you want."

Retarded Lady:  "I'm sensing that you're getting flippity with me!"

Me:  "I don't know what that means."

Retarded Lady:  "Flippity.  I'm sensing a flippity tone."

Me:  "Still...  Not sure what that is.  But if you're offended, I apologize.  I'm just saying that if you are wanting to call somebody on your cell phone for some reason all of a sudden, I'm not going to stop you.  You really don't need to ask my permission."  I walk away.

I digress.  This conversation actually happened.  I wish I could do it justice--it truly was remarkable.

This is just a sampling of The Helpless.  They come in many different forms that we'll discuss at another time.

Now please enjoy this clip from Clerks.

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Saturday's Idiots.

Please note: I am making none of this up.

11:07am

Me: "Bud, can I answer any questions for you?"

Overweight Dumbass: "Yeah, I was wondering...this XXL jacket fits me.  But I plan on losing weight.  Will it still fit me then?"

Me: Laughing, "No." 

1:42pm

As I am explaining the ins & outs of every feature of a backpack to a customer, another customer-- obviously some sort of football coach wannabe, extremely intense with every move he makes, college football jacket on (he's 65yrs old), pissed at God for giving him three daughters, interrupts me.  "Is this a good pack!?"  Staring me down with a menacing scowl and interrogator's tone, certain that his intimidation will yield zero bullshit from me, as I break down in a panic apologizing for my store carrying such a substandard piece of outdoor equipment, and me trying to push inadequacy onto unsuspecting consumers.

Laughing, "It's swell."  I walk off.

3:15pm

Fucktard: "Hey, will this backpack fit my wife?"  His tone indicating that he hates me, his wife, the fact that he's not with his old frat buddies doing cocaine, backpacks...

Me: "I'm not sure.  Where's your wife?"

Fucktard:  "She's not here.  This is a present."  Getting even more annoyed.

Me: "Wellll, the pack has two different torso lengths.  Medium is 15 inches, and large is 17 inches.  Any clue what hers might be?" 

Fucktard:  "No!"  Disgusted that I would ask.

Me:  "Okay, how tall is she?  We could take a stab at it based on that."

Fucktard:  "I don't know!  She's as tall as women are!"  Very impatient and irritable.

Me:  "Would you say she's this tall (I put my hand out flat, about nipple high.)?  Or is she more this tall (I hold my hand out about five inches above my own head.)?  Somewhere in between, possibly?"  At this point, I'm more or less treating him like a three year old.

Fucktard:  "Somewhere in the middle!  I don't know!!"  Just rude.

Me:  "No.  It won't fit her.  Sorry."  I walk away.

Hello sir, I'm looking for your Sleeveless Body Warmers. I'm Retarded.

Me: "Hi there!  Something I can help you out with today?"

Stupid Lady: "Yea, I thought you sold body warmers."

Me: "Hmmm, I'm not sure I know what that is."

Stupid Lady: "*sigh*, You know...one of those body warmers!  They're pink."  She's quickly getting annoyed that I don't know what she's talking about.

Me: "Well, I'm familiar with Hand Warmers and Foot Warmers...they're right here...they come in these little packets."  Still baffled by what she's looking for.

Stupid Lady: "God, no. (like I'M the idiot)  The sleeveless body warmers!  You wear them.  It's pink."

Me:  Trying to figure out this mystery quickly.  I'm starting to second-guess myself and think that I'm totally blanking on an obvious outdoor product that's probably right under my nose. "Body warmer, eh...?"  I start walking over towards the Women's Outerwear section. 

Stupid Lady: "There! This!"  She hatefully grabs the product from the wall and shoves it in my face to prove she's not a moron.  "You know...sleeveless body warmer!  This!!"

Me:  "That's a vest."

Stupid Lady:  "Whatever!  Do you have pink??"

Thursday.

Today.

Bad = Asshole customer insulting me.

Good = Me calling him out on it and getting an apology.

Best = I saw my third boob since I've worked at this shop.  Hippies don't wear bras.

Introduction

My job is to put up with everyone.  If there was ever a particular job that I shouldn't have, it would be retail.  But for some mysterious reason, I've not only chosen retail as my profession, I've continued to put up with it as long as I have.

For the past ten years, I've catered to the rude, the helpless, and the socially retarded.  People that shouldn't even be allowed in public somehow make their way through the doors of whatever store I happen to be working at that week. 

I realize the general public, as a whole, sucks.  That's why, when pondering what line of work to venture into ten years ago to escape countless (literally) menial jobs I was accepting and quitting, I decided that retail would be fun.  But not any retail--outdoor retail.  Yeah, backpacks, kayaks, hiking boots--fun stuff.  This would allow me to interact with a like-minded group on a daily basis and talk about stuff that we all really enjoy.  But as specialty shops dwindle and the outdoor industry has gone mainstream and boutiquey, my interactions with a select group of people whom I share a common interest with and genuinely enjoy chatting with has all but died.  Enter the masses.