When Customer Service Gets a Little Creepy

I appreciate good customer service; a friendly smile, thanks and come again, that sort of stuff. But there is one store that I now avoid. I thought I would share my experience because in the end… it was funny, even though I didn’t start laughing until I was in the safety of my car.

I wont tell you the store, but it is one of my favorite stores and it seems that I am there at least once a week for diapers. But next time I’m going to the other one down the street, because they do have them on every corner.

So it all started a while back when I ran out on my lunch break for a major necessity. I was in a hurry. I went directly to my aisle and grabbed the pretty pink and green package and immediately headed for the check out. I didn’t stop to look at the clearance items. I took the shortest route to the check out.  I only have a limited time for my lunch break and there are some errands and necessities that you must rush for, and this was one of them.

I go to check out. I’m the third person in line. I start to get irritated. The cashier, who sort of looks like Napoleon Dynamite but with less hair, thinks he has to start a conversation with everyone and is overly friendly. ‘C’mon, dude,’ I complain in my head, ‘I don’t care what they are doing this afternoon. I don’t care what they think of that brand of toilet paper. Speed it up.’ I shift my weight. I try to distract myself with the magazines and with the gossip about the new Twilight movie coming out.

When it is finally my turn I avoid eye contact and pray that he does not try to start a conversation about the weather or what is coming on prime time tv tonight. I answer simple questions with short responses and grunts. I do not make eye contact. I do not smile. I am avoiding as much conversation as possible with this man. I just want to get my feminine hygiene products and go back to work.

But then the cashier totally confuses me with his question. He asks, “Do you want your pads in a bag?”

Huh?! I say no, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I look at his pale skinny hands holding my pads out to me. “Yes. Bag, please,” I say flustered, changing my mind.

He kinda threw me because normally people don’t ask if you want your items in a bag, they just put your crap and receipt in a bag and you go. And he’s a guy and he’s asking me about my pads. Just weird. Just give me my pads so I can get out of here. And please don’t announce anything else about my period. I’m not embarrassed about buying these type of items, I’m just not use to a man commenting on them.

“Here you go,” he finally says, holding the bag out to me. 

In my car, slightly irritated and very confused, I ran the conversation over in my head. I couldn’t help but laugh thinking of the situation; his dorky friendliness, my confusion. But he might as well have announced that I was on my period. What a strange one.

Next visit. I buy diapers. “Looks like you have a little one at home,” he says.

I want to say, ‘No, I just like throwing my money away on diapers for no reason,’ but I don’t. But really, why else would I buy diapers? Then when I’m waiting to swipe my debit card he comments on my nails. “Your nails are really nice. Are they yours?”

“Yep. Grew them myself,” I say, maybe a little sarcastically. I don’t feel like talking about my nails when I just want my stuff and go. 

“They’re really nice,” he says, reaching for my hand. Ick! I pull back. “Is that red polish or some other shade? What is it called?” he asks. Like I would know the shade anyway. Now I know he is just trying to be friendly, but he’s trying too hard. My nails, which are really super long right now and painted a deep burgandy, do stand out a little bit, but I just figured it was because I rarely ever paint my nails, maybe once every three months or for special occasions, which seem to rarely happen.

“Don’t know,” I reply. “Just something I had in the cupboard,” I say, trying to discourage him from further conversation. I look away. I don’t know the technical color, the brand, or anything like that. Your job, as a checker, is to scan the items, put them in the bag, smile, be nice, and say come again. You don’t have to get to know every single person that goes through your line.

Then he asks if I want my diapers in a bag. Yes. Geesh! Let me outta here! It should not take this long to check out. Shut up. 

Think I’m getting my diapers at the other store next time. I can’t imagine what he will ask for some of my other purchases.

Do you need some Midol for that pms?

Do you have any crazy cash register stories to tell? Please! Leave them in the comments. I need a good laugh!


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