Last day, first day

My coworkers and bosses were so nice to me on my last day, I actually questioned my decision to leave. Vicki made vegan cupcakes for me, and my friends chipped in and bought me a beautiful Kazuri necklace for my upcoming birthday. It was so nice to be surrounded by support that it made me wonder why they didn't attempt to have that atmosphere in there all along. If they could sustain a supportive environment, they'd retain a lot more employees. Isn't that Management 101?

My first day at the office reinforced what I never should have questioned: I made a good decision. My coworkers and bosses are a super-nice, intelligent bunch, and I'm enjoying the collaborative, non-hierarchical environment there. It has been - and will be, I believe - a strange transition from retail to office. I'm slowly compiling a list of rules to fit in at the office.

Rules to fit in at an office:

1. Substitute the word "boss" for "supervisor."

2. Invest in cardigans. Especially if they're black ones.

3. We don't "eat" lunch. We "do" lunch.

4. Don't leave when your day's work is over. Compete with your boss, err, supervisor, with who can stay latest.

5. Don't drink coffee. Inhale it. The more, the better.

6. If you fail to CC your supervisor several times a day on matters completely unrelated to him/her, they will eventually forget you exist.

7. Live for Fridays, and be sure to leave early on this revered day.

Can you take this?

Oh, it'll be nice to leave ...

Business has been so slow lately. For the past few weeks, there have been more employees than customers. Never a good sign, and today was no exception.

I'm in the midst of redesigning an old display, with a bottle of window cleaner in my hand and used paper towels crumpled up around the floor. I'm standing about 50 feet away from the nearest cash register and there are about three dozen dinner plates stacked up to my right and 24 coffee mugs and boxes of dishtowels to my left.

A customer approaches and barks, "Can you take this?"

I look at her thrusting two small items toward me and contemplate whether I should put down the cleaning solution and hold these items for God knows why or if I should I ask what the hell she's talking about. During that brief pause on my part, she snarls, "Or do I have to take it to another register?"

Oh. So being the farthest person in the entire store from a cash register, and seeing how there are no lines at any of the other six registers and the sales people are absolutely not busy, you've chosen me to be your victim. I have to admit, I'm guilty - I am wearing a nametag.

"Uhh, I guess I can take you over there," I say, and begin the long and ardous process of hiking over the moutain of my displaced display toward a cash register.

She says nothing, and at the end of the transaction, I thank her and wish her a wonderful day. "Yes," she replies, clutching her plastic bag and heading for the exit.

No excuse mes, pleases, thank yous ... I was raised in the Midwest, so let me ask you New Englanders out there: is most of the Northeast rude or is it just a Boston thing?

Boxed and tagged

This didn't happen to me, but to a co-worker. Seeing as how we love to discuss the intricacies of bizarre customers, here goes it.

Vicki is ringing up a customer buying a $18 blue ceramic bowl.

Vicki: "Did you want a box for this?"

Customer: "Yes, please. It's a wedding gift."

Vicki: "Oh, okay." Proceeds to peel off price tag, wrap the bowl in bubble wrap, and place into white box. Box bulges noticeably in one corner. Vicki holds up box. "Um, is this okay? The bowl's too big for the box but this is the largest box we have."

Customer: "Eh, that's fine." Pauses, and then adds: "I might be concerned if this was her first or second wedding, but it's her fourth."

Ahhh ... crap.

The boss had off today, so I happily came to work in my sneakers. Ahhh, comfort can never be overrated. Then guess who walks in? The boss's boss. Damnit!

The Forgotten Art of Listening

Shipment day. We were pretty busy, which tends to coincide with rude customers - and today was no exception.
A woman and her friend are looking at plates about 15 feet from where I'm quickly unpacking boxes.
"Do you know what this is made out of?" Woman #1 blurts out. (Notice the lack of excuse me, hello, or any other greeting to let someone know you're addressing them specifically in this crowded place.)
"It's a piece by --" I begin, only to hear
"What time do you close?" demands her friend, Woman #2.
I look pointedly at Woman #2 and continue with "by Anne Ross, and it's --"
"What time do you --" Woman #2 interjects, again.
"What is this made out of?" Woman #1 begins (ahh, now I see why they are friends).
"And it's made out of --" I attempt, bravely, for then I hear
"What time do you close?" Woman #2 asks, unwavering.
I give up. "We close --"
"What is this made out of?" Woman #1 wants to know.
"Glass. Five o'clock," I blurt out as fast as I can.
The two women look at each other.
"What?" they both demand.
"It's made out of --"
And I kid you not, that Woman #2 interrupted and guess what she said?
"What time do you close?"

Petty

I'm utterly amazed at the number of people who believe their question or concern is more important than anyone else's. When we're busy, like today, customers repeatedly will interrupt the person I'm currently helping. For example: I was removing a product from the display case for one customer when another woman came up as I was handing the product to the first customer, who had begun to say something, but was rudely interrupted by the second customer, who had a complicated question (not the where's-the-bathroom variety). As I attempted to continue my conversation with the first customer, I tried to address the second customer's question when a third woman banged across the counter and yelled out, "Is this where you get rung up?" I spun around, said yes, returned to the second customer and told her I was with another customer but I'd be happy to help her in a moment, and turned back to the first customer. Of course all three customers are irritated by this, and it's usually all my fault no matter how I try to handle the situation. Hit repeat over and over again, and that's my day. Please, please don't interrupt others! You're not any more important than the next person, and I will get to you. Eventually. In the meantime, if I'm taking too long, tell the manager to get over his payroll:profit ratio and hire enough workers to satisfy these customers.

The Two-Second Lightning Rule

In the morning meeting, His Highness read out our most recent secret shopper report.
Did we greet the customer? Yes. Did we mention specials? Yes. Were we dressed professionally? Yes. So far, so good. Did the cashier ask if you were a member? Yes.
... Any additional comments? My wife and I were delighted at the spectacular (yes, spectacular) service we received. Not only were the cashiers, Allen and his young female coworker, professional, they engaged us in a jocular and amusing conversation, making the entire trip worthwhile, entertaining, and pleasurable. Outstanding!
And while The Head Tomato read this commentary out loud, the more he read, the more I knew that "young female coworker" was me. I had been covering lunches for sales associates that day, and I remember joking with this older couple and Allen about membership. I asked if they were members, they said no, and then they said, "This membership thing must be a big deal; everyone keeps asking us that!" and I told them we reserve the red carpet for our members - we even hire fake papparizzi to run around and take their pictures as they enter our store. Everyone laughed and it was a good time.
After Big Boss finished reading the secret shopper dodah, I said, "I think that was me; I remember ringing that couple." And everyone at the meeting was silent and just looked at me like yeah, right. Of course it was you. But it really was!
Boss said, let's all congratulate Allen when he comes in ... this was the best report I've ever seen since I started here 12 years ago. We usually get a secret shopper once a month, so being the best report out of 146 others is quite an ordeal. I know, I know, my position is managerial, so I should rank that high anyway and just be happy for Allen, but hey, credit due where credit's due! I felt jipped.
I casually brought it up later by asking if Power Hungry Man could look up the transaction and see who was ringing, but he claimed he couldn't. That's BS for sure; every manager I've ever worked with can look up transactions and who rung what. That's why we have to log in every time anyway ... so they can kick our asses if something goes wrong! So now that something went right, he all of a sudden lost his ability to look up crap?
Of course this whole scenario just reinforced Assistant Power Hungry's view that I think I'm wonderful. Did I tell you that story? I was joking around my second week, turned around to Assistant Shithead and said, "I'm just so awesome!" Well, apparently he took that literally, and henceforth started rumors that I think my shit don't stink. Off subject. But I can just hear him thinking. Of course she thought it was her. She's so wonderful it had to be her. What a princess.
So back to the wonderful, glowing review of work that's mine that no one believes is mine. Following that tasty morsel of I-can't-look-up-good-things, Head Shithead says to me, oh I've been meaning to ask you: do you look up if items are coming before you ask your buyer (who is yet another one of my bosses) if we have any? Of course, I'm not stupid.
Then he says, well your buyer told my boss (General Manager or GM as the folks say) that you call her too much. Huh? I've never called that woman in my life. I don't even know her phone number! And she told the GM that I never look up SKUs first, which is more BS! Just last week I e-mailed her and said the computer says we can order more of this, we sell it very well, but we've been out for two weeks, can you please order more (all of which is HER job)? And she thanked me for noticing, complimented me, etc ... for looking up SKUs, basically.
I told my Head Shit, "Well that's odd. I always look up SKUs first and I never call her." And he nodded his head in the same motion as earlier this morning: sure you do. I don't believe a word you're saying. He paused in the nod, and said, "You shouldn't be so defensive." Well shouldn't I be defending myself if I didn't do that?? Of course I kept my trap shut.
Immediately after he walks away, a customer service associate comes over and says my buyer's on the phone. Yeah, SHE called ME. And guess what the first thing out of her mouth was? "Wow, it's been a long time since we last spoke."
"Yeah, it has," I replied. ?! I looked around with my mouth in shock mode. Isn't there a two-second lightning rule somewhere?

Question

It must appear slightly pathetic for a newbie blogger to have skipped the last week and a half, but don't worry, I have plenty of handy excuses (work, matron of honor duties, parents in town, et al.). And seeing as how catchy my take on interactive blogging has become, I've come up with a Question of the Day, courtesy of my day job:
Woman who wears red lipstick: "Honey, can you suggest a little something for a friend of mine? He's a full-blooded Italian."
Me, cleaning cheap Egyptian toys: "A tie?"
Woman who still wears red lipstick: "Thanks anyway."
Me, determined to make a guess at what a full-blooded Italian desires: "Does he like the Red Sox?"
Woman: [Speeds up her walking away]

Name that Life

Got to work nearly an hour early today. I took a different bus/subway combo than usual because of some construction, but obviously I overestimated the amount of time it would take. So I sat outside - Boston had beautiful weather today, finally! - and sketched a bit. Some of those pesky little red spiders crawled around on me and I ended up with sunburnt shoulders, but it was nice to have some down-time. As usual, though, it got me in the art-mode rather than the retail-mode, so I spent more time than I should have flipping through books on knitting and sewing.
Closed the store today while the other managers counted the drawers ... it is ridiculous how poorly most people perform when no one's watching. The general manager'll be in first thing tomorrow morning, so the store had to be perfect for Her Majesty's arrival. I had six associates straightening, plus myself, and after they left, we found about 8 displays that were just wrecked. (Note to shoppers: please, if you can't put it back where it belongs, don't make up a spot for it! Give it to the cashier and apologize!)
I wonder if that's a retail thing, employees needing babysitters, but I have a hunch it's not. Retail might have more of those employees, though, because sales associates are hired with a fairly low amount of required skills and education. You'd be surprised at how many sales associates, servers, and night supervisors are college grads, writers/artists/musicians/creators, second job-ers ... it becomes a melting pot of creativity and underemployment more often than not. I think that's part of the reason it's so frustrating when the customers assume you're an idiot.
Thinking about posting pictures of people and having readers submit short descriptions of what they imagine their lives to be like ... interaction and imagination, yummy!

Popped

It's sickening to see the amount of packaging thrown away every day in retail. Sure, there's all the statistics, 100 tons of this, a million pounds of that ... but when you have to confront it face-to-trash, it really hits home. This morning, for instance, I received a shipment of 16 small glass bud vases. The packaging alone filled two 60-gallon plastic garbage bags. We - and all the other retail joints I've worked at - throw away bags stuffed with bubble wrap and tissue paper on a daily basis, and in the meantime we're using brand-new bubble wrap and tissue paper to wrap our customers' purchases, also overly packaged in general, and place those packages in neat little plastic bags. Being a proud environmentalist already, I have made numerous attempts to get the store to reuse that perfectly good bubble wrap that has only been previously used once (and stored inside a cardboard box at that!). I've also tried convincing them of something like this. So far, no luck. Any suggestions?

Eight hours of happy feet

No manager today, so I wore sneakers guilt-free. Ahhh, the pleasure, no the luxury, of hamstrings that don't scream at you as you try to hobble home from the subway.

The Raging Teapot

I'm beginning to wonder if retail does this to people, or if this is a normal workplace issue.

Today was pretty busy at work and I had a list of things that needed to be done before The Big Boss came in at 5. I asked Kathy, a friendly and seemingly harmless customer service associate, to polish the silver teapot set if she had time.

"Sure, no problem, I'll do them one at a time in between customers," she told me.

I smiled, thanked her, assured her it wasn't a problem if she couldn't find the time to complete the favor, and whirled around to finish the list of 99 red balloons, er tasks, that must be done lest The Head Honcho give me that horrific I-can-see-the-dust look.

Two hours prior to the arrival of said Store VIP, Vicki, a yoga-fanatic who smiles better than she listens, is sent to replace Kathy at customer service. Seeing that the teapot still has a devastating sliver of tarnish on its expensive-ass body, I ask her to polish it if she has time.

"No problem; where's the polish though?" Vicki asks, pausing in her breathing to reflect upon her breath.

"Oh, just ask Kathy," I said, apparently naively, and turn back to my oh-so-demanding managerial duties.

Five customers and minutes later, Vicki arrives full-force at the front counter and it's obvious from her wrinkled brow that she hasn't been concentrating enough on her ohmming.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, I asked Kathy about the polish ..." she says, trailing off.

"Yeah?"

"Um well, based on what she said, I didn't do it," Vicki answered, avoiding my eyes a bit.

"Why? What'd she say?"

"Well she kind of went off on me. I mean, she was ... here, come 'ere," Vicki said, dropping her voice while simultaneously raising her eyes to mine. "I asked her where the polish was, and she just went off. She said ... (pause to smile at customer passing by) ... 'I'm not doing the damn silver! How can she tell me what to do when she's only worked here a month and I've been here for a hundred years!' ... So I kind of just left."

At this point, things like I asked nicely, why do people make such a fuss over such small matters, and oh yeah I'm in a supervisory position anyway popped into my head, but of course, being myself by default, I was hurt. Why would someone think I would disrespect their tenure with the company? What did I do that would make her interpret my actions as coming from a sour place? Certainly Vicki's response helped, in some sense: "It's okay. Just breathe."

It all ended with me dashing around to perform a life-altering ten-minute cleansing of tarnish followed by The King Himself arriving to announce that he noticed I had moved some coffee mugs and this dramatic change had his ever-strived-for stamp of approval (a.k.a. a nod).

Let's gain some perspective here, people: Teapots will not tear the house down.