Letters From Your Friendly Cashier: Vol. I Have No Idea Any More

*I know what I said in my last post. But really, I've been posting them here for so long that I couldn't resist.*


Dear Peeps,

Sometimes it’s like that Phil Collins song, “I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord.” I don’t fancy Phil for the most part, but maybe he spent some time working with the public before he penned these lyrics. Maybe, even though he usually bores me to tears with his crooning, we share a common intuition when it comes to sensing when the sea of humanity is about to break out the big guns.

Join me in exploring the eccentricities that can occur in one night.

To the dad and his motor mouth offspring:

It’s funny what kids say sometimes, no? Yours was going on and on asking you, “Daddy, Am I a winner? Daddy, Daddy, Daddy? Am I a winner?”

And you faithfully answered him like such a good parent. “Yeah! You’re a winner.”

I thought to myself, “My heart is always warmed by parents looking to build up their offspring with encouraging words.”

Then your little motor mouth asked you, “Daddy? Are you a loser?”

It was all I could do not to laugh. I wish I’d been taping your face because you sure as heck weren’t expecting that. And as much as you tried, you couldn’t get little junior to hush it up. Nope, he just kept asking and asking if you were a loser all the way through our transaction and out the door.

Cute kid.

To the older generation:

You all are some of my favorite customers; the way you are so precise with counting your change out and getting things in your cart just so. The way you fill your checks out to every blessed detail when we have our machines to do all the printing now; the way you complain that you can never find the Stove Top Cornbread flavor stuffing when we always have the other kind, and isn’t the Cornbread one just BETTER? You’ve spent a lifetime developing your mad shopping skills and far be it from me to try to hurry you along with my impatience due to the long lines behind you. I would actually welcome one of your fellow shoppers waiting behind you to huff or puff. As I’ve mentioned before, I can be highly passive aggressive and would love to slyly get back at one of them for you by my register “breaking down” right when it’s their turn. Shhh, don’t tell anyone.

I also love the words you all use. Like the man who came shopping with his grandson and plopped his stuff up on my express counter. And when I started to ring it up, he stopped me to say, “Just a minute now! Got another package coming.”

It took me back to how it must have been back in the Mercantile days when all your purchases were packages. Back when people were actually nice to each other in public and didn’t throw their purchases up on the belt in anger or refuse to speak when spoken to.

I’m starting to think maybe those were the days. Except for the no air conditioning part. And the pooping in the back yard in a little shed stuff.

To the lady with cheese issues:

See here, Miss. You came in with WIC vouchers, which in case you didn’t notice is free food from the government. When I was signed up for such goodness, I don’t recall ever squabbling with the cashier over which kind of cheese I was allowed.

Here’s the deal. We sell sliced American cheese. We sell it packaged in a big stack inside the wrapper and we sell it individually wrapped inside the wrapper. If the government wants to say, “We deem the non-individually wrapped cheese to be the preferred choice for our women’s, infants and children’s food program,” then so be it.

Sorry if your kids will only eat the individually sliced cheese. Do they not taste the exact same? I missed where that’s my problem. Did I issue your WIC vouchers? Do I have a badge that says, “I am the Gov‘ment, bring me your cheese issues?”

No. I have a badge that says, “Carrie, blah blah something about being here for the customers” and if I had my druthers, it would also say, “I am a peon, please place your food stuffs on the belt, pay for them and take all complaints to someone who makes over ten dollars an hour.”

To the guy who “forgot” his 7 pound can of nacho cheese:

First of all, that’s a lot of cheese. One time on “Everybody Loves Raymond,” there was an episode where they had an Annual Fondue Date Night. I won’t go into details since you should really see the show for yourself, but you and your cheese did remind me of that.

Secondly, you said you left the store without it. Yeah. A seven pound can of cheese is so easy to miss. Nevertheless, we are ALL about taking care of you, the customer, so we let you get another can and promised to watch the tapes later to make sure you weren’t a seven pound nacho cheese fibber. And since you didn’t have your receipt, for something you JUST purchased, it’s a good thing you left an impression on the cashier with your lack of funds that she was so kind to compensate by donating the twenty cents you were short.

I have to commend you though. You came back. You confessed the original seven pound can of nacho cheese was in your back seat this whole time; that it must’ve rolled out of the bag at some point and you missed it.

Nice try.

To the guy just wanting to hook up:

Handing the cashier a business card with your personal number on it might be a little over the top. But purchasing condoms while you hand out your personal number is twenty feet from the top and getting you dangerously close to the bow staff treatment.

To the guy asking about the help:

I heard about you. I heard you were asking the stockers if this one particular late night cashier was a local girl. You know, that’s such a good question! Here at The Market, we just bring in stray cashiers from hither and yon just to wait on the likes of you. They come in for a few nights only, just like traveling show girls. You don’t like blondes? Well, come back on Wednesday! It’s all redheads, all night. No locals or regulars to bore you out of your skull around here.

To the guy wearing cowboy boots with shorts:

I don’t know about where you come from, but usually when I think of cowboy boots with shorts as a fashion statement, I think of sassy females with nice smooth legs. Call me sexist if you like. When I saw you and your cohort sashay by in that get up with your hairy man legs, I laughed. And not even on the inside. You wanna wear girly clothes, be prepared for some laughter. I get so little entertainment around here. Thanks for being such a peach and providing me with some eye candy.

And just a random question:

Is it bad that I like when the belt cleaning solution is not watered down enough and I get a good whiff of ammonia whilst cleaning the filthy belts? I do like that smell. It gets me through a long night with you all.

Just wondering,
The Friendly Cashier

Copyright carrie evans 2009