Chapter Eleven: The Next Generation

Okay - I couldn't think of a better title.

But this story is not as humorous as it is unbelievable. My, oh my, times have surely changed. I'm only 22 years old, and I feel like an old lady. I know people begin to say that when they enter their twenties and compare themselves to youngsters, but seriously - I feel like an old lady. I don't understand why children need cell phones. Where do they go alone? Even if they're not with their parents, surely they're not out wandering the town without an adult. I didn't have a phone until I had a driver's license. And even then, I couldn't text for another year. (And maybe I'm just jealous of a fourth grader.)

A nine year old kid was studying the few pre-paid cell phones that we carry. His mother left him there to take his little sister to the bathroom. With a pencil box full of change in one hand and his purchase in the other, he approached the front and slid the Net 10 cell phone on the counter. He immediately started to count his change.

After he paid, he lingered at the checkout because his mom was taking a while. So I began to ask him questions about what school he went to and what grade he was in. I'm sure I scared him a little bit but I had no idea what else to talk to him about. As a child, I watched Matlock and played Nintendo. I had an inkling, he knew nothing about either subject.

Anyway -

I said "Is this your first phone?"

"No. It's my third."

My jaw dropped. "Third?! How old are you?"

"Nine."

"And how old were you when you got your first phone?"

"Four. I just keep dropping them in the toilet."

"Are you kidding me?... Guess how old I was when I got my first phone."

"Ten?" he guessed after much consideration.

"Sixteen."

"Whoa," he whispered. Somehow he was more shocked that I didn't have a phone until my sixteenth birthday than I was that he had one at age four, the year I got an Easy Bake Oven for christmas.

Chapter Ten: The Pathophobic

True Story:

I have never been sick as often as I have been since I started working at (insert popular drugstore chain name). I mean, it makes sense. It's a pharmacy, so most of my customers are sick. So when I had to go into work while sick b/c no one was able to cover, I should have prepared myself for what I would encounter.

I should explain that I wore my hair up.

No make up.

A nose brighter than Rudolph's.

Eyes glazed over.

Tissues stuffed in my fleece pockets.

Armed with hand sanitizer.

I mostly heard "Oh! You're sick?! Feel better."

I often heard "You know how to get rid of that, right? Vitamin C."

And I never grew tired of "You look terrible. Why are you here?"

But my most memorable experience through this hazy day was with a middle-aged woman, who I later diagnosed as a pathophobic (someone who is afraid of getting an illness).

She came up to the register and piled everything on the counter.

I began scanning the items and bagging them. I told her what her total was.

And she just looked at me and said "See. You're sick. And now I have to touch that stuff."

"I'm very sorry," I apologized. "I've been using a lot of hand sanitizer today, I assure you."

She paid, grabbed her stuff and left.

The next morning, she came back to return an item. And she was mortified to see that I was still employed at the store. I quickly gave her a refund and sent her on her way.

No more than three hours later, she returned.However, it was hard to recognize her. She had a sweatshirt on, hood up, gloves (this story is a few months old; and I'm telling you - the gloves weren't necessary), and a medical mask that covered most of her face... And I know that entire week is one giant blur, but I swear she looked almost like the lady in this picture. Any national quarantine crisis would be lucky to have her. She approached the line and bought something new. When I finally noticed it was the same woman from before, my jaw dropped. She wouldn't look me in the eye. And she was on the move, like her speed would somehow keep her healthy. I felt as if I'd been shunned and direct eye contact would have sentenced her to death or hell for sure.

It's probably best. Had she stayed any longer, I may have felt a sudden urge to cough.

Chapter Nine: The Disorderly Elderly

Like I've said before, I only write on this blog when there's something to share. Hence the huge time gap from my previous post. Yes, I know. Three months. Who cares. There was nothing to write about. I'm not one for blogging and this is primarily for my own journaling purposes anyway. And I'm too scatterbrained to keep track of an actual journal.

Today, a man came in and asked me to show him where the batteries were. I'd guess he'd be about seventy years old. While we walked down the center aisle, I asked him if I could see the battery he had in his hand to compare it to what he might need. He held out his hand. I took the battery and he immediately grabbed my hand and said "I'll hold your hand too." Okay. Someone please tell me: where in the store manual does it tell me what to say or do in this situation? I'm pretty sure this scenario is not specified. I panicked. I have the tendency to be abnormally uncomfortable in these situations already. So I said "Ummmmmmmmm.... thanks" and pulled my hand away.

Um, thanks?! Really. Great, Ash. If that's not an invitation to a 70 year old, I don't know what is.

I wish I could say this is the worst of my experiences, but I'd say previous posts have proven me wrong.

Chapter Eight: 'I Like Turtles'

Okay - I'm sure no one else will find this funny... I'm also sure I'm the only one who finds any of these stories funny... but this morning, I was ringing up merchandise for an older gentleman and I asked my routine question "How are you doing today?" His response? "I have warts on my feet." Wow. Thanks for sharing. I laughed because, in my opinion, that has nothing to do with what I asked. For the rest of that particular transaction, I kept replaying the youtube video of the boy who completely disregarded the anchorwoman's question and gave some random and unnecessary information. I laughed because I knew what that anchorwoman felt like. I also laughed because - well, I was sleep-deprived and sick of the mundane same ole morning routine and NEEDED something to get me through. Watch the youtube video of the little boy. It's funny - much much funnier than my version.

Chapter Seven: The Telepathist

So with all those new movies coming out in the last decade where superheros are everywhere - and they are the everyday man (i.e. Batman, Spiderman, Iron Man, and even arguably, Unbreakable), I was only slightly surprised when I encountered one today at work.

It is Sign Saturday (as I like to call it), the day we change our sale signs. I was busy in aisle 4, sticking those bright colored tabs on every label in sight, when a man approached me from the right side. He was an older gentleman, and I could only see him out of the corner of my eye at first. He stood three feet away, and I could feel him watching me. I looked up, and quickly returned my attention to the price labels, as staring is somehow a normal occurance at this store. When he didn't look away or turn his attention elsewhere, I looked back at him. He was just staring at me. This is when the mind talk must have began, because he wasn't moving his lips, but he clearly needed something. He must have mistaken me for a telepathist too, because the blank staring continued - but only for a few short seconds before I chimed in with actual words: "Can I help you with something." He stalled then simply replied "yes." He must have gotten confused again because he stood silent, forgetting that I am not a mind reader. "What do you need?" I asked. Another short moment of silence. Giving up on having a conversation with a non- Superhero, he looked behind him at his wife. So - I approached his wife, and, to my advantage, she does not use telepathy like her husband does. She formed whole sentences and told me what she needed and I was able to help her find what she was looking for.

It just makes me wonder: Who does that man talk to if he's the only telepathist??

Chapter Six: One of Those

Okay - I am trying to steer clear of the stories of older gentleman hitting on me or saying weird things or shaking things at me... Although - there seems to be in overflowing amount of these stories in this town. So that explains a little bit of why I haven't written recently. I don't want to write about those mundane things b/c, well, they're just not interesting... but just to put another chapter down, here's some things I tend to see on a daily basis. Besides, I obviously cannot express the following words/feelings to customers, so I might as well vent here!

Here's a list of the typical customers at work who make me say (inside my head): "Oh good. You're one of those."

1. The One Who Screams: Incase you didn't know, as a cashier standing at the very front of the store, we are unable to see everything in the store at all times. So when you're standing in an aisle and you point to something on the bottom shelf and scream to me "Is this price right?" or "What is this?" we won't be able to help at that moment. Give us a chance to get to the aisle before you put your hands on your hips and roll your eyes. Here's an idea: Bend down, pick up the item, and bring it to the front. Use your legs to walk. That's what they're there for. We are more than willing to help (really), but don't expect us to have X-Ray vision through the the aisles.

2. The One Who Interrupts: If I'm with a customer and you're at the photo kiosk, please don't scream at me from the kiosk and ask me how to zoom in. At least ask if you could get some help when I get a chance. It's not our choice to be the only person working at the front, and we can only be one place at a time.

3. The One Who Licks: While I'm sure the white residue blanketed across your tongue is not an indication of your poor personal hygiene, I hate to watch you scrape your finger across your tongue and then grab a bill from your billfold to give to me. I promise you - I've never had to lick a bill to free it from the rest of the bills. It will be just fine - that is unless you want me to lick my finger to free the bags that I use to bag your purchased items. Deal? Also - ladies. No one wants to take a bill from you when you have just retrieved it from your shirt. Plain and simple.

4. The One Who has to Be Somewhere Yesterday: I totally understand that you don't like standing at the register waiting for the cashier to get there. Honestly, I do. When I am busy running errands, or I have somewhere to be in twenty minutes, I get in a hurry too. And before, I worked at this store, I didn't fully realize why there was not always someone near the front. WHen I started, I quickly learned that we cashiers are constantly given tasks to do around the store. And it's not our choice to be in aisle 18, stocking the shelves, while continually checking on the front. Please, pretty please, don't huff and puff at me, and tap your fingers on the counter while I'm ringing up your items. My goal is never to see how long I can keep someone at the counter - and the death-look staring contest you are trying to have with me is not helping me get you out the door. It makes me nervous and makes me wish I had a special "instant police help" button under the counter.

Chapter Five: The 84 Year Old Little Kid

Tonight, an elderly man came into the store and immediately asked me for a shirt and shorts. I told him we had very very few options (as in one). I led him to the endcap where the shirts were and he said he wanted white. When I told him (atleast three times) that we were out of white, he finally settled for blue. I also warned him that our only pair of shorts were bright purple mesh shorts. He said that would be fine. Then he grabbed my arm and said "I'm going to be an eighty-four year old kid." Okay. Great. I led him back to the front where the shorts were located and asked him what size he was.... After much explaining that we didn't have size "34", but only the cheap "S, M, L" he chose Medium.

And for about the fourth time in our conversation, I suggested that Meijer or Walmart might have better choices. He disagreed again, saying he really really wanted to "trade" with me.

"I don't like Walmart," he said.

"Yeah, me either," I responded, sincerely.

"I went there once and they were very mean. I want to trade with you," he said pulling out a knife. (Seriously) "You like my knife?" He waved it at a me. I'm not sure it was a threat, but it was out of the blue.

"Sure."

"I found it. I really like it."

"Me too." I took a step back.

Luckily, another worker stepped in and called me aside, assuring the man we didn't have what he was looking for. And he left. It ended as abruptly as it began....

I have mixed feelings. I wish I could say it was a more interesting story to read. But it was such a bizarre situation to be apart of.

Like I said, I'm not sure he was threatening me. I couldn't understand what in the world was going on. But it was (thankfully) one of those things I can laugh about when I get home at the end of the day.