Working In Retail

I love shopping at retail stores! Anything that ends in a “mart”, “value” or, heck, even “store” has my business. Cheap prices and interesting ad campaigns seem to automatically lure the average Jo (or Jody) into any big box retail chain around them. Yes, sometime or another, you and I will have to step foot inside a retail chain store to make a purchase by either leisure or necessity. That’s great. Working for one of these such stores, however can prove to be the downfall of all younger, and sadly some older, generations. Other than being a CEO or some other highly acclaimed title, mildly (or not so mildly), working at a retail store sucks. Here is my testimony.

While shopping through a very well known retail store, I happened to pass by a kiosk with a huge sign on it that proclaimed the store was hiring. Since I was young, bored and strapped for cash, I decided to sit down and fill out the computerized application. I looked around at all of the smiling employees and thought they looked happy enough and maybe I would enjoy working with them. As I walked around the store, I noticed the various department leaders helping customer with genuine smiling faces and could picture myself doing the same. I purchased my items and went home.

Two days later my cell phone rang and I did not recognize the number. I answered it and was extravagantly greeted by an overzealous young woman. Her smile pierced me through the phone as she informed me she had reviewed my application and would like for me to come in for an interview the next day. I agreed and went about my day,

When I walked into the store for the interview, I was directed through the back “employee only” doors and told to wait in the break room. I scanned the room and saw two others about my age nervously waiting in hard plastic chairs. I assumed they were here for an interview as well. The room was quite and we all waited for about 20 minutes before (I’m assuming) the same young woman I had talked to on the phone came busting into the door. She was a tall and thin Caucasian woman with a reddish face. Her smile seemed to literally spread from ear to ear as she yelped out her introduction (her name was April and she had two kids and had been working at the store for five years) and gave us paperwork to fill out. She excitedly told us about the store and told us she would call us back to work when our background checks had cleared. She informed us we would need to wear khaki slacks, black shoes and red collared shirt. Ok, I thought, no problem. This would be a great opportunity to go shopping and add more red to my wardrobe.

About a week later, I got a call from April and she asked me to come in for orientation. Dressed in cute khaki capris, a red collared shirt with small gold-trimmed buttons, black sequined flats and a red sweater I trekked my way back through the “employees only” door. In the break room I found all of my previous nervous friends and April sitting down quietly. Her jaw dropped as I walked in and I was told that capris, gold-trimmed buttons, sequined black flats and red sweaters were certainly out of dress code. Great way to start! She gave me a warning and proceeded to give us employee manuals, pay rate information (a whopping $6.45 an hour) and forced us to watch countless videos about the history of the store and cheesy customer service. If I had to watch one more video with plastered smiles and “how do you do’s”, I would surely barf. I dozed off for about an hour and April came back in to give us schedules and name badges. I would be working as a cashier starting the next day.

After prodding myself to put on the very unflattering khaki slacks, plain red shirt and unsightly black tennis shoes, I walked again through the “employees only” door and clocked in. I was escorted out to the sales floor and paired with an experienced cashier named Keisha. She seemed to know it all, but through that fake smile I could see the ghetto and diva-esque attitude waiting to explode. After dealing with a particularly hard customer, Keisha turned to me with sweat on her brow and said “The customer is always right!” How I began to loathe that saying. Operating the cash register was fairly easy and I was on my own in no time. My speed was above average and my cash register was never short.

On my way to a glorious fifteen minute break, my manager pulled me to the side and told me about the store’s credit cards. I was informed I would have to meet a quota and would absolutely have to ask every single person who came through my line if they would like to apply for the card. Ok, I thought, no big deal. I soon found out that, apparently, some customers are seriously offended if I ask them if they would like to apply for a credit card. I don’t understand this because it’s a yes or no question. I sold no credit cards.

We began to have daily meetings. The store had to push these credit cards and I could see a sense of urgency in all of the man anger’s faces as they faked their way through over excited pep talks and incentives. I really cared less and a five dollar gift card was certainly not going to make me care any more. I eventually stopped asking the customers all together if they wanted a credit card. Even if they did, I really had no idea how to sign them up. I was really starting to get sick of all the red, the customer is always right scheme, plus selling and everything else. There was one occasion where the customer was certainly not right. A lady came through my line and demanded to purchase an eighty dollar boxed toy set for fifteen dollars because there was a small tear in the packaging. Now I am all for getting bargains and such, but this was certainly ridiculous! I told her no and offered to discount the item twenty percent. This was not good enough, however and she asked to speak to the manager. The manager came over and told the woman the same thing I had told her. She was not happy. Then I got a show! She was ranting and raving, throwing her arms about and belittling the manager. She was upset and wanted everyone to know. The manager finally calmed her down and offered to give the lady forty percent off the item. She must have been bipolar because she changed her mood and managed to smile. Since the manager was right there, I had to ask her if she wanted a credit card. She did not, and let me and everyone around her know that she did not. My manager then turned to me and told me I needed to work on my customer service. I think he was upset because he would not be getting his commission from me. I did nothing wrong.

I continued through my shift and my arms and feet began to ache as I stood, scanned and bagged item after item. Finally it was closing time and I shut down my register and gathered my things to go clock out. No, siree. It was “zoning” time. A “great bonding and teamwork experience”, where everyone chips in to clean the entire store. I never realized how big that store was. I never realized how putting things back where they belong when shopping really does make a difference.

The next day I did not go into work. April called and with her now extremely annoying high pitched voice asked me if I was coming in. I told her no I was not. She hung up on me.

That’s the end. That was my retail experience. Now whenever I shop, I have a greater appreciation for the employees but always stand near the door. You never know when they will crack!