Quotes Directly from the MB

MAN (appropos to nothing): I hope my knucklehead son remembers to stir the soup.

LITTLE GIRL: Daddy, can I get this candy?
GOOD FATHER: No, you already had candy today.
LITTLE GIRL: See, this is why I want a nice dad.

GOOD FATHER: You can't have candy every day!
LITTLE GIRL: You're so mean every day.

(These two should get their own sitcom. I'd watch it.)


CUTE LITTLE GIRL: What's your name?
ME: My name's Renée. What's your name?
(Long pause, then:)
CUTE LITTLE GIRL: JJJJJJJAAAASSSSSSSSSMMIIIIINNNNEEEEEE!
MOTHER: That's not your name! Tell her your real name!


GRANDMOTHER, to child trying to sneak out candy: NO! If you don't put that back right now, the policeman will come and take it away!


WOMAN (in a different line, completely out of the blue): Why does your name tag say "four years"?
ME: ...I'm sorry?
WOMAN: Your name tag. Why does it say "four years"?
ME: Because I've been working here for four years.
(embarrassed pause)
WOMAN: Oh.

You can't make this stuff up.

Market Basket Quote of the Day

Bagger, to adult male customer: Would you like these bags in the carriage or will you carry them?
Man: I'll take them.
Man's elderly mother: Put them in the carriage! *mutters in disgusted tone* Don't be a hero.

Stranger Things Have Happened...No, Wait, They Really Haven't

I wanted to write but nothing too noteworthy happened today, so I will instead make a list of bizarre (but absolutely, 100% true) things that have happened at the Basket.

1. A man walks into a Market Basket supermarket...
...wearing a business suit and wool socks. No shoes. Just socks. It had rained recently. There were puddles. I'm just saying.

2. What's the big deal, anyway?
I give a woman her change. This is our post-sale interaction, verbatim.
WOMAN: Oooooh.
ME: What?
WOMAN: You gave me a Canadian quarter.
ME: ...
WOMAN: ...
ME: Do...you want me to...change it?
WOMAN: Yes. That'd be great.
So I have to go to the signout menu, hit the "no sale" button, and type in my password just because this lady has a thing against quarters with moose on them. Let me tell you something, lady: no one else in the world cares whether your quarter is Canadian or not. It came out of my roll of quarters. It's fine.

3. Didn't I used to have another kid?
A woman just strolled out of the store without her son once. The poor kid stood in the front of the store screaming "Mommy!" I might be mistaken, but I think someone had to go chase after her to get her to come back. For HER OWN CHILD.

4. Gee, what's that sound?
Another one in the category of negligent parents: A woman just stands by as her son flips the handle on the emergency exit door, which results in a loud, piercing, and - most importantly - annoying sound. Said woman calmly collects her children and strolls out without so much as an apology to the employees trying to figure out how to shut the alarm off or a reprimand to her precious child.
I amended my customer "hello-how-are-you" speech from "have a nice day" to "have a quiet day."

5. Scoot off a cliff, why dontcha?
Third in the Parental Negligence Series: a kid (around ten, maybe) will sometimes come into the store around 8 at night and ride his scooter along the front of the store (inside, not out) for no apparent reason, despite the fact that he's been kicked out multiple times for doing so.

6. Could I change four ridiculous hissy fits for one full-fledged tantrum?
A man asked me to make change in fives for his twenty. I politely told him that I can't make change (it's against store policy/rules) and that he could get change at the courtesy booth. He promptly exploded all over me.
ME: I'm sorry, sir, I can't make change.
MAN: What?! Don't give me that! I can see in your drawer; you've got a ton of fives right there!
ME: I'm not allowed to make change, sir. You can go over to the courtesy booth...
MAN: I don't WANT to go to the courtesy booth!
Well, I don't want to be having this conversation. Life just sucks for us both, I guess.
ME: I'm very sorry, sir.
MAN: They make change for me all the time at the [insert name of other town here] store!
Does this look like the [other town] store?! No. I don't care about what they do at the other store; I care about what my bosses tell me to do HERE. And they told me not to make change. I value my paycheck more than your constant need to have things your way.
ME: I'm sorry.
But not really.

7. Yummy!
A woman came through my line munching on dog biscuits. I was rather alarmed. I've been informed since, by someone I know, that dog treats are actually quite tasty. I suppose they'd be sort of like meat snacks (like jerky or whatever), but I'm a vegetarian - what do I know?

I still think it's weird, though.

I thought I had more stories than this. Poo.

Brief Sketches of Life at the MB

In haiku form, because I'm feeling especially creative.

I. Ode to the Indecisive Customer
You say you want it
You bring it to the checkout
You don't want it now.

II. Ode to the Person Who Doesn't Understand the Concept of Produce Codes
It's a pear, you say
A pear! One-ninety-nine!
I smile; type the code.

III. Ode to My Register
Why must you hurt me?
I only tried to wash you.
You cut my finger.

IV. Odes to Working Past Closing
I ring items up.
When did the line get so long?
Oh, right; it's closing.

Everyone rushes
To put their stuff on the belt
I inwardly cuss.

V. Ode to Breaking Down the Bread Aisle
Hey, I was just here
How did it get so messy?
Unsupervised kids.

VI. Ode to Doing Overstock
Where does this belong?
I can't find a spot nearby.
Hide it in the back.*

*Not that I actually do this.

VII. Ode to Damaged Goods
Ice cream in bread aisle
Melts faster than you might think
Three dollars wasted.

VIII. Ode to WIC Transactions
The road to hell is
Not paved with good intentions
But with damned WIC checks.

IX. Ode to Those Who Move the Divider Between Orders
I am not psychic.
I don't know which stuff is yours
And which stuff is theirs.

X. Ode to Calling For Voids
Blink blink goes my light
Supervisor override
Ah, back to normal.

XI. Ode to the Lazy Bagger
Stuff is piling up
I wonder what's going on
Bagger is texting.

XII. Ode to the Customer who Oversteps Her Bounds
I get paid chump change
To scan your items through, ma'am.
Please don't scan your own.

XIII. Ode to the Break Room
Awfully hot in here
Microwave gross, flies on walls
"Broken room," more like.

XIV. Ode to Leaky Items
Mysterious goo
Sticks to my hands for hours
Get me some Purell!

XV. Ode to Crying Children
Little boy throws fit
Please just buy him the candy
Or else shoot me now.

XVI. Ode to Awkwardly Lovable Customers
Don't be embarrassed
Sir, I know those tampons are for
Your lovely wife.

XVII. Ode to the Dress Code
"Recommended shoes:
Low heels or pumps for women."
Ha ha ha ha...no.*

*Stand in heels/pumps for FIVE HOURS STRAIGHT? Dress code was obviously written by a man.

XVIII. Ode to the Customer who is Strapped for Cash
Why yes, sir, you can
Pay with both cash and debit.
I'd prefer you don't.

XIX. Ode to Customers Who Pay All in One-Dollar Bills
Your bill was quite large
Why did you pay all in ones?
Why do you hate me?

XX. Ode to the Receipt Machine
This lady ordered
Three bazillion items
Why must you jam now?!

Be kind to your local supermarket staff. They deal with all this - and WORSE - on a daily basis. Plus, if you're an especially annoying customer, they'll complain about you to their friends and possibly blog about you. So yeah, be nice.

BONUS! From Chris, as I IM him while writing this:
Customer must leave,
"Just going to get money."
Cart never reclaimed.

My reply:
Void the whole order
Oh Lord, just kill me now please
Supervisor pissed.

And that's life at the MB.

Eau de Market Basket

I just returned home from working the "five to close" shift at the MB (!!!), feeling lonely and dejected because

a.) I'm missing my aunt's "Watch the Fireworks from my Back Porch" cookout.
b.) I am the ONLY one missing aforementioned cookout.
c.) Someone nearby is setting off fireworks which I can hear but cannot see, which only serves to rub the "ha-ha, loser, you had work" salt in my figurative wound.

So I walked into the house, happy at least to see that the cat was waiting for me at the door. So I sat down on the stairs, the epitome of one who is, as previously mentioned, lonely and dejected, and said to the cat, "Come sit with me, Katie. I'm lonely and I need SOMEONE to hang out with." (On the way home from work, I seriously considered finding some dolls and large stuffed animals in the attic, setting them up around the kitchen table, cooking myself a veggie burger, and having an imaginary cookout. You think I'm kidding. I'm really not. But that was too pathetic, not to mention borderline psychotic. )

Anyway, the cat did her whole "I do not follow your foolish whims, lower life form. I am a CAT" stare but eventually hopped up on the step next to me and let me pat her a little. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised. This is the cat who refuses to visit me when I am deathly ill and am using up my last ounces of energy to snap my fingers and cluck my tongue and whistle, all in hopes of enticing the cat to visit so I don't feel like a complete doof. Her usual response is to sit innocently in the hallway just outside the door, looking at me as if to say, "I wish I knew what you were trying to say to me. I haven't the faintest idea what you're getting at. Toodles, off to cry until someone feeds me."

So anyway, the cat was standing next to me, allowing me to pat her, then she gave my work-issued smock a sniff and subtly began to edge away. I know why: the smell of Market Basket. (It's not the smell of me. Underneath the smock, I smell flowery and shower-fresh.)

I always knew that Market Basket has a very distinct smell. It's sort of metallic, which I suppose comes from the canned goods, money, etc. But my cat, who has smelled both cans and money before, wouldn't shy away from them. So I must conclude that there is more to the MB's odor than meets the nose. I have broken it down as follows:

Base scent: Metal (coins, cans, carriages, doors, checkout console-thingies, etc.)
With overtones of: Depression, dismay, boredom, false perkiness, grocery items, and soul-crushing defeat
And undertones of: Mild physical pain (from the standing, dontcha know), resentment (of both customers and anyone who ISN'T working at Market Basket), and (surprise!) slight amusement (at the ridiculousness of a good number of the things that go down while one is on duty)

Hmmm, speaking of smell....it seems that a skunk has decided to traipse through my yard. I'm so glad it's summer and ALL THE WINDOWS ARE OPEN. Deee-lish.

As I write this, I'm venting to Jess via AIM, because not only is she my best friend (despite my uncanny ability to turn HER complaints into complaints of my own...because I'm a narcissist and that's what we do best), but she also works at Soul Crushers, Inc. (aka the MB). As such, she is very sympathetic, even when I ramble on for ages without allowing her to get an IM in edgewise:

Me: and then i felt stupid later because i was putting hamburger and hot dog rolls in a bag myself (b/c they're bread and you know how you bag it yourself) and i went to go put the hamburger rolls in with the hot dog ones and i was like (in my head) hmm, that won't all fit. so I took out the hamburger rolls and grabbed the bag with just the two packages of hot dog rolls and the customer dude took the bag and went...
Me: "renee, I'm just gonna rearrange these because i don't want squished hot dog rolls."
Me: okay. bastard.
Me: i mean, a.) how exactly will two packages of hot dog rolls squish EACH OTHER?
Jess: people like that are annoying.
Me: b.) you don't need to ANNOUNCE it to me. I mean, i know I'm an employee and you're a customer so you can just piss all over me if you feel like it, but it's RUDE.
Me: and c.) YOU DON'T KNOW ME. DON'T CALL ME BY NAME JUST BECAUSE MY TAG SAYS IT.
Me: that's in case you're being accidentally fed into the cardboard compactor in the back and you need to know my name so you can shout "RENEE! HELP ME! I'M BEING FED INTO THE CARDBOARD COMPACTOR!" and specifically get my attention.
Jess: because that happens all the time. xD but I get what you're saying.
Me: oh, it WOULD have happened if i had anything to say about it.
Me: except in that scenario, the customer would be screaming, "RENEE! NO! I'M SORRY! PLEASE DON'T FEED ME TO THE CARDBOARD COMPACTOR!"

That's right. Beg for mercy. Do it. Remember who you're dealing with. This chick is crazy. We're talking "assigns-a-smell-to-her-place-of-employment, contemplates-imaginary-parties-with-imaginary-guests, fantasizes-about-feeding-customers-to-the-cardboard-compactor" CRAZY.

And then she blogs about it.

That's either very healthy (cathartic) or very disturbing ("Publicizes fantasy life," my future shrink will perhaps note.)

At any rate, it's ME. Peace out (for now).