Cashier in Training

November 17, 2007 at 4:59 pm (Cussed Dumbers)

My sister is in spring-cleaning mode. She’s learned from me that if you do spring cleaning in November, you only have to do it every year and a half. Throw in laundry and teenage friends of the nephew sleeping over, and you have a busier than average Saturday.

Part of cleaning involved moving a chest of drawers into the living room for a bit. My imaginative niece dusted off the top, placed a couple of items on top, and began playing store clerk. Moi, knowing a little something about such things, decided to play along. I placed a can of root beer on top of her ‘counter’ and said, “How much?”

“Twenty-five cents, please!” she announced.

“WOW! That’s a good price. Unfortunately, I seem to have left my wallet in my other pants. Can you put it on account, on account of I don’t have any money?”

She smiled. “Sorry, sir. Do you have a credit card?”

Gawd, they learn so young.

“Nope, I left that in my other wallet. Y’all take food stamps?” I used my best homeless-bro accent.

“Sorry sir, I don’t sell food. Why don’t you try the store over there…” She pointed to ‘elsewhere’. I couldn’t help bursting out in laughter. We send people in search of high-octane malt liquor and gutter wine across the street all the time.

“Honey, you’re a natural!”

When my brother-in-law wanted to know why I was picking on his daughter, I explained, “I wasn’t picking on her. I was amazed that a nine-year-old, with absolutely no training, can handle a homeless panhandler politely, properly and without being intimidated or taken advantage of. I have co-workers who have been there for months who can’t handle that hypothetical situation as well as she just did!”

“Did you hear that?” she asked my nephew. “Charlie says I’m a natural! Maybe I can go with him on ‘take your daughter to work’ day?”

I told her we’d see. Sometimes my workplace can be a little rough for kids. While we have no age restrictions, other than the usual under-18, under-21 stuff, I feel weird when parents bring little Johnny and Susie in. “Mommy? What’s an Arrogant Bastard? (“It’s a drink for grown-ups, dear.”) Mommy? What’s a cum-guzzling slut?” (We try to cover up the porno mags, but they don’t always make it back to the proper rack.) Mommy? Can I have a Camel Snus? It’s Spice-flavored!” (I’d almost be willing to give the kid one of these, so they’d throw up and get over the idea of tobacco as a form of taste-treat.) And so on. We’re family-friendly, but not necessarily family-appropriate.

Besides, it sounds like I’ll be training plenty during the upcoming weeks. Between problematic employees and those moving on for personal reasons, the store is down at least three positions. Somehow I managed to dodge a training night the other night, but I probably won’t be so lucky next week.

Then again, if they catch on half as quick as my niece does? I’ll be looking like the superstar trainer I seem to have earned the reputation of being. One can only do so much though, depending upon the raw material given. Don’t hand me a baggie full of dog turds and expect a golden statue.

My nine-year-old niece has set the bar pretty high, and those who can’t match her for effort and brain power will be teased mercilessly.

Out of earshot, of course. Grinder will be happy to know I have such high expectations…

1 Comment

  1. gee-no said,

    What’s a Butterfinger?


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