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So I'm at the service desk last night, not really doing much of anything, as it's more than a bit slow, and I'm just counting down the last 20 minutes till I can close down and go home. A young guy walks up to the counter, puts on a weird attempt at what he must have thought was a dashing smile, and asks me if I could use some change, because he has a pocket full of it and it's mostly quarters. I pop around the corner, where a cashier, the front end manager, and MOD are all chatting, and they said no, it's against company policy and he can use the Coinstar machine.
Me:
P: crazy punk
P: *blank stare of incomprehension* What . . . aww come on, you can't just do it for me? I don't like usin' that machine cause it like, eats an eight of the money. (As a matter of fact it does take 8 cents from every dollar for processing, which gets donated to charity)
FEM: It's store policy, we can't change that, but you can use the Coinstar.
P: Like what . . . like what the fuck! But you guys NEED change! That's fucking . . . fine. *jams change back into pocket* I'll buy a pack of cigarettes.
Me: *sweetly* Do you have ID?
P: . . . you're kidding, right? Fuck! No, I don't have it. Oh my god, look at me, I'm 22! 8-13-85, 8-13-85!
Me: Sorry, I can't sell them to you without ID, it's store policy and the law.
He kept on bitching and moaning until the FEM popped round the corner again and told him the same thing.
P: Fuck! Ok you . . . you guys are . . . . are fucking bullshit! This is fucking crazy, LOOK AT ME! I'm 22!
After which he kept repeating his DOB over and over again. And I still shook my head in answer to the smokes.
P: *waves card around* THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT! AHHH! You guys . . . uh, but I need to get some money back from this!
At that point he was waving it around so furiously that it flew out of his hand and behind my counter.
P: Oh, man, I didn't mean to do that, can you get my card?
I reached down and got it for him, but always kept my eyes on him, because frankly the convenience of that put red flags up for me. Anywho . . .
Me: Sorry, there's no way we can get money off your card unless you purchase something, but there's an ATM machine right over there.
P: (indecipherable at this point, but I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of) Fuck fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck fuck!
One of our younger cashiers was at the old photo lab counter, getting some bags for his register, when Punk approaches him, arms outstretched . . .
P: Hey, you, LOOK AT ME, MAN! Look, see?! *points to one of his many tattoos* Do I look 22 to you?! 8-13-85, 8-13-85! I'm fucking 22, would YOU fucking card me?!
I commend this otherwise annoying little twat for his quick reply.
Cashier: Whoa, man, nice tats!
All said with a smile and mucho enthusiasm, and he never answered the age question.
Punk then starts to storm his way out of the store, still dropping F-bombs like it's going out of style (or perhaps that's one of the 20 words in his vocabulary besides "cigarettes", "want" and "shit") and on his way out, decides to stop at register 8 and harass one of the new hires with the same "Look at me, see my tattoo says "8-13--85!!!!" tirade. By this point, the MOD is walking right behind him and the only word I can catch from him is "harassment". From what I understand, the only thing that transpired is the guy kept pitching a fit outside and MOD pulled out his phone and threatened to call the police. Later, I understand from my mother, who was waiting in the parking lot, that 'some kid flew out of the store, got in a car and yelled at his friends to 'Go and get out of here as fast as they can'.
Gotta love idiots. Ah, well, it gave us a good laugh anyways. And truthfully, I'm do think he was old enough to buy the cigs, but aside from the company policy that we're to card anyone under 40, the opportunity was too good to pass up. He had already been an asshole about me not switching the change for him, so I felt it appropriate to repay him in kind. Act like an immature brat, and I will treat you like one.
The other lesson to be learned here: Just because you've had someone ink you with a random date that may or may not be your legal birthday, does not mean you can buy cigs at the grocery store
Me:
P: crazy punk
P: *blank stare of incomprehension* What . . . aww come on, you can't just do it for me? I don't like usin' that machine cause it like, eats an eight of the money. (As a matter of fact it does take 8 cents from every dollar for processing, which gets donated to charity)
FEM: It's store policy, we can't change that, but you can use the Coinstar.
P: Like what . . . like what the fuck! But you guys NEED change! That's fucking . . . fine. *jams change back into pocket* I'll buy a pack of cigarettes.
Me: *sweetly* Do you have ID?
P: . . . you're kidding, right? Fuck! No, I don't have it. Oh my god, look at me, I'm 22! 8-13-85, 8-13-85!
Me: Sorry, I can't sell them to you without ID, it's store policy and the law.
He kept on bitching and moaning until the FEM popped round the corner again and told him the same thing.
P: Fuck! Ok you . . . you guys are . . . . are fucking bullshit! This is fucking crazy, LOOK AT ME! I'm 22!
After which he kept repeating his DOB over and over again. And I still shook my head in answer to the smokes.
P: *waves card around* THIS IS FUCKING BULLSHIT! AHHH! You guys . . . uh, but I need to get some money back from this!
At that point he was waving it around so furiously that it flew out of his hand and behind my counter.
P: Oh, man, I didn't mean to do that, can you get my card?
I reached down and got it for him, but always kept my eyes on him, because frankly the convenience of that put red flags up for me. Anywho . . .
Me: Sorry, there's no way we can get money off your card unless you purchase something, but there's an ATM machine right over there.
P: (indecipherable at this point, but I'm pretty sure it was something along the lines of) Fuck fuck, fuckitty fuck fuck fuck!
One of our younger cashiers was at the old photo lab counter, getting some bags for his register, when Punk approaches him, arms outstretched . . .
P: Hey, you, LOOK AT ME, MAN! Look, see?! *points to one of his many tattoos* Do I look 22 to you?! 8-13-85, 8-13-85! I'm fucking 22, would YOU fucking card me?!
I commend this otherwise annoying little twat for his quick reply.
Cashier: Whoa, man, nice tats!
All said with a smile and mucho enthusiasm, and he never answered the age question.
Punk then starts to storm his way out of the store, still dropping F-bombs like it's going out of style (or perhaps that's one of the 20 words in his vocabulary besides "cigarettes", "want" and "shit") and on his way out, decides to stop at register 8 and harass one of the new hires with the same "Look at me, see my tattoo says "8-13--85!!!!" tirade. By this point, the MOD is walking right behind him and the only word I can catch from him is "harassment". From what I understand, the only thing that transpired is the guy kept pitching a fit outside and MOD pulled out his phone and threatened to call the police. Later, I understand from my mother, who was waiting in the parking lot, that 'some kid flew out of the store, got in a car and yelled at his friends to 'Go and get out of here as fast as they can'.
Gotta love idiots. Ah, well, it gave us a good laugh anyways. And truthfully, I'm do think he was old enough to buy the cigs, but aside from the company policy that we're to card anyone under 40, the opportunity was too good to pass up. He had already been an asshole about me not switching the change for him, so I felt it appropriate to repay him in kind. Act like an immature brat, and I will treat you like one.
The other lesson to be learned here: Just because you've had someone ink you with a random date that may or may not be your legal birthday, does not mean you can buy cigs at the grocery store
, since I didn't know what made him change his mind, but once he told me it was my tattoo I LOLLED a bunch inside.
Though they are also very nice to the good, reasonable customers as well. It's wonderful.
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