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First post, I work at a Smiley Face deli and have many stories but I thought I would start with the regulars I get. Warning, I have a violent fantasy world that I don't act on, it's just the only thing that stops me from grabbing up a knife and chasing customers around the store, screaming like a banshee.
Wicked Witch of the Grey Roots
Everyone in my department can spot this woman from 10 aisles away. She brings a chill to the air, and a tremble to the heart. New employees are forbidden from helping her in their first month and we make a point of branding her face in their memories so they know what they are dealing with. (She sets out to make new employees cry.) No matter what she always has an inch and a half of grey roots and a constantly sour expression on her face. The furrows on her face are so deep, I believe her face would shatter if she ever tried to smile.
She is never happy with the service. Her daughter has celiac disease and the employees are more than happy to accomodate for customers' health issues, so a clean slicer? No problem, but she always accuses us of never doing it the time before. LIES! Then, even though she has selected how thick of a slice she wants on the display and approves the first couple of slices, when we are done with her order she accuses us of changing the thickness mid-order and makes us slice another batch. Last time I got her, she accused me of giving her the first batch that didn't meet her highnesses specifications and would not stop glaring at me until I held up the first pound of cheese next to her second.
She costs us more in wasted food than she buys. That smile on my face when I help her is only there because I envision stuffing logs of cheese down her throat until she chokes.
Shrimp Guy
This man is in the store on average 3-4 times daily. It's not a big loss but after time it adds up. He gets .18 pounds of shrimp twice a day, eats it and stashes the container or just sidles past the greeters without paying. Or he used to. He has stopped coming to the deli since we started getting loss prevention to follow him around the store and since I embarassed the crap out of him on a Saturday afternoon.
He got his usual bare minimum of shrimp one day and was chatting up (harrassing) the door greeter and hiding his container behind his back. I had a couple customers in front of me but I was feeling particularly devious that day and was watching him. He started to edge towards the door and I used my parade ground voice, "Sir, don't forget to pay for your food!" in the sweetest tone possible. He whipped around to yell back at me then got very red in the face as he saw approximately 30 people staring at him and slouched off to the registers. I explained to the shocked faces in front of me about him and we all shared a laugh. He still singles me out for his patented stink-eye 7 months later. I make sure to smile sweetly back.
Your numbers are all lies!
I've had this particular woman twice now. That was enough. We have a scale on our counter. The numbers are 1-10 and show a corresponding thickness. It helps determine an estimate of how thick a slice of lunch meat the customer wants, especially since they dropped the requirement of mind reading for new hires.
It is 5:30 am. No one should be awake right now. Especially someone this bitchy. I open the slicer an hour and a half earlier than usual for this EW. She gets a brand new ham (ooh, she's so speshul) and I ask her how thick of a slice she wants.
She bites off, "Medium."
Okay, that's not supbjective at all. I helpfully offer up the scale and ask, "Would a number 2 slice be right?"
"YOUR NUMBERS DON'T MEAN ANYTHING! IT'S ALL LIES!"
"Uhm, okay...I was just wondering if-"
"I DON'T CARE! GIVE ME A MEDIUM SLICE!"
I realize at this point I won't win this argument, and start to open the ham.
"SHOW ME THE FIRST SLICE! NOONE SHOWS ME THE SLICE!"
I haven't even gotten your damn ham on the slicer yet, you witch. Give me a damn second. "Of course ma'am. I make sure to show every customer the first slice to ensure satisfaction. If you'll allow me a moment to cut off the heel I'll be happy-"
"NOONE SHOWS ME THE SLICE!"
Inner sighing and visions of throwing the 15 pound ham at her face keep the grimace, I mean smile, on my face as I start to cut off the heel.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SHOW ME THE SLICE!"
You know what? Screw throwing the ham, would you like to see our fryers? Really, really up close?
30 minutes later and 3 separate orders of a quarter pound each she leaves still muttering to herself about the damn slices.
That should be enough for now. Don't worry, there's more and all different. Including the occasional weirdo who finds over-heated, over-worked women in hairnets super sexy.
Wicked Witch of the Grey Roots
Everyone in my department can spot this woman from 10 aisles away. She brings a chill to the air, and a tremble to the heart. New employees are forbidden from helping her in their first month and we make a point of branding her face in their memories so they know what they are dealing with. (She sets out to make new employees cry.) No matter what she always has an inch and a half of grey roots and a constantly sour expression on her face. The furrows on her face are so deep, I believe her face would shatter if she ever tried to smile.
She is never happy with the service. Her daughter has celiac disease and the employees are more than happy to accomodate for customers' health issues, so a clean slicer? No problem, but she always accuses us of never doing it the time before. LIES! Then, even though she has selected how thick of a slice she wants on the display and approves the first couple of slices, when we are done with her order she accuses us of changing the thickness mid-order and makes us slice another batch. Last time I got her, she accused me of giving her the first batch that didn't meet her highnesses specifications and would not stop glaring at me until I held up the first pound of cheese next to her second.
She costs us more in wasted food than she buys. That smile on my face when I help her is only there because I envision stuffing logs of cheese down her throat until she chokes.
Shrimp Guy
This man is in the store on average 3-4 times daily. It's not a big loss but after time it adds up. He gets .18 pounds of shrimp twice a day, eats it and stashes the container or just sidles past the greeters without paying. Or he used to. He has stopped coming to the deli since we started getting loss prevention to follow him around the store and since I embarassed the crap out of him on a Saturday afternoon.
He got his usual bare minimum of shrimp one day and was chatting up (harrassing) the door greeter and hiding his container behind his back. I had a couple customers in front of me but I was feeling particularly devious that day and was watching him. He started to edge towards the door and I used my parade ground voice, "Sir, don't forget to pay for your food!" in the sweetest tone possible. He whipped around to yell back at me then got very red in the face as he saw approximately 30 people staring at him and slouched off to the registers. I explained to the shocked faces in front of me about him and we all shared a laugh. He still singles me out for his patented stink-eye 7 months later. I make sure to smile sweetly back.
Your numbers are all lies!
I've had this particular woman twice now. That was enough. We have a scale on our counter. The numbers are 1-10 and show a corresponding thickness. It helps determine an estimate of how thick a slice of lunch meat the customer wants, especially since they dropped the requirement of mind reading for new hires.
It is 5:30 am. No one should be awake right now. Especially someone this bitchy. I open the slicer an hour and a half earlier than usual for this EW. She gets a brand new ham (ooh, she's so speshul) and I ask her how thick of a slice she wants.
She bites off, "Medium."
Okay, that's not supbjective at all. I helpfully offer up the scale and ask, "Would a number 2 slice be right?"
"YOUR NUMBERS DON'T MEAN ANYTHING! IT'S ALL LIES!"
"Uhm, okay...I was just wondering if-""I DON'T CARE! GIVE ME A MEDIUM SLICE!"
I realize at this point I won't win this argument, and start to open the ham.
"SHOW ME THE FIRST SLICE! NOONE SHOWS ME THE SLICE!"
I haven't even gotten your damn ham on the slicer yet, you witch. Give me a damn second. "Of course ma'am. I make sure to show every customer the first slice to ensure satisfaction. If you'll allow me a moment to cut off the heel I'll be happy-"
"NOONE SHOWS ME THE SLICE!"
Inner sighing and visions of throwing the 15 pound ham at her face keep the grimace, I mean smile, on my face as I start to cut off the heel.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? SHOW ME THE SLICE!"
You know what? Screw throwing the ham, would you like to see our fryers? Really, really up close?
30 minutes later and 3 separate orders of a quarter pound each she leaves still muttering to herself about the damn slices.
That should be enough for now. Don't worry, there's more and all different. Including the occasional weirdo who finds over-heated, over-worked women in hairnets super sexy.
to 
!
Welcome to the madness!
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