Pernicious

 I hate my job.

I'm sure so many other people can say that. It obviously isn't a problem unique to me. I work part time though. About three times a week at most if I'm lucky. My smallest paychecks are $60, and at most $250. This is just a job for while I'm in school. Nothing special. Just a sporting goods store. 

Unlike most people however, I don't hate my job for the company itself. I like the people I work with, and have never gotten myself into a feud with anyone. No, I hate the customers that come in.

I work in an alright place in the city I live in. Some nice people in the area, a lot of college students (it is right next to the school I go to), and a lot of tweakers. There is literally a homeless encampment right outside. I used to lock my bike in the poles next to it. There was a time I went home without my bike for some reason, and I found it safe, and sound the next morning. I said thank you to the homeless.

I dunno why tweakers love the store I work at though. Sure, there are sales on basically everything everyday, but there is never a day I work where someone who doesn't have a grip on reality comes in.

I honestly don't understand why people shop here. Especially for shoes... people come in looking for everyday shoe for their everyday needs, and end up leaving with a pair of running shoes. Why are you buying running shoes for everyday shoes? They provide literally no comfort, and only allow for straight back, and forth movement. You can hurt yourself. But no, the biggest, fattest man I have ever seen in my life (couldn't even put his own shoes on himself, I had to go down there and put them on FOR him) came in, and bought running shoes. 

Anyways, here are a few anecdotes of mine from my time working here.

 - There is a policy where if you show a customer a display knife, or gun, you HAVE to get their ID for them to hold the display item. This older Mexican guy (important for later) comes in, asking to see a few knives. This guy is obviously older, probably in his sixties. Despite this, it is policy for my to see his ID, so I ask him to see his ID before he can hold the displays. He chuckles, saying I'm making him feel young again. I, thinking he's taking this like a normal person, chuckle back, "yes, sir it is just policy".

"Well I've never heard of that." He replies

"Well I dunno if you've shopped here before, but it is policy for us to see your ID to hold a display."

"What, do you think I'm going to steal?"

"Of course not, sir, again, it is just policy."

"Oh so because I'm Mexican, you think I'm going to steal?"

"Sir, I'm Mexican too. This is just a policy of the store." 

"Well you don't look Mexican." This put me into shock. Never have I been told I don't look Mexican before this. Eventually he gives me his ID, and checks out a few knives. I also take out a larger one from the bottom, as I always do, in case the customer gets a little too hands on with me. He finds one he wants, and tells me. I tell him okay, I will have it up at the front for you in a minute.

"No, just give me this one." 

"Sir, I can't give you the display, there is a new one in the boxes below, I just have to find it. Please give me a minute or two, you can wander the store. I will have it for you at the registers."

"I have NEVER been this disrespected in my life!" At this point the manager on duty comes up, and see's the fiasco going down, and gets the man's attention. Going back, and forth on how this is just policy, and to please be patient. Meanwhile he goes on, and on about how he has never been disrespected more in his life, all because he is Mexican.

- Another time, a larger, heavier than average family comes in, looking for soccer items. I get them their shoes, their socks, knee pads, a ball, ect. We got this family of three bigger kids set with soccer items that somehow fit them. They all seemed pretty happy. Then, at the register, as I checked them out, the largest kid grabs this large gummy bear on a stick, and asks his mom to buy it for him, claiming he "never ate this before." It took everything in my not to laugh, as I imagined him with a journal that has a list of everything he's ever eaten. 

 - A mother comes up to me with her daughter, asking if the knee pads she picked was her daughter's size. I looked at the daughter, and then back at the mother. I ask the mother, "what size are the pads?" 

"Medium"

"Is that your daughter's size?"

"Yeah."

"Your total is [whatever]."

 - A woman comes to the register with a shoe box. I ring her up, and tell her the price is $63.59. She counters this price telling me "The sale price says '$59.99.'"

"Yeah, it's $63.59 in total."

"But the sale?"

"Yes, the computer says the sale price."

"But here (she points to the credit card reader) it says '65'"

"Ma'am, I have your $59.99 up"

"So what is this '-$5'"

"Ma'am, 64.99 minus 5 is 59.99."

"What?"

"64.99 minus 5 is 59.99."

"Oh."

I dread going to work, because of the customers alone. It's like the second people enter the store, they lose all intelligence they once had, and enter a fever dream state of living, and expect a shoddy sporting goods store to cater to everything they need. I have never bought anything sporting related from here, as I hold myself to a higher quality than the store can provide. I wish that other people did that. Seriously, who in this god forsaken planet wears running shoes as everyday shoes.