Why I should probably be back in therapy.

I have a complicated relationship with supermarket cashiers. They’re serving me, and yet at the same time they have all the power—tallying my purchases, weighing and considering each item, silently judging me. I’m always a little mortified (I can hear them thinking, she pays that much extra for organic? chump) and yet also grateful because hey, they're letting me take this food home! I mean, I have to pay for it, but still. Mostly, though, I really want them to be nice to me. I’m not asking for much. A smile here, a “have a nice day” there. Sometimes the exchange with the cashier is the only adult interaction I’ll have all day. I want a little validation that I exist. Is that too much to ask?

At any rate, there’s a new cashier at the Met Food across the street, and this woman is One Cranky-Ass Bitch. She’s a middle-aged woman with badly dyed red hair and a thick Russian accent. She scowls at every item that rolls towards her, and then regards me with an icy stare and spits, “Give me $35.17,” like she’s mugging me. And oh, when I tell her I’m going to use my debit card! The sighing and the rolling of the eyes! “Cash back?” she growls, and then looks at me like god help you if you say yes. If she could get away with balling up the receipt and hucking it at my face, she would. She is not a nice person.

So of course I’ve been trying to make her my friend. I head straight for her cash register and I put each item down right where she can pick it up—no making that conveyor belt roll, my friend! That’s too much work for you! Then when she accosts me with the total I always beam at her and say, “Okay!” and I count out my money—exact change for you, neighbor! You’ve had a hard day! And then she shoves my receipt at me and my bag and I tell her to have a nice day and she hates me more than ever.

I went in on Saturday to buy a bag of potting soil. I had a hard time negotiating the bag, as it was big and heavy and I am small and puny. I plopped it down at her register and said, “Whoa!” because I’m a dork. She glanced at me to sneer, but then something changed in her expression—and she smiled at me. She. Smiled. At me.

Finally, I thought. I’ve broken through. She could only resist my charms for so long.

Of course I smiled like a crazy person back at her, and I handed her my money and she gave me my change and I shrieked “Thank you! Nice day, isn’t it! Hope you get outside! Bye! See you later!” at her. She looked right at me and she smiled again. I was in heaven.

When I walked in the door I was about to tell my husband about my breakthrough when he said, “Did you know that you’ve got something on your face? You’ve got a big black smudge under your nose.”

So. It wasn’t my charms, but my dirt mustache. Cranky-Ass Bitch was laughing at me. She was thinking, “The American whore looks like Hitler. And my heart is glad.”

I'm sort of considering doing it again, just to amuse her.

Comments

[Okapi]

There's you, trying to be nice, but me, I mess it up every time.I was bemoaning the nature of fashion earlier today by holding out a peasant style skirt and shrieking "hideous! HIDEOUS!", when I was forced to leave the shop to avoid the gorgon like gaze of one of the shop assistants.

Well, it was hideous.

[Robert]

I dare you to pay her next time all in ones and change. And take pictures. I want to see the eruption!

[Em]

Dirt mustache! Ack. That is the worst. She must hate you because you are so lovely, and happy, and trying to win her over. What happens if you are equally bitchy back? Then would it just go on and on forever? Hmmm...

[Elaine]

She'd probably respect you more if you called her a Cranky-Ass Bitch. And then wadded up your money and tossed it in her face... but then, maybe I'M not a nice person. :)

[landismom]

I'd suggest pennies, rather than ones.

[jilbur]

well, what were you up to, anyway, holding back the real sunshine in her life? smiles and 'have a nice day' are cheap, my friend. dirt mustachios--that's cash on the barrelhead. is that so much for her to ask? and it took you long enough to start walkin' that talk.

[WindyLou]

I second the pennies, and for good measure I suggest that you wrap them, but don't put the full $.50 in there. Put only about $.39 so she has to unwrap them all and count them. And don't have them at the ready. Oh no! dig around in your purse (ziploc baggies work well too)for about 5 mintues and hold up her line. And after she has everything all totalled, pretend to "find" a coupon or two and make her re-ring the entire order. She'll be your BFF!

[Hope]

You should do a combo of payments. Like some cash and then use the debit card. They hate it when you do that.

[Mrs. Kennedy]

I wear one of those mustaches all the time, except it's made of real hair.

[schmutzie]

I dare you to go in next time sporting a set of Groucho Marx eyebrows. In fact, you could change it up every week like some famous-people Mrs. Potatohead. That'd really kill her.

[cgarrett]

HA! I hate those friggin people. I waas at the stor not too long ago, with two screaming chillins in tow, and one had spolled my much coveted mocha all over the aisle. Already not happy, I finally make it to the checkout, only to have the bagger tell me that next time I am in, I should push my cart up a little further out of consideration for the people behind me. WHAT?! i actually talked to her manager like the stressed out craxy person that I am. Everyone in that place was looking at me like I have sprouted horns.

[wee]

delurking after months and months and MONTHS of daily lurkage for the first time ever (because frankly, you intimidate me what with your cool new york-i-ness and rapier wit and all that) to tell you that I totally think this would make one awesome sketch for Making Fiends ( http://www.makingfiends.com/ ). I was envisioning Charlotte and Vendetta the whole time and pretty much wetting myself with the joy of it.

[Teken]

Okay. Your blog rocks because I've been there. I have two girls (11 and 7), and I love to read about your trials and tribulations. Kinda like a car wreck, but more positive. Keep up the AWESOME work.

[kathy]

You need to come to Mexico! Here, when you ask anyone for help, be it pharmacy people, police, checkers, the people giving samples in stores, their response is "para servirle" (which basically means, "hey! not a problem! I'm here to SERVE you!") And when you get customer service on the phone, a LOT of times you get "at your orders" as a salutation!

[Nat W.]

Heh.

[Miel]

Hmmmm. Being a cashier totally sucks. I never noticed the customers. I was composing poetry in my head.

[lis]

I second the ms potato head move. OR you could do the dirt mustache, huge fake eyelashes, wires coming out your nose, and a shirt that says "I Love You, Mean Cashier Lady. Love Me. Love Me!" and then you could go in and get some more dirt bags and put them up on the counter and start laughing away in a freaky friendly way until she books it and you could scream "have a nice day!!!" after her and it would be total anarchy at the Met Food and that would be fantabulous.

Or, um, you know. Not. I just like the idea of you in silly garb chasing the lady around the vegetable aisles pleading for friendship. And the scared, scared look on her face in my head is glorious.

[kate]

What is it with the strange customer/cashier relationship? I, too, feel this horrible dread that the (usually)lady behind the register is judging my every purchase. It's obsessive. Every week, as I place my items on the conveyor, "What will she think this week?" And, I actually come up with reasons/excuses in case they ask!

[Polonius]

Wow - I think that it's really quite the coincidence that we should post such similar posts on the same day. I was referred here, and I laughed like a madman.

Jolly good show.

[kara]

Don't take mean cashier-lady too seriously. If she IS Russian, then she's just being herself. I don't know why it is, but the pessismism and crankiness runs deep in the veins.(Trust me, I'm a complete stranger!) Maybe it's a result of long winters and a failed Communist state?

[wix]

one ash wednesday while i was still a lowly high schooler record shop clerk, i told a woman that she had a big dirty splotch on her forehead. she looked at me like the heathen i was and explained exactly what that smudge was, in halting syllables and with an audible sneer in her voice. i pretty much keep my opinions on the things on other peoples' faces to myself these days.

[janna]

Oh, I love this cashier woman. I do the same thing at my own crappy retail job... the scowls and subtle eye-rolling and the great sigh-heaves when someone tries to pay wonkily. The best part is, my employer printed my name incorrectly so if someone goes to complain about "Janie" I'm totally off the hook. Good for you for trying to make her smile, though. Perhaps somewhere deep down she appreciates it.

[Bridget Jones]

Nice writing! I loved being a cashier, only I was nice. I know the type of person you're talking about, and found that the colder I was, the nicer they were. Odd fish, huh?

The Mr. Potato Head thing is a great fantasy, but I bet she wouldn't crack a smile and instead would give you one of those 'you idiot' looks. Being mean back would reinforce her bad behaviour and makes you feel bad.

Keep up being you. She'll crack sooner or later....Bridg

[Ian]

I further the pennies idea but also suggest you bring a couple of crumpled up coupons as well.

[claudia]

Why I should probably be back in therapy

I think that you should probably be writing for the New Yorker or some other fancy magazine. And I bet I'm not the only one thinking this.

Why should your therapist alone have all the fun?

:-)