Workplace rudeness: There’s no excuse for it

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I don’t know about y’all, but I don’t think people are as helpful as they used to be. I’m talkin’ about in stores and such.

Oh, there are a few stores out there that will go out of their way to help you, but a lot of them just don’t seem to care. I really think it’s probably the help they hire. They just don’t get it. I mean, I’m the one payin’ their salary, I ought to be treated nice.

Back when I was workin’ what they call “retail,” we would jump through hoops tryin’ to help people. We’d be friendly, and smile, and such. Now-a-days they act like you’re botherin’ them even if you ask where somethin’ is.

I’ve asked a simple question and had the person behind the counter roll their eyes and act like I’m stupid or somethin’. Heck, I don’t have to leave home to be treated like that.

I’ve about decided that if they’re gonna be rude to me, then I’ll just give ‘em a little taste of their own medicine. Heck, I’m too old to let people walk all over me.

The other day I went into a business (I’m not gonna mention any names) and walked up to the counter. Now, there were three people behind the counter talkin’ to each other, and none of them asked me what I wanted. I stood patiently for a while, and finally cleared my throat.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I was wonderin’ if you could help me.”

They stopped talkin’ and looked at me like I had burped at the table or somethin’. All three of their ages probably wouldn’t have added up to mine. Finally one of them spoke.

“Have you put your name down?”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Over there,” he pointed to a stand with a clipboard on it. “You need to put your name down, so we can take you in the order that you came in.”

I looked around and I was the only person in the place besides them.

“You’re kiddin’ right?”

“No,” he informed me. “Just write your name down and one of us will be with you in a minute.”

I looked at him. I thought about reachin’ over, and grabbin’ the squirt by his collar and draggin’ him over the counter and clippin’ his ear-ringed ear to the clip board, but now-a-days you do that kind of thing and they put you in jail.

Instead, I smiled. I walked over to the clipboard, and signed it. Then I waited. The three continued talkin’ and finally one of them pushed himself off the counter he was leanin’ on, and walked over to the clipboard.

He looked at the name. “Mr. Mouse?” he said with a funny look on his face.

“You can call me Mickey,” I said. He gave me one of those smart-alecky looks.

“Funny,” he said.

“No,” I said. “What’s funny is the way you’re gonna look when I find out who owns this joint and tell him how you treat your customers. Now, do you want to help me or do you want to give me the name of the person who can?”

All of a sudden, he became really helpful. In fact, all three of them scrabbled around tryin’ to make sure I left happy. And I did.

Later that same day, I went into a store and bought some stuff. I took it up and waited in line at the checkout counter. Finally, it was my turn.

“How are you doin’ today,” I said to the cashier. She looked at me and didn’t say a word. She grabbed my stuff off of the counter scanned it and said: “Seven dollars and 14 cents.”

I held my temper, and started to hand her a $20 bill. She grabbed it out of my hand, picked up one of those pen things that they mark on the bills to see if they’re counterfeit or not, and drug it across the bill.

Then she held it up and looked at it hard. You know, cashiers do this all the time, and most of the time, they don’t make a big deal out of it, but this one sure did.

Then she placed it on the cash register, punched in some numbers and dug out my change. She did not count back the change, but instead piled in into my out stretched hand. She didn’t say thank you, come back to see us, or kiss my foot.

Well, I reached over and grabbed her counterfeit checkin’ pen and I proceeded to mark each and every one of the bills she gave back to me. Then I held them up and looked at them hard. When I gave her pen back, she was starin’ a hole through me.

“What?” I said. “You didn’t trust my money, so what makes you think I can trust yours?” Then I looked at the people in line behind me. “You can never be too sure,” I said. They were all smilin’.

Naw, it didn’t change anything. She’ll still be the nasty ol’ haint she already was, but man, I sure felt better.

Now for you out there who think I’m bein’ a little too hard on these folks, let me tell you somethin’. If these people want my hard earned money, then they can at least try to be nice.

Bein’ nice never hurt anybody. I’m just too old to put up with rudeness, and if you don’t like it, well tough toenails.

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