Day #5: Customer Service: "Get It Your Damn Self."

Remember when we were teenagers and went into stores in the mall and salespeople followed us around everywhere? I used to think, Wow! These folks are really attentive!

In hindsight I recognize the salespeople were just waiting for me to steal something. They wanted to be nearby so that when I slipped the CD into my backpack they could -- presumably -- chase after me and tackle me to the floor before I made out with the merchandise.

Which -- I will have you know -- I never did. Steal, that is.

In my twenties, I would go into women's clothing stores and no one would pay any attention to me. It was like someone had stamped a message to all sales associates on my forehead reading:

"BROKE. ONLY SEEKING SALES RACK ITEMS."

I could have sent up a god damn flare in the middle of that store and no one would have helped me find a size 8 (hahahahaha -- that's funny) in those black pants.

And then I watch my mom in action. Apparently she too has a sign stamped on her forehead too. But it reads:

"I AM GOING TO BUY A TON OF SHIT."

And the saleswomen flock to her. They don't just find her the black pants, they will call every store in North America -- nay -- they will call the very sweatshop in Korea in which those pants were made -- looking for those suckers. And while she waits, they'll fetch her a cappuccino, polish her jewelry, find her a dentist in the area and book her an appointment for an oil change.

Its insane.

I envy this. I thought by the time I reached thirty, the old forehead message would be replaced by one similar to my mom's, or at least one that reads something like:

"BROKE, BUT HAS CREDIT."

Alas, friends, I can't seem to command customer service despite my age, and when salespeople do follow me around, I can't swear they aren't waiting for me to steal something.

This actually happened:

So I'm grocery shopping. Sadly, when you're broke, this is actually a little fun, because at least you're shopping.

However, my shopping bliss is interrupted by my deli counter experience.

First, I wait in line. Which is not surprising -- when do you go to the grocery store and NOT wait in line for the deli counter? But I wait for a while. And really, there aren't very many people in line, so this is a bad omen.

When its my turn, I think a 20-something, short, stout woman is going to help me, but to be honest, I can't give an accurate description because this woman is so short I can only see her from the nose up over the deli meat case.

I ask for a pound of smoked turkey.

She disappears.

Deli Counter Girl: Its in the back.

[Stares at me.]

I can't think of why this statement warrants a response, but she clearly expects one, so I say:

Um. Okay.

[Deli Counter Girl sighs heavily and rolls her eyes and heads to "the back".]

I'm thinking: Dude. This is your job. And its simply not rocket science. Its just not. Sorry. Go get my effing turkey.

Approximately 10 seconds go by.

Deli Counter Girl: There's none back there.

Yeah, like hell there's none back there.

Me: Okay. I'll have ham.

Deli Counter Girl: How much.

Me: Still a need a pound.

Deli Counter Girl obtains ham, takes it to the meat slicer and starts working on the ham. One piece in the trash... two pieces... three pieces... four pieces in the trash... There's enough ham in that trash can to sustain a Subway lunch hour before this girl finally decides the ham is suitable.

I now have ham.

Then I make a strategic error. I ask for pasta salad.

Deli Counter Girl disappears again.

She reappears.

Deli Counter Girl: I need plastic containers.

At this point, I know the drill. I'm sensing the rhythm.

Me: Um. Okay.

Deli Counter Girl: [Shouting loud enough to be heard in the Seafood section] MARGE! WHERE ARE THE PLASTIC CONTAINERS!!

Marge: OVER THERE!

Deli Counter Girl: OVER WHERE?

Marge: OVER THERE!

Deli Counter Girl: I DON'T SEE THEM!

At this point, every soccer mom in Midlothain, VA is now behind me waiting for lunch meat, and I'm only still there to see what happens next.

This is what happens next:

Marge: THEN WE DON'T GOT ANY.

Deli Counter Girl: [To me] We don't got any plastic containers.

Me: I had no idea.

People in the next county knew this Kroger didn't have plastic containers. Apparently the sign on my head actually reads: "DEAF."

[Deli Counter Girl stares at me.]

[I stare back.]

Deli Counter Girl: Thank you for shopping with us.

And just like that, my deli counter time limit has expired. I am banished from the land of pasta salad and roast beef.

And no one fetched me a cappuccino. Eff it. I'll get it my damn self.