No Dream Jobs Here

October 30, 2015 by
Filed under: My Bricks and Mortar Job 

I was just browsing around through my past posts and I noticed that I was yammering about getting a new job.

It didn’t happen. I’m still at my old cashier job. And it’s not such a bad thing. Let me explain.

First of all, I really did look around for a new work place. I’m still getting e-mails from Workopolis and such places that send me updates on new positions needing to be filled. The thing is that they all pay minimum wage, which is $10.20 where I live.

I just recently turned 43 and I don’t want to start back there. Not again. It took me 9 years to get where I am, not that I’m bragging, but I earn almost $5 more than the minimum. It doesn’t make sense to leave a comfortable position for less pay.

I guess I was just frustrated with the grocery store, and doing a public rant.

Like the other day, sometime last week I had a real gem of a customer come through my till. He ordered a pack of cigarettes and plunked a few groceries on the counter and I rung them through. He then reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a fat and heavy envelope and dumped it out. It was mostly nickels and dimes.

“Count it” he commanded me.

I hesitated. It’s not that I didn’t want to. After all, money is money.

It was his stinking attitude. Mean and icky, you know? If he was a sweet old lady who had cataracts and shaky hands, I would gladly help her out. It would be a pleasure to help her out.

But that guy? Ick.

I went ahead and counted out the $23.45 of dimes, nickels and quarters. I made neat little piles of dollars so we could both easily keep track. When I was done counting I announced that his bill was $25.35 and so he would need a couple more dollars.

What did he do? He pulled out a fat wallet full of $100, $20, $10 and $5 dollar bills. He must have had over 5 or 6 hundred in there. He squeaked out a fiver and threw it on top of the pile of change. Dick head, right?

Anyway, whenever we sell cigarettes we don’t give them to the customer until they pay for them. I had his pack of smokes behind the counter and kept them there while I slowly scraped and picked up the change he gave me and added them to my money tray in the correct order. Nickels go here, dimes go here…you get the picture. He got impatient, as I knew he would. After all this was my petty little revenge for his rudeness.

“Give me my cigarettes.” he commanded impatiently. That’s when I let him have it. I smacked the counter with my hand and said, “No, you can wait just like the people in the line behind you. What you just did to me was very rude!” This I said with restrained frustration.

Of course he started yelling at me that I was the rude one and that it was good Canadian money and what not. I started yelling back at him of course. I ended up sweeping him away with my arms and yelling “Go, go, go. Don’t come through my till anymore. I don’t need your business!”

The End.

Oh Good God, I just noticed that this post has a 597 word count!

If you are still here and reading, Bless you. I mean that sincerely.

This rant has been brought to you by LovelyLanie, a.k.a. Lanie Robinson.

I wish you happy earnings and Peace Out.


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