Want Some Wine with that Cheese?

And now for a bitter, cynical little anecdote about human nature.

In my capacity as a customer service manager, it's my job to oversee the cashiers and help with any potential customer service issues that may arise. Most of the time, I deal with issues by parroting whatever another associate has already told the customer, but who really needed to hear the exact same words uttered by somebody wearing a differently-colored vest before the store policy will actually sink in.

Anyway, today one of my cashiers, Mark, calls me over because apparently there's some customer who's become quite agitated with him. She's buying some cereal and cheese, has insisted that Mark double-bag the cereal, since General Mills is putting free boulders in every box of Cheerios now. Well, actually they're not, and it's a pretty ridiculous thing to suggest, but so is double-bagging an item that weighs about as much as you'd expect a mostly-empty box to weigh. What Mark said to her was something along the lines of, "Well, you know, these bags are designed to hold up to ten soup cans without breaking, but I'll be happy to bag these however you'd like." Apparently this was just cause for this woman to come completely unglued.

This woman, and I use the term loosely, was wearing a black dress that looked to be about 100 years old, the sort of apparel you only really see in period dramas on A&E. She'd stuffed herself into a corset, which I guess is the only thing you can really do when you're trying to fit a size-six body into a size-four dress, and I think it was affecting her ability to function. She was swaggering back and forth a little, obviously having trouble balancing in the thing, and spoke in the same sort of breathless, over-enunciated manner that people sometimes do when they don't have any air in their lungs.

Anyway, she began ranting about the offensive treatment Mark had deliberately inflicted upon her, that his job was to be a servant and not to question her orders. I'm paraphrasing only slightly here. She's also buying these huge two-pound blocks of cheddar, and is insanely furious that Mark wouldn't match the 50% advertisement she saw at Food Mart-or-wherever. Now, we do honor competitor's prices when the price is listed in the advertisement, but store policy is that we don't usually match percent-off sales. (The reason for this is because, for all we know, Food Mart-or-wherever might usually sell cheese for twice as much as we do, so we're not about to give some customer fifty percent off our price.)

When I explained that the ad needs to have a specific price listed, she said in this haughty tone, "The advertisement SAYS fifty percent off, so it DOES specific a price. The price will be FIFTY PERCENT OFF."

Now, the situation is entirely in my hands at this point. I could stand there and cite the store policy to her again, or I could just go ahead and do the damn price match so Mark can help the other customers in his line and I can get back to the three-point-seven million other things I need to accomplish before the day is over. Generally, when making decisions like this, I try to go with the end result that's most likely to make the customer happy. Let me make this point again before I continue: I've decided to deviate from store policy in order to satisfy the customer's wishes.

I explain that we'll be happy to honor the competitor's price on the cheese, which she says is something like $3.78. I reach for the calculator in my pocket so I can split the price down the middle. At this point, she goes into haughty mode again and proclaims, "Can't you do simple arithmetic? Unlike the two of you, I have a high school education and a college degree, which is why I'm not working a menial job serving others." Wow. I mean, just wow. Putting aside for the moment that she can't possibly know what my level of education is, I really have to question the wisdom of verbally attacking the people who control the price of her cheese.

I could have chosen to take issue with all of this, but instead I take the high road, have Mark finish ringing up her items, and give her a total. Then, this woman, who's obviously leagues above and beyond the both of us on the social ladder... proceeds to pay with food stamps.

Now, to me, this is FUNNY. How can she possibly reconcile the two diametrically-opposed ideas that she's simultaneously a) superior to the wastes of flesh whom she deigns to allow to serve her and b) accepts welfare funding from the state government? I'm finding this very difficult to properly wrap my brain around. Apparently that college education of hers didn't secure her a job that pays her enough to be able to afford a block of cheese, huh? Now, for the record, I have nothing against the welfare system. My family was on welfare for several years, back before I had a full-time job, and I'm grateful for the assistance. It's just somehow bitterly ironic, though, that she was so quick to dismiss the both of us as human trash, when apparently I'm the one who's EARNING dinner every night and paying for it out of my own damn pocket.

I probably could have made a pointed comment to this effect. I probably also would have gotten a good laugh from Mark and the other customers in his line, who looked to be just about as fed up with this woman's tirade as I was. The fact that I took the high ground, though, and thanked her for her business and even wished her a pleasant day--I think that shows which of us is, indeed, the better person.

That's all.