Count Von Count Gets A Job

So, today my store was invaded by a swarm of mindless worker drones. Vaguely humanoid creatures in a disturbingly diverse myriad of shapes and sizes, all wearing matching uniforms, perhaps in an attempt to disguise their grotesque physiques. They were partly technological in composition, with computers attached to their bodies and electronic cables winding around their arms and fingertips like electronic snakes. They advanced upon me slowly, deliberately, with a vacant but determined look in their eyes. They came at me from every direction; there was no escape. Nowhere to run. No chance of escape.

That's right. They were RGIS employees.

I've been in the retail business for a depressingly long time, so I've gone through store inventory with enough frequency that it's become routine. My role in this affair is threefold. First, I spend upwards of nine or ten days in a row, frantically straightening and arranging and carefully preparing every piece of merchandise in my department, culminating in a grand and glorious split shift that ends well after my children's bedtimes. Phase two is to dutifully stand around and do absolutely nothing of consequence, during what always has been, and always will be, the longest and most absolutely boring day of the year. It is a day during which I am forbidden to stock the shelves——indeed, I am not permitted to even pick up a piece of merchandise from the floor that has been dropped by a careless customer. The reasons for this will soon become apparent. Then, finally, after what is typically about eight hours's worth of being paid to do nothing of import, the swarm of drones finally deigns to descend upon my department, yelling obscenities like "SKU CHECK!!!111ELEVENTYONE" at every conceivable opportunity. By this point, of course, I have been on my feet for the entire day without respite, without purpose, and I find myself too beleaguered to be properly motivated by their tactless ways.

I do not fault every employee of this esteemed organization, for they are a very large company who service a wide range of retail establishments, so clearly they must be doing something right. What I take issue with is the people who argue with me when I try to help them. For example, when I politely point out that the blue bicycle is in fact a different UPC than the red one and would they please scan each one individually, for this is, after all, why I prepared two separate shelf tags, complete with two separate bar codes that should be quite easy for them to scan with their little cybernetic Borg attachments. No, says one of the drones, waving his laser finger at me threateningly, the two bikes are the same shape and therefore must in fact be the exact same product.

What I take issue with is the people who choose being lazy over doing their job correctly. Like, say, when I have a cardboard tray of small, random items, perhaps 20 or 30 total, each with a separate UPC and price point, that I have painstakingly grouped together for the singular purpose of being scanned individually. I even make the suggestion to the worker drone that he set each item aside on the floor as he scans them, allowing him to easily keep track of them (leaving me to pick them up afterwards, of course). No, says the worker drone, clearly possessing far more intelligence than I, who proceeds to scan only two or three of these items. Close enough, right?

What I take issue with is people with absolutely no regard for how hard I worked to organize my department, carefully separating products, even going so far as to creating new homes for merchandise just so I can stack it more neatly, all with the ultimate goal of making it easier for them to count everything, only to watch as they push, shove, and literally throw products in every direction, trashing my department to the point where it looks even worse than the day after Thanksgiving.

What I take issue with is people leaving stepladders unfolded in the middle of the aisles, but when I perceive this as a safety hazard and decide to fold them up and prop them up so that they're out of the way and are no longer an inviting prospect for small children to climb on and hurt themselves, I am accused of stealing from you the tools that you need to to your job.

In years past there have been similar episodes. The worker drones are raised from birth to value expedience at all costs, even above such paltry frivolities as accuracy. Hey, what does it matter how many mistakes you make, as long as you make them quickly? You see five items; you type fifty-five. Well, that's pretty much the same thing, isn't it? You count twenty-nine pieces but you write down ninety-two. Virtually no difference! Completely forgot about an entire endcap of merchandise? Well, honestly, what are a few thousand dollars' worth of product in the grand scheme of things?

Would it hurt to show a little common courtesy? How difficult is it to take the blinders off for two seconds and pick up a product that you carelessly brushed to the floor? How much extra effort does it really take to count the different products on different shelves marked with different price labels, instead of just assuming they must all be identical just because the boxes look to be about the same shape and size? Must you litter the floor of every single aisle in my department with those obnoxious sticky labels? And, for God's sake, would it kill you to take a shower before you come to work so the rest of us aren't forced to inhale whatever malignant putrefaction is positively oozing from your pores?

Also, consider this fair warning that the next time you scream "SKU CHECK!" at the top of your lungs when I am standing right behind you, I will clock you upside the head with your own stepladder.