Worth It?

Maybe it is a female trait, or a trait of a self-absorbed person, but my background makes it a lot more pronounced I think.

We fault and blame ourselves.

I remember a conversation with on dear QD who said that she "made up" for the lack of negative criticism from parents/authorities by turning on herself.  We discussed how it affected us and our level of self-confidence.
All the time, there is something wrong.  There are imperfections in life.  In the "perfect family" there is no excuse, and blame-shifting lands most/all of the guilt square on the shoulders of the oldest child involved.  "You should have known better" "You need to think ahead"  "You were not acting maturely" "You need to take that to God"  "You are...."  "You are not..."
So many myriad of things are (or are made to be) your fault that you assume upon yourself the mentality of "if something is wrong it must be me."
"If anything messes up it was probably an error on my part"

Unconsciously (and probably unintentionally) we begin to degrade ourselves and when people care, or when it is not our fault, or when someone says something like:


"You are worth the effort"


it turns your whole world upside down.  They must be talking about someone else!  *look over shoulder to see if anyone is behind me.  The idea that I matter, as me, is pretty ludicrous.  The idea that I matter to other people as more than a worker, or helper, even when they don't benefit from me is preposterous. 
Sometimes, it hurts.  My heart does this little pitter-patter like it wants to believe.  Hope against all common sense and reasoning (ie. everything I have ever learned/known to be true).  Tears come to my eyes as I ponder the paths before me.  Before my "common sense and logical reasoning" crushes the hope, can I believe?  Can I allow myself to trust myself?  Can I accept their words? 

Cashier Conversation 1.2

mash from the last couple weeks



Me: Good morning!
Guy: Oh, don't be nice to me.  Save it for gentlemen like him (points to older man who just finished a purchase).... He then tells about how no one has (ever) been nice to him and how all his former bosses used to hate him, etc, etc
Me:  Well, I am told to be nice to everyone, so I can't make an exception for you.  Sorry.
Him: Ah, I see how it is.  Life according to Jen... I like (the sound of) that!
Me: *finishing transaction
Him: just remember; don't overwork because you aren't overpaid!!


Guy: Is this beer good?
Me: *laugh really hard: I'm underage!
Guy: Oh...... sorry......


Me: *trying to figure out the code for something I never checked out before
Guy: *after finally getting it right ...I never used to drink smoothies.  I always thought they were for like, old people!
Me: 0.o   I make my own.
*we proceed to swap recipies and I hold up the line about 3 minutes


*a lady was writing out a check and something needed supervisor approval on the machine, so the couple in line had to wait.  I thanked them for waiting and asked if they would be patient just a bit longer.
Girl: Oh, no problem! (typical response)
Guy: NO!!! *sarcastic smile
*girl turns to him and whispers something about how not nice that could be taken
*I just laugh, and so does everyone else


*me bagging for another casheir.
Lady: Can you make the bags really light?
*me thinking: really light?  How light is really light?
*I pack some stuff (4 or 5 things) in a bag, and slide it over to her.
*she lifts the bag slightly: No, this is too heavy.
*I pull half of the stuff out and put it into 2 bags.
Cashier girl begins packing as well.  Her stuff needs to go in 3 bags.
It eventually gets to the point that we realize that two 12oz water bottles in a bag are about what she calls "too heavy."  About 15 bags later we get everything packed up, and she asks for help to take everything (that fits into one cart) out to her car.  I push the cart out to her car, and lift half the bags with one hand and we manage to stuff everything into an already crowded trunk (not unpacked from vacation she said) of beach towels.  Cashier girl said she may have had back surgery or something.

The life of a cashier: Part II

Today was the worst day at my job ever.  I just got back from a weekend off seeing friends and attending a wedding.  I walked into work today (monday) happy with life and glad to be back and eager to have another day making money.

The CSM pulled me aside and said he had something to tell me.  I sat down and realized he was pretty serious.  He usually jokes around with me and we have fun all day at work, so it was scary.  He told me that a mystery shopper had some through my line and I had done poorly.  So poorly, in fact that I got the lowest score ever.  Front End lost 30 points, and the Store Manager refused to even print it out.
He said it was amazing because he liked me a lot and it was "not the Jen that he hired" reflected in the review.

With a serious warning ringing in my ears, I began work and thought about how to do things better.  I made conversation with EVERYONE about just about anything.  I asked about their favorite products, I asked them about their pets when they bought pet food, and I even said stuff like "nice grapes" when there was nothing else to say.

Yet, as the day wore on I miss-typed a number and charged a lady for escarole instead of peppers.  I priced asparagus as organic when it was conventional, and I forgot coupons that were in my hand.  People kept having to go to Customer Service to fix my mistakes.  I got off work early because I am apparently going to need to work an extra hour later in the week.
I was able to keep a calm face up until I swiped my time card to check out.  Then I cried.  I cried and cried....  For some reason the back was completely empty, so I was not seen.  However, when I went out the side of produce so fewer people would see me, the MOD caught me and asked what was the matter.  In between wiping my eyes I explained a little.  He encouraged me to be more careful with the codes, and told me that he makes mistakes too, and that little things can always be fixed, but I still didn't feel better.  At least he was nice and listened.
He told me to smile, and I told him I was off the clock.  He laughed and let me go.

I drove out to the lake and just sat.  The sunset was pretty, but it only helped so much.  I am still upset and near tears.  Mrs. G said that it was probably not the worst day of my life, and I agreed.  But she also said that life would not always throw me bad curves, and told me stories about her bad days.
She is right.  It isn't all bad.  Being here is the best thing about it right now.

The life of a cashier: Part I

I am known as the heavy-bagger.  I get so much in the bags that people lift (or just try to lift) the bags and their faces contort and they set them back down and proceed to pack everything much more messily into two bags.   I am such an MK!  Lol, packing and me are old friends.


I hate people who stuff things in bags.  Seriously: ARRANGE!!!  More stuff fits, it will be more easily unpacked later, nothing will get crushed, and it looks nicer!!!


I hate people who stand there and act like I need to do all the work myself.  Yes, I am getting paid to do it all, but just because of that I am not a second-class person.  I am more than fine with checking you out and bagging everything, but if you have several bags worth of stuff it will take some time and don't act like *I* am the one making you late!  The girls with perfect hair and upturned noses are the worst.


I think it is amusing that I usually have no trouble asking people who buy wine/beer for their age, yet other people feel really bad about it, or get people who get mad at having to tell.
I think it is even more amusing when older single guys forget that they bought wine and think I am asking their age for other reasons. (yes, it happened)  He said: "Oh... I thought you were checking me out!" I laughed wryly and said "Well, I *AM* checking you out, but not in THAT way...." *coughcough*   It was a bit strange.


I am getting used to smiling forever and standing.  But I love my breaks.  I sit out on the patio in the warm sunlight and close my eyes and soak it in.  Peace.

I hate it when customers come up to my line and say "Hi, how are you...."  I HATE HATE HATE it!!!!  Maybe it is just my third-world social culture upbringing, but they DON'T CARE that I am tired and that I didn't sleep very well last night, or that I am happy and humming myself a tune from the pop station.  They DON'T CARE, and I feel obligated to say SOMETHING back.  And how I hate murmuring "good" or "fine" or such nonsense because it means nothing.  Asking someone how they are doing should MEAN "I care about you and your welfare and I have not talked with you yet today, or this week, or recently, therefore tell me how life is for you and what God has been doing in you..."
I know, I know.  I am fighting a loosing battle.  There is no way I am going to be able to change the culture here.  But I hate that I myself and falling into it.  I have not yet asked anyone "How are you doing" because I can ask other things like "Did you find everything ok?" or "Are you signed up for our coupon emails?" or "Welcome to _______ (store name)"
I need to get myself calloused enough to just smile or say "hello" or "welcome" when they ask me how I am.  I keep forgetting.  I tell customers that I am tired, or that my feet hurt, or that I want some ice cream, and they must think I am a weird cashier.  Anything other than "good....fine" right?


For as much as I am wary around children, they seem to be attracted to me.  My CSM loves them and stops for every one and talks nicely to them or gives them stickers.  They laugh and the babies coo and the little girls blow him kisses.  I had a little boy spit on me yesterday.
Seriously.
I first met this child as I was walking out to a break.  He jumped in my path, and yelled "Boo" at me.  I laughed, because he looked like my second-littlest bro.  Sandy blonde hair, impish grin, and unable to stay still.
I met him again later as I was helping bag for his mother who was checking out in a different line.  I did not notice him at first, but when she pushed the cart towards me to put the full bags in, there he was.  I pretended not to notice, and then I jumped at him and said "Boo" in a non-threatening way.  His little brother of about 4 was sitting in the seat of the cart and he burst out laughing.  The mother recognized me and smiled.  Then, the 4 year old decided to join in the fun by making animal noises.  After bandying back and forth for a bit (the mother was getting a lot of groceries) he ran out and decided to see how spitting would get me to react.  So he spit!  I was a little shocked, but not entirely surprised, as I have had that happen to me in my previous life.  His mother quickly (very quickly, it must have happened previously) turned to him and scolded him fiercely.  There was a moment of peace, and then the older boy (original "boo" boy) decided to try and he spit on me, only with more force, projectiles and accuracy than the little boy.  I was nearly done bagging, so I turned (while still working, oh yeah I gots me some mad skills) and wagged my finger in his face and told him no strictly.  He seemed a bit shocked, and his mother did too.  But she also told him no.  (He was already sitting in the cart because he was a bad boy)  I then finished putting the last bag in the cart and walked away.

Oh yeah.  Me and kids.  We go way back....

lol moment

This is why I watch fun and silly shows like Glee:
Rachel says: "...I need to know that my children will be free to worship in the way that I decide is right..." (season 2, ep.3)

It was meant to be funny, and it was... sandwiched between a couple laughs.  But it is basically the mantra of the homeschool/isolation movement.  So shallow yet surprisingly deep?

I knew I liked O. Henry!

Check out this link for an incredibly sad, also too true, and a little funny spoof story about Elsie Dinsmore.

Cashier Conversations 1.1

--As a cashier you have a limited amount of interaction per person. Most people say "how are you" and some smile. About every 10 or 15 people I get one who will interact and who talks with me.

I will be writing these down, so I don't bore the people I live with to death, and so I can remember that I have good people skills. I make people laugh and smile. I let them leave happy that they came, and they remember me.

1.1 10/2

Grey-haired guy, sipping a drink: "This is water"
Me, flipping things across the register: *nod
Then, I give him a fake suspicious glare: "Are you SURE?"
He laughs: "No, its actually vodka...gin"
Me: *fake look of absolute shock and horror.
---later after a couple more jokes, he was a good-humored person
Him:"...and can I get the senior discount?"
Me, *sarcastically: "No, I don't think you are young enough for that"


Middle-aged guy buying wine. The computer beeps and asks me to put his age in there. I politely ask him his birth date. He rolls his eyes and tells me he is over twice the legal age. I smile apologetically and tell him that the computer requires confirmation. He thinks for a second and asks me if he can be 29. I laugh. "Sure! What year is that?" I ask. He tries to figure it out, but then he just gives me his real age.

Three ladies are shopping together. They each spend more than $50 and the last lady spends over a hundred. They shake their heads and click their tongues over the price of organic produce and supplements. I use this line for the 4th time. I think I will more in the future: "Which is cheaper? Going to the doctor or buying organic?" The last lady took it as the one-liner of the century and repeated it multiple times to each of her friends and they left talking about the cost of doctor's visits.

This guy with a kid, about 5 or 6 was buying a month's worth of groceries. He was even nice enough to bag it for himself. As I key in the produce codes his son looks over and asks if his dad will pay for the two cars he has been playing with. "No," says the father, "we already bought them. We don't need to buy them twice." He packs for a moment and then in a thinking-out-loud voice says "that is the government's job..." I laugh. "I think they actually pay for it twice," I said.
He scoffed, and repeated it to himself. He also totally loved, like the produce ladies, and said it was the truest thing he had heard all day.

Staring contest

So here I am doing my work, and into the store walks a quintent of jean-skirted, large-sized-t-shirted, sneaker wearing, hair-in-a-bun women.

I am in my black jeans, fitting long-sleeved shirt, and makeup, and my hair in a design.

I could probably help it, but I stare at them. I have this crazy urge to follow them around the store and listen to how they talk to one-another. I want to see if they rode a big car here. I want them to come by me, but they check out behind my line of vision. At one point I broke from my training and turned around and caught one of the girls eyes. It was amazing. I could see the self-righteous pity oozing out of them. Me in my feminism-bound working nightmare. Me in my worldly blindness, them the only holy light in my world. I don't know, maybe I was imagining it.

I turned back to what I was doing, waiting for the rush of guilt. I always used to get it when I was around someone more "modestly dressed" than I was.

Nothing

I felt nothing.

I turned around again, and this time all three of the daughters (the two ladies were older, and had the money) were looking at me. A different girl was looking at me with a hint of scorn, I think. I panned over to the moms. The one looked at me and smiled kindly. I turned around again and focused on my work.


Next time I looked around they were gone.