It’s A Choose Your Own Adventure Kinda Thing

About me sections are like the inside cover on books. Sometimes they’re extremely helpful so you keep turning page after page. Becoming a background character the author didn’t write in, watching the story happen around you, feel the emotions with the main characters. Becoming so attached that you forget you’re not in this story, but you must find out what happens to that character! Then there are some where the cover draws you in, but after awhile the magic leaves. You’re hoping for it to get better for the magic to return. Do you stay and continue?

*I don’t know what I’m doing, so I deleted the page that this was on, and made it a post.

Afterthoughts from Hell House LLC

When I was in middle school I really wanted to enjoy horror movies. It didn’t work out then. Now, I love psychological thrillers, as well as the “Surprise! Satan was behind it the whole time!” genre. A show that makes me so uncomfortable that I will have a panic attack? Superstore. It’s too real.
~SirChangeling

A Reflection of 2022

After months of telling myself that I will make a blog post, to keep up with this, I decided to write a reflection of this year. This year has been mentally difficult, not like 2015, where I don’t remember much of anything from that year, but more like a feeling of being trapped in my mind, both wanting and not wanting to leave. The job search is going nowhere, so that has added to my depression, it’s like in school when I actually tried my best and the results were the same as if I didn’t try, so what was the point of trying? That example was more of studying for tests and shit, but the feeling is the same! What’s the point of trying? (I really hate this font for writing out posts, when I publish it, it’s not the same thank fuck! I don’t know how to change it, and I don’t have the patience to try and figure that out. I keep previewing this post to make sure.)

I feel dead inside, that might just be due to being a 90’s kid aka sad adult.

I finally accepted that working in retail has given me PTSD. I took one of those mental health tests for PTSD I did one for anxiety as well for shits and giggles, according to the test I have severe anxiety. Yeah, no shit. The PTSD test told me that I have high to severe, followed by advice to talk to a professional therapist. I did talk to my therapist later. Since accepting this epiphany, I haven’t had any nightmares about working register at Panera Bread, those were the worst, because then I would wake up with not being able to breathe because of having a panic attack in my dream, but get the symptoms right in the morning. Which totes ruined my mood right away. I haven’t worked at Panera Bread since early 2016, so to still have nightmares was becoming both annoying and exhausting. Seeing the “severe” result was a shock which rewired my brain to accept it. I applied to work at Sephora through Kohl’s, but I had a panic attack the entire time while filling out the application online. My therapist asked me why I would do that to myself, I wanted to see if I could do it. I thankfully wasn’t accepted.

On the rare occasion that I went out into the public I always gave stickers out to those who work with the public/ customer service. People suck, so I will go out of my way to not be like the customers that I dealt with when I worked in retail. To be able to make someone genuinely smile, over stickers is an amazing superpower to have. Whenever I’m having a stupid day I try to do something generous for others. That used to mean 30% tips when I order pizza, however I always tip 30% when I eat at restaurants, or delivery. I figured if I can afford to order food, then I can afford to leave a decent tip.

This reflection isn’t really a great reflection…this year hasn’t been great though. Here’s to 2023: New Year, New Memes.
~SirChangeling

P.S. I caught the plague this year in April, right after my 30th birthday too. Thankfully I was able to make a full recovery, I’ve never been that sick before. It was horrible. It did help with coming to terms that my former manager didn’t start the Plague because they weren’t great at being a manager. My therapist was glad to know that I stopped that belief. I mean she thought it was funny. Humor helps me cope with life.

I Remembered a Thing

Sometimes I forget that I have Trisomy X and am on the Autism spectrum. Other times I’m reminded that not everyone thinks like I do. Example: animals growl to let others know to piss off. Yet 5 years ago when I did it to my middle school math teacher, at a public pizza restaurant, she didn’t piss off. She grabbed my arm in her way of trying to get my attention. I growled “don’t fucking touch me!” I was trying really hard to hold in my anger, but then this bitch goes and makes things worse. I was obviously ignoring her. She was right next to me and I was shaking and trying to hold it in.
Anyway, whenever I see her in Costco, I either ask Birth Giver for her keys to hide in the car or I’m putting 5 aisles in between us while Birth Giver talks to said math teacher. I’ll get a text or a call letting me know when it’s safe to go back.
Apparently grown women don’t do this??

~SirChangeling

I’m Just Sayin’….

Me: Baby (niece) should be the face of the family calendar for 2022

Sister: We should make a family calendar of our family.

Me: We should make a family calendar and then send it to the extended family so they can feel included too.

Sister: We should not do that.

Every year the family calendar has mostly pictures of extended family members, there’s probably less than 10 pictures of my family in the calendar. It’s obnoxious, I don’t care enough about the extended family. I already felt like an outsider growing up at family get togethers. At my brother’s wedding a couple years ago, there was a photo of all the cousins with my sister-in-law. That photo was the cover of the calendar for 2019. I was not in that picture, I was at the wedding, no one informed me of that picture being taken. Am I still bitter about it? Yeah. Will I let it go? Probably not. I can’t just let things go. I’ve tried, but I get reminded of things that happened to me in elementary school and I’m instantly pissed off again.

~SirChangeling

I can’t think of a fitting title

When I started this blog, I was at my lowest mentally. I don’t remember much about 2015, shit was tough so most of it is blacked out. I kind of remember the blog posts I made. Facebook posts are very out of character for me. 2015 was only 5 years ago, but with mental illness issues it feels like a lifetime ago. I had to pull myself out of the never ending pit, it was exhausting, I felt helpless most of the time, but I did have help. Having a big fluffy Norwegian Forest World Leader sit on top of my chest giving me “close ups” -kneading my blanket, while purring with our snoots touching. Sitting with me purring until I stopped crying finally able to fall asleep. My fuzzy third boob, Boobie Woobie, Sass Master X, Boobsie, Bobo Fluffbottom, Fuzzy Asshole, Lord Tubington, Head of the Neighborhood Cat Mafia. Some of the terms of endearment I named my cat Bobo. Bobo wasn’t originally my cat, he was the family cat, but in 2015 he claimed me as his human. If he was outside prowling, but I needed him, I would stand on my back porch yelling out “Bobo! Boobsie! Boobie Woobie!” Sure enough Mr. Bobo would run back to me, giving me much needed support.

I once saw Bobo run down a tree, it was fascinating. This massive fluff zooming head first down a tree effortlessly. Bo would bring me gifts too. He brought me a blade of grass one day, followed by a leaf the next. He stepped up his game when he brought a headband back. I was touched, my cat was making me a flower crown. Then he brought me a dead squirrel. Despite not wanting a dead animal crown I always praised and thanked him for my gifts. “Thank you, but I don’t want it.”

When letting him out, “Be safe, have fun, come home soon.” My inner weeb totally took over. In Fruits Basket Tohru Honda would tell her mom “be safe” whenever she left the house, so I mean obviously I had to say it to my cat. Duh. When Bo would return again, “Welcome home Boobsie!” Once I told him to bring me back something special, I received a dead terrorist (bird). I was so proud I left the terrorist on our front lawn so other terrorists would know not to mess with me. Plus I wanted to corrupt the neighborhood kids…I’ve calmed down a bit with wanting to corrupt the innocent. Hmmm wait no that’s a lie, I still thrive on corrupting children. Well it’s in between telling them fun lies, but also telling them the truth. It’s a seesaw, there’s so many double standards it’s obnoxious to keep up with the social expectations. Example: don’t take candy from strangers on any occasion, but Halloween and parades don’t count. Santa watches you all year long, but lying about taking more ice cream will get you in trouble, because of not being truthful.

Anyway back to Bobo where was I? Ah yes, the gifts. He brought a dead rabbit bigger than himself into the house, he was so proud, I was on the floor laughing about to pee my pants, Birth Giver was not pleased. Bo brought a frog (or toad I’m not sure which one, it was green with long bouncy legs) to the back door still alive. I told Bo to drop it, which he did, only to chase after it when the frog jumped away, because of course it was still alive. He then played with the frog outside my window. How thoughtful of him. There’s been mice, terrorists, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits all dead, all for me. I mentioned once how I saw a cute baby bunny in the neighborhood, the next day Bo brought it to the back door. “Bo! That’s not what I meant! Get it off the porch!” So he did, only the next day he went back to where he put it, then ate it in front of one of the downstairs windows. I watched, because I’m a weirdo.

In 2017 when Appelsin was added to the family, I was convinced Bo hated me. I texted Stranger Danger wondering if I made a mistake by adopting a new kitty. Stranger Danger informed me, it’s alright, it will work out in the end. He was right. Bo and Appelsin weren’t cuddly all the time, they did slap it out for who got to sit on my lap. Bo always won, even when Appelsin was there first. Their go to pose was Bo flopped on the ground, while Appelsin pounced on him. Or their paws stretched out like that famous painting of the naked guy pointing at the old dude.

I knew Bo was getting sick since he was losing so much weight. We found out he had an issue with his thyroid, we did try to give him medicine but after a week or so of putting cream in his ear he had enough. I wasn’t going to force medication on my cat, I figured I’ll let Bo live out the rest of his life as he wanted to. Cats are known to hide away when they age going to die, for a while I didn’t want him going outside, for the fear of him running off to die. I know it was selfish thinking, but I wanted him by me when it was his time. I didn’t want to say when it was time, but Bo needed the release. He wasn’t himself anymore, he was a lot more aggressive towards Appelsin, constantly hungry and thirsty, he wasn’t gaining any weight, basically he was just fur covering a skeleton. I hate that I had to let him go, but he’s not suffering anymore. Bo was there for me when I needed him, so I was just returning the gesture.

I apparently can’t type too much about Boobsie without tearing up so then the screen is too blurry for me to see what I’m typing.

~SirChangeling

True Life: I got Daddy Issues, it is what it is.

While on the phone answering security questions, I was caught off guard when the question, “what is your father’s name?” travelled into my ear. Gleefully I responded with “Asshat! Oh wait, do you mean his legal name? I only call him Asshat.” The sound of a failed quiet laugh escaped the guy’s mouth, it made my day. I love it when people try to hold in laughs, ultimately failing when I say something.

One of my favorite childhood memories is how I made the little shit third grader who bullied me in second grade, cry. For at least a decade I didn’t know why he cried, I thought it was something everyone wanted. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Story time, lights dim, curtain goes up.

In the second grade I was in a class that had a mix of second and third graders. The class bully was of course assigned to the same table as myself, because that’s how it always goes. The other 3 kids at the table were laughing at something, the bully said some snarky remark, to which another kid told the group, “his father killed himself”
“Cool!” I responded laughing, everyone else stopped laughing. The bully instantly started crying, then tattled to the teacher. I was pulled aside. Telling other kids how it was cool that their fathers committed suicide was not appropriate. Apparently wanting your father to die is not something every kid wishes for every year when blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Laughing when the teacher is telling you this, doesn’t make the situation better.

I probably said sorry, but even then, “sorry” is a filler word, such as “um” or “uh.” Growing up, saying sorry felt like a shield so I wouldn’t get beaten. It wasn’t a strong shield, but the word sorry hasn’t left my vocabulary.

End of memory.

At least I put the fun in dysfunctional.

~SirChangeling

True Life: I’m not a fan of Christmas

I’m currently exhausted, but I’ve been wanting to write about this particle topic for a couple days. I’ve been putting it off for the next day, and the next day, and the next day. Fun fact I’ve started a new job, I’m a full time AM Baker. I’m not used to working 8 hour shifts for 5 days in a row…well technically it’s 7.5 hours, since I get a half hour lunch..which in my case is more of a breakfast, since I take it around 9:30am or 10am. I’ve only worked 3 full shifts so far, so of course my anxiety is increasing because I’m not fast at getting breakfast out on time. I’m have difficulty asking for help when I need it, plus my crippling anxiety tends to get the best of me. I’ve named my anxiety Scott, so I can say out loud “Fuck off Scott, you’re not needed.” Except one of my supervisors is named Scott, so I gotta find a way to say something else to my anxiety.

Today’s shift at work was obnoxious, due to an unwanted anxiety attack. All anxiety attacks are unwanted. The upcoming election has been giving me anxiety, the pressure I put on myself if giving me anxiety, and the holiday season is one of the main reasons for my anxiety.

I strongly dislike Christmas. Being lied to as a small child about Santa is one of the main reasons, I was taught that lying is bad, however being told lies is somehow acceptable. I wish I was taught about Krampus instead, the outcome would probably have me being a little shit so Krampus would take me away.

I’ve always hated Asshat (the fatherly figure I was so lucky to have) the desire to get away from him was so strong growing up. I remember wishing on every birthday candle as well as every eyelash that Asshat would die a slow painful death. I even prayed to God and Jesus, however once my prayers weren’t answered I stopped believing in them. Whenever friends’ loved ones became sick or close to death, I would pray that Asshat was the one who would die, so my friends didn’t have to go through the pain. I also prayed for my younger cousin to be sacrificed too.

Whenever the family van would pass a small bridge in New Jersey, Birth Giver told my siblings and myself to hide as well as not make a sound, or else the Troll who lived under the bridge would steal us away. I wanted to be kidnapped by the Troll, so I could get away from Asshat. Once I realized that this was a lie, I was both heartbroken and pissed. My need for Asshat to die, wasn’t going as easy as I hoped. He still doesn’t have Covid-19, but I’m still hoping for him to get it, if anyone deserves it, Jim Murdock is the one who should have it.

Back to my strong disliking of Christmas, being told that this jolly fat man was watching me 24/7 to make sure I was behaving not only made me paranoid, but also jimmied my sprinkles. I remember one time saying out loud “Keely I can’t do this, because Santa is watching, and I want presents.” I didn’t stop being a little shit because I knew what I was doing was wrong, I stopped because I didn’t want to get snitched on, which would risk my chances of getting presents.

Christmas always makes me feel like a spoiled brat, when I get presents that I don’t want. I give people a list, but then I’ll get things that aren’t on the list. I’m not supposed to voice how I feel about the disliked gifts, because the person who gave it to me would be upset. One of my early memories of Christmas is getting a toy that looked like a cow from one of my cousins, I threw the toy on the ground, ran out of the room crying. Cows terrified me when I was that age, but I didn’t tell anyone about this fear. Plus pigs were my favorite animal at the time, so my cousin probably thought I was upset that it wasn’t a pig. I mean I was in kindergarten at the time, but the memory still torments me.

Another time was when I received this knitting loom thing, I opened the present, but didn’t say anything or react to it. When I was asked what I thought about it, I told the truth and said I wasn’t interested in it. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Asshat made me feel like a spoiled brat because of my truthfulness.

When I receive anything that I don’t like or want, I have guilt that lasts for weeks, I don’t know what to do with the gift, do I sell it? Toss it? Give it to someone else?

I’ve asked for money or gift cards, but I still end up getting shit I don’t want. I don’t like having to wait until the end of the year to give gifts to people because I have to. I rather give gifts when I see something and think of someone. “Hey I saw this thing, it remind me of you, so here.”

I bought myself a sprinkle advent calendar this year, the last handful of years, advent calendars are a countdown to when Christmas is over. I realize I can’t do anything about the holiday madness in public, but when I come to Potato Manor I don’t want to see all this shit. Putting up a tree and decorating it seems so useless. My family is obsessed with Nativity scenes so we have a shit ton. Perhaps my anger towards the Nativity scenes are due to God and Jesus never helping me with my needs for getting away from the monster also known as Asshat.

Last year I cried my eyes out on Christmas, it felt so good to release all the pent up anger, stress, anxiety due to the holidays. The blame was unfairly put on Mr. Carrot, which caused me more anxiety. Side note: not friends with Mr. Carrot anymore, I wasn’t feeling anything towards him, I really only wanted to see his cat. The 2 times we hooked up weren’t great, I was more into being a slut than him fucking me.

I need to sleep, I don’t want to reread and edit this post, so I’m not going to.

~SirChangeling

That time I helped 2 girls get back at mean boys.

Story time:

The door bell rings followed by some knocking. (I didn’t know our doorbell worked) I get up from the couch upstairs walk down the steps and open the door…2 small girls asked me if I would write a sign for them since these 2 brothers were very mean and tore down their sign. I informed them that it was rude of the brothers, so I grabbed bright colored paper as well as a sharpie. The girls chose the pink colored ones. Since they didn’t know how to write the announcement themselves I had the honor to write with my clicky sharpie pen the following message on each
paper:

Boo Peac Brothers!!!

With a quick “Okay Bye!” they ran off with bright pink papers.

Curtain closes.

~SirChangeling

Well that didn’t go as expected…

I would really like to sleep without nightmares, but seeing as that’s not happening anytime soon, here’s part 2 of register memories.

Michaels:

A product was misplaced the following conversation happened.
“If you saw a price underneath a product you would assume it was correct too.”
“No, because my time in retail is to check if the SKU numbers match.”
“No you wouldn’t!”
“Yes I would?”

Kmart:

I worked at Kmart for 6 months starting on register, somehow ended up getting promoted to be a backroom locator. I have no idea how that happened, but I did enjoy sorting things.

One of the times I asked a customer if they wanted to sign up for the reward program, the customer snapped back at me
“let me guess it only takes 2 minutes of my time?”
“I haven’t actually timed it, so I’m not sure.” That shut the customer up, I didn’t mean it in a rude way, I was just being truthful.

Customer: You could at least smile.
Me: It’s against my religion.
To be fair apparently the customer worked with me at Michaels, I didn’t remember her.

One of the best pieces of advice I received was from a customer: “You should know how to do the math yourself, because some people will give you the wrong answer to try and get more money back.”

One time I accidentally shut down the register. I was in the middle of a transaction, the next thing I know the computer screen is black. I think my finger grazed the power button. The customer told me he would wait, unfortunately it would take around 10 minutes to start up again. Someone else took care of his transaction and I was told to go put products back on the floor. Former coworkers still don’t know how I managed to turn off the computer. It definitely wasn’t on purpose!

Panera Bread:

I started off on the sammich line, then moved to salads. I also washed the dishes, (which I absolutely loved!) and brought the food out to customers. One day while carrying a tray of food out I heard a noise from my wrist, followed by some pain. I did mention to a manager that I hurt my wrist, but it was during a lunch rush, so it was brushed off as unimportant. The following days my wrist would be increasing in pain, so much to the point I had to wear a brace. The brace on my dominant hand made working difficult. I couldn’t turn my wrist, so I couldn’t make sammiches and salads, or pour the soups. I couldn’t carry more than one tray of food out, and I wasn’t fast enough to keep up washing dishes. I asked to learn register since I still wanted to work, even though I couldn’t do much.

I wanted to be on prep, since I enjoy sorting things, plus weighing out the meats was fun. RIP Pig Chicken! There was a chunk of chicken that looked like a pig, I asked my manager if I could please take a picture of it, he said no and ate the chunk of chicken. I still text him “RIP pig chicken.”

I kept being brushed off every time I asked about prep, I know I was being annoying, but this was something I wanted to learn more about. It wasn’t just for the raise in pay, which would’ve been nice, since I was already very depressed about student loans and other shit going on in my life. Asking to work register was a huge mistake on my end. I obviously didn’t know it would cause me PTSD or I wouldn’t have asked. I don’t remember much of 2015, my mental health had me black out a lot. I was also highly suicidal, mixed with not wanting to disappoint others.

Most of my time on register, was fighting back anxiety attacks and tears. Or also running to the bathroom and having a mental breakdown, so in a closed off area with no windows. Or having a mental breakdown on the wall by the office, because the loud noises, long lines, counting change was all overwhelming. I kept a notebook with me, so I could write down if we were out of anything that day, as well as other important things I needed to remember since my short term memory wasn’t working. I was at my lowest point ever, but I still went to work, even though some days I wouldn’t make it the whole shift. I honestly don’t know how I wasn’t fired? On the days when I would be working register during the closing shift, I would try to mentally prep myself hours in advance. However I would always end up having to text my mom to come get me. Text because I couldn’t stop crying. I guess that’s why I still feel like I owe something to the General Manager I worked for at Panera Bread? I had so many mental breakdowns that I feel like I owe him for still employing me?

I didn’t realize that by writing this post, I would be facing my past. All the anxiety and pain, ambushing me. It does hurt, but I’m also letting it happen, rather than push it away, because even though I’m excellent at pushing away my emotions, I know it means I’ll have a breaking point in the near future. By accepting the memories and pain, I’m dealing with it now, so the breaking point won’t be as bad as it could be.

You know that scene in The Lion King, where Simba sees the ground shake followed by the wildebeest running straight (or gayly) towards him? That’s what panic attacks while working on register during every lunch rush and dinner rush felt like.

I accidentally set a customer’s toast on fire, because they kept asking for it to be toasted more. I was having an internal panic attack at the time, so trying to not have that take over me while trying to take the customer’s order was apparently too much. Another coworker stepped in to help, when they saw the bread on fire. The customer’s toast was remade by someone that was not me.

A customer put the money on the counter and slid it over to me instead of in my open hand. So I put her change on the counter and slid it over to her, instead of in her open hand.

A customer complained about me because I mentioned how one day robots will take over the world. She paid with apple pay on her phone…

A customer asked me if I thought his jokes were funny, I told him no. He told me he knew one of the managers and they thought his jokes were funny. “Good for them?”

I was informed not to tell customers what I really thought about some of the food options. I can’t lie though. Guilt takes over for days when I lie. I asked coworkers for some pointers on how to lie without the guilt, but that didn’t help.

Sometimes customers would tell me to choose for them when I asked if they wanted something in the pastry case for an extra 99 cents. I asked them to not put that type of pressure on me. Instead I would describe the pastries, only for them to choose a chocolate chip cookie every single time.

Money is money so as long as it all adds up the same there really isn’t a difference. During anxiety attacks when counting change felt near impossible, I would use dimes, nickels, and pennies when giving coins back. So I would give bills and a handful of coins, those coins almost always ended up in the tip jars. I asked if I could have less quarters in my drawer and more dimes and nickels, but I was denied on that end.

When customers gave me cash when paying, I would repeat it back to them. The total out of whatever amount they gave me. Making sure if they had the coins or not, because once I put the amount in the system, I wouldn’t be able to do the math to figure out what the new total would be. So when customers would say “oh! I have the change!” I would tell them that I can’t take it, or that it messes up the register. One customer called me out on that saying that she works retail and it does not mess up the drawer. To which I replied “I can’t do the math, so I will mess up the register.” Apparently people don’t like to hear that a cashier can’t do math.

In the winter when the snowfall would be big flakes that stuck to everything, I would point out that it was dandruffing outside. Multiple people would look around and wipe the snow off their jackets.

I mentioned before that there was an assistant manager who was a pedophile, working with him made my anxiety worse. He hated me. He made sure everyone else know how much he hated me. I was the one to find out he was a pedophile, because of a news article I had read saying how the local police arrested a man trying to meet up with a child. I looked up to see if there was any pedophiles in my area, and saw that number 3 was the assistant manager who hated me. Seeing him working on Saturdays when a bunch of kids were there, always made me cringe. I didn’t know what to do. I ended up telling an older coworker who I thought I could trust, turns out that wasn’t the way to go. She ended up making a Facebook post about how she thinks companies should test on pedophiles instead of animals, then named our assistant manager in the post. I didn’t think someone in her 50s would make a post like that. She ended up defending said assistant manager when she heard his side of the story. Apparently it was just a misunderstanding. I asked told her about the news articles I found. She said it was just a misunderstanding.

I was now afraid to go to work. So on top of dealing with anxiety turned panic attacks, non stop crying, multiple mental break downs, I was also terrified to go to work. Like I said I don’t know how I wasn’t fired.

When I first started working one of my coworkers told me she doesn’t feel comfortable when people cry around her. Which is understandable.
Before one of my shifts I tried to hold in everything, it didn’t work, and I ended up crying and shaking at a table. Said coworker walked over to be sat down reached out and patted my hand. Knowing she didn’t feel comfortable around people crying yet still reaching out to me was too much for me to handle. I didn’t work that shift.

Once people experience me at rock bottom, I assume they will leave, I wouldn’t blame them. All my coworkers except for the pedophile would always try and make me laugh when they saw me having mental breakdowns. Humor is the best tool to fight against panic attacks that I’ve tried anyway. So giving noms to former coworkers and managers is the only way I know of saying thank you. I also give out stickers, because duh I’m a sticker dealer.

COVID19 has ruined my need for giving stickers and noms out.

~SirChangeling

I once told a lady that I think diamonds are ugly, she had on a diamond ring.

More than a week ago I made the following Facebook status:

Whenever I tell people about past experiences working on registers, I get a shocked look followed by “who allowed you to be on register?” People who wanted a memorable employee obviously!

Since then I’ve been meaning to write a blog post about said memories. It’s been on my to do list for the day, that keeps moving to the next day’s list, and the next, and the next. I don’t really have an excuse for why it keeps being ignored. Lack of motivation? I’m too busy watching Netflix, Amazon Prime, or reading? Easily distracted? I dunno.

Anyway here’s some memories from each of the places I worked on register and what I did to deal with my anxiety, anger, or just trying to make it through the day.

Michaels:

My first job being a cashier was at Michaels. My third day working was on a Black Friday. All the registers were open, managers were also cashiering, so when an item wasn’t ringing up with the correct price, I couldn’t call for someone to do a price check, since I had no idea how long that would take. I also can’t do math in my head, and there wasn’t a calculator at the register, my phone was in my locker, so I couldn’t use the calculator on that. I ended up taking a dollar off because I panicked. The customer did not like that idea, she loudly let me know, that instead of 50% off the register only took a dollar off. I told her I can get a manager, but they’re on register, so I’m not sure when they will be able to come over. The item was $2.99 so I made it $1.99 or something small like that. I remember internally panicking, but thankfully the customer let it go, so I could continue on with the rest of my shift having constant internal anxiety attacks.

A customer tried to teach me how to do percentage in my head since I was looking for a calculator to try and math a thing. I kindly told her that it would be a complete waste of time since I don’t understand math. She told me it was okay, she was a math teacher and could help me. I mouthed “help” to a manager walking by, who laughed and did not help me. I ended up telling the customer that I wasn’t listening to what she was saying, because she was making the issue worse. I don’t remember anything after that.

I asked a customer if they wanted to give their email address to receive coupons in their inbox. I had to ask every customer, this lady wasn’t special. Instead of a simple no, she proceeded to tell me that not everyone has an email address. I was about to dismiss it as okay whatever, and finish the transaction, but that wasn’t going to be an easy task. Next thing that happens this lady starts yelling at me because I obviously have the power to do something about it. Another customer in line stood up for me:
Rude Lady: You can just go to Hell!
Nice Customer: I will, because you won’t be there!
One of my managers walked over to see what the problem was, I couldn’t do much but say “I just asked for her email” The Rude Lady then started saying “oh you brought security on me?” when really it was the assistant manager. I don’t know how I was able to stay calm during this whole thing, at one point I burst into tears and asked if I could go take a break. I was able to stay in the break room for a hour, because I also took my lunch break. I didn’t want to go back out there and deal with people on register. I know it wasn’t my fault that bitches be crazy. Fun fact: during the rude lady’s tantrum, she mentioned how she was going to email corporate about the fact that not everyone has an email, so the cashiers shouldn’t be asking these questions.

I had a lady tell me that I was a burden to everyone. The reason? I wouldn’t give her a coupon because I was told not to give customers coupons if they didn’t have one. If one didn’t scan, that was a different story.

I’m not sure when I’ll write part 2 of the register memories, but I will at some point.

~SirChangeling