It’s been one of those days, by which I mean that I came home after my 8.5 hour shift and decided that Cheeze-Its and white wine would be good enough for dinner. Mind you, I don’t drink my wine straight— I dilute it with organic raspberry lemonade to keep myself from developing an unhealthy dependency upon alcohol—but still: working retail is not supposed to be this stressful.
I blame my promotion to Front End Specialist. Like all good promotions, it comes with an increase in responsibility but not in pay. When I broached the subject with Head Boss, she told me that once I learned the cash office, I would get a raise (a whopping 2%).
“Learning the Cash Office” has been quite the ordeal. It requires waking up at 6:00am and transforming oneself into a Nazi informant. There are also some major calculations, deposits and safe counts involved but the bulk of the work comes down to reviewing paperwork and trying to catch my co-workers In the Act.
“In the Act” refers to any number of sins committed by overworked and undertrained Sales Associates. The possibilities are endless. Cashier A, for example, didn’t get a manager to sign her Price Override. Cashier B forgot to adjust the tax for an out-of-state return. Cashier C, a regular offender, accepted two coupons from the same customer. Her days are numbered.
In my early days of “Learning the Cash Office,” I kept myself entertained by pretending I was one of those sexy investigator types from CSI or Criminal Minds. But then I remembered that the CSI girls spend their days strutting through high-profile crime scenes in high-heeled boots, and the Shop’s cash office is hardly a crime scene, even if the so-called “organization” of its paperwork might suggest otherwise. Plus, high-heeled boots are, much to my dismay, definitely not part of the dress code.
So instead I’m a Nazi informant: scrutinizing returns, reports and receipts, trying to catch my hapless co-workers In the Act. My discoveries will be transformed into Verbal Warnings. These Verbal Warnings will in turn become Write Ups and I think we all know what happens when you get too many Write Ups. By the time I finish my work in the cash office and head back to Reggie #1, I feel like that horrible Hitler Youth kid from Swing Kids—the one who informs on his own parents. All this for a lousy 2% raise (which has yet to materialize).