Cashiers that are friendly and appear genuinely glad to see their customers is something that I’m definitely not opposed to, but why is it that most of them find it so difficult to continue to ring products up while talking? Come on, the stuff that you buy has bar codes, you barely have to look at things to ring them up, most items only require one hand. So here you are, getting close to the front of the line, and friendly checker starts talking about holiday recipes with the person that she is ringing up, halting all progress toward totaling up the order, as your lunch hour ticks by, one painful second at a time. Do you want fries with that?
Another modern innovation that irks me is the dual use of the cash register as a time clock. You walk into a fast food “restaurant” to see a brightly clad employee behind the counter. You’re excited now, no lines, you’re first and you know what you want. But this paragon of today’s youth torpidly punches buttons on the touch screen, never looking up, picking zits the whole time. You clear your throat, no response; you attempt to make aggressive eye contact, no response; you say “I’m ready to order”; no response; you lean across the counter grab him by his too-large polyester shirt (avoiding the tie, which is undoubtedly a clip-on) and taking advantage of the element of surprise, haul him over the counter, force his head into a napkin dispenser and scream out your order. This time you get a response: “Dude, I’m on break”. Now the manager, who has not yet successfully traversed puberty asks you if everything okay, suggesting in a quavering voice that you stand in the other line...where the cashier has stopped ringing up the order while she talks about holiday recipes.
Another modern innovation that irks me is the dual use of the cash register as a time clock. You walk into a fast food “restaurant” to see a brightly clad employee behind the counter. You’re excited now, no lines, you’re first and you know what you want. But this paragon of today’s youth torpidly punches buttons on the touch screen, never looking up, picking zits the whole time. You clear your throat, no response; you attempt to make aggressive eye contact, no response; you say “I’m ready to order”; no response; you lean across the counter grab him by his too-large polyester shirt (avoiding the tie, which is undoubtedly a clip-on) and taking advantage of the element of surprise, haul him over the counter, force his head into a napkin dispenser and scream out your order. This time you get a response: “Dude, I’m on break”. Now the manager, who has not yet successfully traversed puberty asks you if everything okay, suggesting in a quavering voice that you stand in the other line...where the cashier has stopped ringing up the order while she talks about holiday recipes.
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