My mood was unusually horrid this late afternoon when I woke up.
I blamed it, once again on all the sugar I had eaten the night before.
Instant oatmeal in flavors like "maple and brown sugar," and "cinnamon and spice," and a jar of peanut butter had been supper.
For that, I had paid six dollars and change in cash out of the 19 dollar Saturday night, that I had had busking.
My food stamp card wouldn't swipe at the Walgreen's.
The cashiers at that particular store apparently have no option to enter a card's sixteen digits manually.
I remember this used to be a pain in the ass for cashiers back in 2010 in St. Augustine, Florida, and I truly felt for them. There was no incentive for a low income person to send off for a new card, canceling first the one that wouldn't swipe, putting whatever balance was on it in limbo; sometimes it would be added to the balance of the new card when it arrived, sometimes the new card would be "pro-rated" with only the balance of the month left on it.
It would take "up to seven business days" to arrive, and in the interim there would be no nutritional assistance available.
Add to the problem the fact that cards that are so worn out that they won't swipe are like-wise worn on the other side, and the cashier would wind up having to (sigh, and then) ask: "Is this a five or a three?" type of thing.
So Walgreen's has apparently circumvented this problem by making the magnetic strip on the back of the card the sole vehicle through which the nutritional assistance allocated to the bearer of the card, can be liquidated.
"From now on, if their cards don't swipe we can't complete the transaction!" must have said some bigwig at Walgreen's.
I don't think she instructed the cashiers to stand there, staring at the customer with a "what do you want me to do?" expression after the customer swipes the card and nothing happens, though.
"I don't know. It says it's waiting on you..." said the large black man who limps so much and moves so slowly that it truly makes me wonder why he isn't at home collecting disability, rather than working as a night cashier at Wal-Green's unless it was at the prompting of his attorney who assured him that he would wind up getting a bigger check if they could prove that his disability was putting him out of a job, or something.
I have seen this guy before. He works the graveyard shift at this Canal and Baronne Street Wal-Green's.
I was there on one of his first nights there, when he was being trained along-side another employee. "OK, if they have a coupon, you hit "coupon."
"Aren't you supposed to add: 'I know I'm oversimplifying things, but you'd be surprised how many new cashiers will ask which button to hit when they give you a coupon, and there's a coupon button right there...?'"
Then, each of the next couple times I encountered him in there; there was some random problem.
I had just caught the same cashier on the rare couple of times that I had problems -the luck of the draw.
One time, he forwarded past the screen asking me for my phone number so I could get a discount. That had been why I had spent minutes in the food aisle finding things that were cheaper than what I would pay elsewhere. Their honey is an example of this. When Walgreen's reduces its 24 ounce bottle of it to $4.99, it becomes the best honey deal in town; a (groan) sweet price (groan).
He hadn't, at the level of training he was at, known how to go back and fix it.
The line had backup up with some of the young black men somewhere within it, beginning to yell things like: "Bitch, you can't get no return. You ain't gettin' no money back, crackhead motherfucker, get your lilly ass outta here!," after I had asked the cashier if he couldn't just "return" the products and then ring them up again after I had put my savings number in.
That time, out of pity for the poor guy, who was beginning to break a sweat, I had just paid the full amount, and then had found the manager, who I guess was fire testing the trainee by letting him feel the full pressure of working on his own, like he might be required to do, but who had not gone too far, perhaps held by the same fascination that people have around train wrecks and bad car accidents that you can't imagine anyone having survived, after looking at the wreckage.
I explained what had happened to him.
He then said in a voice loud enough to, imply that it was equally directed at the noisy people in line: "I know you. You come in here almost every night. Next time you come in, just let me know and I'll give you one for free."
The second time the big guy was there, there had been another problem. That time it had been my fault, for not noticing that the sale had ended, since it was past midnight. "I'll have to keep a better eye on my calendar, sorry."
"Now, I'm gonna to have to do a total void!!"
The third time I went in, he sighed and shook his head as soon as he saw me.
He must think that I am actively about messing with him; thinking of new ways to jam his register and make him have to scold me with: "Now I'm gonna have to do a total void!!" as if I must have once been a Wal-Green's cashier, and would know the magnitude of that. A total void.
That's what I saw in the guy's face last night, after I had swiped my food stamp card which should have had either 137 or 196 dollars put on it a couple hours earlier, while I had been busking for 19 dollars at the Lilly Pad.
I was bracing myself for a: "You ain't got no money, bitch, stop tryin' to scam!" from the line of African Americans that had backed up -a backed up line is business as usual for the big, slow moving guy with the limp- but none was forthcoming. Even though the cashier seemed to be egging them on when he said:
"It might be time for you to get a new card!," with a slight grin and a dim spark in his eye, as if this had just flashed in his mind under the heading of "witty remarks and snappy comebacks to use on problem customers."
"Well, can you enter the numbers manually?"
"No. No manual entries," said as if learned by rote.
"Well, can I just pay cash for the peanut butter and oatmeal, and not get the Velveeta cheese and the other thing?"
All that had apparently registered with him was "Can I just pay cash," for he then rang up everything and I guess hit the "cash" button, like a robot with a limited instruction set, I thought.
"Nine ninety three..."
"Um, I only wanted the peanut butter and the oatmeal..." That would have been more like six dollars, with my rewards.
This produced another sigh, as if it was my fault for not having said loud enough "I'll just pay cash for the peanut butter and the oatmeal."
He then rang up just the peanut butter and the oatmeal.
"Eight (something)."
My rewards number had fallen out of the system again.
"I didn't get my rewards discount, do I have to put my number in again?"
He then was able to find the button that had eluded him the first time. He hit it, I entered my phone number and the stuff went out the door at six dollars and two cents. Progress has been made at the Walgreen's on Canal and Baronne Streets.
That had been bothering me, as I woke up stuffed with peanut butter and oatmeal, feeling sluggish, and having trouble looking forward to the day.
That six dollars spent put me just short of being able to get what I normally get every day.
I blamed it, once again on all the sugar I had eaten the night before.
Instant oatmeal in flavors like "maple and brown sugar," and "cinnamon and spice," and a jar of peanut butter had been supper.
For that, I had paid six dollars and change in cash out of the 19 dollar Saturday night, that I had had busking.
My food stamp card wouldn't swipe at the Walgreen's.
The cashiers at that particular store apparently have no option to enter a card's sixteen digits manually.
I remember this used to be a pain in the ass for cashiers back in 2010 in St. Augustine, Florida, and I truly felt for them. There was no incentive for a low income person to send off for a new card, canceling first the one that wouldn't swipe, putting whatever balance was on it in limbo; sometimes it would be added to the balance of the new card when it arrived, sometimes the new card would be "pro-rated" with only the balance of the month left on it.
It would take "up to seven business days" to arrive, and in the interim there would be no nutritional assistance available.
Add to the problem the fact that cards that are so worn out that they won't swipe are like-wise worn on the other side, and the cashier would wind up having to (sigh, and then) ask: "Is this a five or a three?" type of thing.
So Walgreen's has apparently circumvented this problem by making the magnetic strip on the back of the card the sole vehicle through which the nutritional assistance allocated to the bearer of the card, can be liquidated.
"From now on, if their cards don't swipe we can't complete the transaction!" must have said some bigwig at Walgreen's.
I don't think she instructed the cashiers to stand there, staring at the customer with a "what do you want me to do?" expression after the customer swipes the card and nothing happens, though.
"I don't know. It says it's waiting on you..." said the large black man who limps so much and moves so slowly that it truly makes me wonder why he isn't at home collecting disability, rather than working as a night cashier at Wal-Green's unless it was at the prompting of his attorney who assured him that he would wind up getting a bigger check if they could prove that his disability was putting him out of a job, or something.
I have seen this guy before. He works the graveyard shift at this Canal and Baronne Street Wal-Green's.
I was there on one of his first nights there, when he was being trained along-side another employee. "OK, if they have a coupon, you hit "coupon."
"Aren't you supposed to add: 'I know I'm oversimplifying things, but you'd be surprised how many new cashiers will ask which button to hit when they give you a coupon, and there's a coupon button right there...?'"
Then, each of the next couple times I encountered him in there; there was some random problem.
I had just caught the same cashier on the rare couple of times that I had problems -the luck of the draw.
One time, he forwarded past the screen asking me for my phone number so I could get a discount. That had been why I had spent minutes in the food aisle finding things that were cheaper than what I would pay elsewhere. Their honey is an example of this. When Walgreen's reduces its 24 ounce bottle of it to $4.99, it becomes the best honey deal in town; a (groan) sweet price (groan).
He hadn't, at the level of training he was at, known how to go back and fix it.
The line had backup up with some of the young black men somewhere within it, beginning to yell things like: "Bitch, you can't get no return. You ain't gettin' no money back, crackhead motherfucker, get your lilly ass outta here!," after I had asked the cashier if he couldn't just "return" the products and then ring them up again after I had put my savings number in.
That time, out of pity for the poor guy, who was beginning to break a sweat, I had just paid the full amount, and then had found the manager, who I guess was fire testing the trainee by letting him feel the full pressure of working on his own, like he might be required to do, but who had not gone too far, perhaps held by the same fascination that people have around train wrecks and bad car accidents that you can't imagine anyone having survived, after looking at the wreckage.
I explained what had happened to him.
He then said in a voice loud enough to, imply that it was equally directed at the noisy people in line: "I know you. You come in here almost every night. Next time you come in, just let me know and I'll give you one for free."
The second time the big guy was there, there had been another problem. That time it had been my fault, for not noticing that the sale had ended, since it was past midnight. "I'll have to keep a better eye on my calendar, sorry."
"Now, I'm gonna to have to do a total void!!"
The third time I went in, he sighed and shook his head as soon as he saw me.
He must think that I am actively about messing with him; thinking of new ways to jam his register and make him have to scold me with: "Now I'm gonna have to do a total void!!" as if I must have once been a Wal-Green's cashier, and would know the magnitude of that. A total void.
That's what I saw in the guy's face last night, after I had swiped my food stamp card which should have had either 137 or 196 dollars put on it a couple hours earlier, while I had been busking for 19 dollars at the Lilly Pad.
I was bracing myself for a: "You ain't got no money, bitch, stop tryin' to scam!" from the line of African Americans that had backed up -a backed up line is business as usual for the big, slow moving guy with the limp- but none was forthcoming. Even though the cashier seemed to be egging them on when he said:
"It might be time for you to get a new card!," with a slight grin and a dim spark in his eye, as if this had just flashed in his mind under the heading of "witty remarks and snappy comebacks to use on problem customers."
"Well, can you enter the numbers manually?"
"No. No manual entries," said as if learned by rote.
"Well, can I just pay cash for the peanut butter and oatmeal, and not get the Velveeta cheese and the other thing?"
All that had apparently registered with him was "Can I just pay cash," for he then rang up everything and I guess hit the "cash" button, like a robot with a limited instruction set, I thought.
"Nine ninety three..."
"Um, I only wanted the peanut butter and the oatmeal..." That would have been more like six dollars, with my rewards.
This produced another sigh, as if it was my fault for not having said loud enough "I'll just pay cash for the peanut butter and the oatmeal."
He then rang up just the peanut butter and the oatmeal.
"Eight (something)."
My rewards number had fallen out of the system again.
"I didn't get my rewards discount, do I have to put my number in again?"
He then was able to find the button that had eluded him the first time. He hit it, I entered my phone number and the stuff went out the door at six dollars and two cents. Progress has been made at the Walgreen's on Canal and Baronne Streets.
That had been bothering me, as I woke up stuffed with peanut butter and oatmeal, feeling sluggish, and having trouble looking forward to the day.
That six dollars spent put me just short of being able to get what I normally get every day.
I hate Walgreens, and reading this made me hate 'em even more lol.
ReplyDeleteOf course the Walgreens in downtown San Jose is closed and empty now. Some say it was the incident where some skeezer tried wrestling the security guard's gun away from him, and got himself shot and killed for his trouble. Some way it was the sheer amount of theft (if you wanted products Walgreens sold at a discount in the area, you needed only look for the tallish black guy wearing a trench coat, filled with the sort of products Walgreens sold).
Some say it was the constant "bum fights" out front.
In reality it's because something or other is going to be done with the building, in the same way that our crime-riddled McDonald's wasn't shut down for being a crime-riddled McDonald's but because of real estate.
Both places were utter shit shows.