“assistance,” I got the cart out and properly situated for crazy lady, who probably inspired the saying “bat out of hell.”
I was relieved when she left only for a moment until I realized that should would definitely be coming back to retrieve her power chair that she left at my door. Unnerved, my hands and voice were shaky for several minutes afterward.
Too soon, the woman returned with two giant bags stuffed with merchandise. I found out later that all the cashiers knew her as “Three Bags.” She refused to accept her own merchandise unless it was triple bagged in the giant bags and stuffed to the very top.
Not wanting to deal with the old woman, I tried to ignore her, hoping that she would just leave the Walmart cart anywhere. “Help me get my bags,” she croaked instead. Without a word, I started moving the two giant bags to the woman’s wheelchair. All the while, the old bat yelled at me and directed me on how to properly put the bags on her wheelchair. She wanted the bags to be placed in a larger bag she had, one handle of which was already around the head rest, and the bag I hadn’t picked up she wanted placed in the bag first.
“You just do whatever you want!” she yelled.
“I’m trying to help you, ma’am,” I told her as calmly as I could.
“No, you’re not! Oh! You’re an awful, awful girl!” she cursed me. Meanwhile, I was trying to pull the other too short handle over the head rest. Despite the fact that I was young and exercised every day, I had to strain to get the handle on; the old bag had insisted on the bags being too full to handle easily at all. I was pissed that she dared treat me like that when I was working much harder than necessary for her.
All of a sudden, the old lady started whacking me repeatedly on my hand!
“I would really appreciate if you would stop hitting me, ma’am,” I said.
The woman yelled more and called me more choice words. “I hope I never see you again!” the woman said.
“The feeling is mutual, ma’am,” I replied, finally getting the handle over. I quickly turned to my station without another word. Before she left, and after I greeted several customers who had just entered, the woman screamed insults at me. I tried to ignore her; the customers stared at her, puzzled, then back at me.
To my extreme embarrassment, I started bawling, and within minutes, it seemed all my fellow employees knew the story of how Kristin Mango received a visit from Three Bags and lived to cry about it.
WITCHES
It wasn’t long at all before I discovered that witches lived in Florida. It rains all the time in Florida, and yet whenever it rained, my Walmart customers would aggregate in the entrance lobby of the store to wait for the rain to stop before they would leave. Therefore, I came to the conclusion that they must be witches…special witches. A witch living in Florida is like a vampire living in Arizona.
“NO, I DIDN’T!”
A friend of mine at Walmart frequently visited me at my post whenever we worked the same shift.
“You missed it!” he told me one day. “I was inside, standing by one of the registers, and this old lady comes up to the register with her cart and hits one of the stands with the cart! You know, the ones with all the chips and stuff on them? So, I jumped back, and she asked what I was doing. I told her she hit the stand with her cart, and she got all offended and said, “No, I didn’t!” Then, I asked her why all the chips were on the floor. She got so mad and insisted that she never hit the cart. The cashier at the register was just laughing so hard!”
THE TRUE IDENTITY OF SHOPPING CARTS
Before I worked at Walmart, I thought shopping carts were conveniences provided by stores to ensure that customers left their paycheck at that store. I couldn’t be more wrong!
Shopping carts (which the customers also taught me were called buggies, baskets or wagons as well) are, in all actuality, trash cans. The containers I thought were trash cans were too hidden and inconvenient to be properly used as a trash receptacle as they were located immediately next to the entrance and exit doors.
The shopping cart, however, makes the perfect trash can. It’s right in front of customers at all times. Need to get rid of your McDonald’s garbage? Just throw it down right in front of you! Someone else will take it out for you! The baby seats are perfect cup holders, too. I’ve also found plenty of used diapers, napkins/tissues (used and otherwise), bloody cloths, receipts, used plastic and paper plates and cutlery, tons of bleach shopping cart wipes, cigarettes, clothes hangers, gum, and ketchup (splattered all over).
Walmart is all about their customers, so these mobile trash cans had to be cleaned out regularly for use by the next customer. Guess who gets stuck with that nasty job? The cart pushers and greeters!
ON THE ISSUE OF RACE
Working as a greeter, I got a feel for what types of people live in the area and shop at Walmart. Having gone to college in Kentucky, I was surprised to see just how many families were white and black or white and Latino. It seemed like most of the children I saw were at least biracial. Since I saw so many multi-racial families, I thought this was an area that didn’t care about race but about the quality of the individual. I grew up in California, so I enjoyed the diversity and lack of tension over race. My friends and I from high school were able to joke about each other’s and our own race, and it was just fun. We also enjoyed sharing each other’s ethnic food and cultural traditions. Honestly, even now I have to stop and think of who was of what race because the issue of race mattered so little. I missed that.
Apparently, some customers knew better than I did. The following two stories are examples of drama that ensued over race.
THE DENIAL
The store was packed today. Attempting to push a cart around the store was not advisable. Cashiers and customers alike were overwhelmed with the long lines at the registers. Everyone was busy, and plenty of people were there to witness “racism” in action.
Like so many before her, an African American woman swiped her debit card when the cashier rang up her total.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, your card was denied,” the cashier informed her.
“What?” the woman screamed. “They is plenty of money on that card! You racist. That’s why you won’t accept my card. Fine. Imma take my money someplace else!”
HARASSMENT
I had only been on the job four days before I had to report a customer for harassment.
Rain poured down once again this day, and a large crowd gathered in the entrance lobby waiting for the rain to ease. Some people sat on the benches and parked their carts in front of them. Others stood, leaning on their carts as they stared out the door. I pulled out carts and dry mopped to keep myself busy during the weather induced lull in business.
As a man approached me, I pulled a cart out for him, but he did not even acknowledge my gesture. “You’re pretty,” he said in a dreamy, mindless manner.
“Thank you,” I said awkwardly and returned to maintaining the carts. I could feel the man staring at me for a while before he left.
My mother-in-law soon joined the ranks of those who waited in the lobby. My mother-in-law is the most amazing woman I have ever met. That I was able to see her and talk to her then completely made my day.
The rain eased a little, and