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I'm a big fan of the mentally handicapped being given small, simple jobs to enable them to be contributing members of society. But at the risk of sounding unkind, I'm just as much a fan of this employer largesse taking place as far away from me as possible.
Last night we inventoried our downtown Wild Oats. I didn't really consciously notice Steven until Tery tiptoed over to me, a smirk on her face, and she whispered behind her cupped hand, "Do you have Steven's schedule memorized too?" I didn't know what she was talking about, until I realized "Steven" was the mildly slow adult bagger working the checkout close to the aisle we were counting. Not that proximity made any difference where Steven was concerned. Like many with his affliction, Steven had absolutely no volume control on his voice, and loudly repeated the following spiel ad nauseum to anyone within a 20 foot radius. "Hi, I'm Steven. It's nice to meet you. I have to work until 8 tonight, then I have to be back tomorrow again for 1-8." There were variations, of course, but most everyone who crossed Steven's path was treated at the minimum to an unprovoked but quite detailed outline of his work schedule.
It was funny to me at first, but Tery, who had already undergone close to two hours counting the front of the store right next to him, had had as much as she could take. We started discussing the pros and cons of being so forthcoming with this kind of information to complete strangers.
The Bad
Steven remarked a few times after getting the obligatory schedule talk out of the way about how nice people have been to him. Maybe so, Steven, but unfortunately not everyone in this world is nice, or what they seem. It probably wouldn't take much for someone not-so-nice to get not only your work hours but your home address out of you, now that they know you won't be home (not that I believe for a second that Steven lives alone). God, I'm paranoid and cynical, but I'm only a product of my environment.
Yes, Steven is a quaint distraction on the first trip. But honestly, the knowledge that I could expect to see him on a regular basis might be a significant deterrant to me shopping there anymore.
Similarly if I worked there, rest assured I would not be able to tolerate more than one day a week of working anywhere within earshot of him...which unfortunately would eliminate about a third of the store's square footage.
The Good
If Steven should ever forget his schedule, he can ask anyone in the store for it.
Again, knowing exactly when he is working would make it easier to plan my shopping accordingly to avoid him.
After hearing the speech four, five, six and seven times, it would become a very effective incentive to get those fingers moving faster and counting like I've never counted before.
Blessedly, 8:00 finally rolled around. Tery and I wondered if Steven would then walk around the whole store saying goodbye to everyone. We are going straight to H-E-double-hockey-sticks, I tell ya. But at least we'll still be together.
As the fastest counter there, I got to count the checkout stands as usual. This normally doesn't bother me, but in this store it is impossible to gauge the ebb and flow of the tide of customers, thus no matter what time I start it unfortunately always seems to become a hair-raising, heart-pumping marathon race trying to bob and weave in and out to get as much work done as possible before more customers show up. And I swear no sooner do I start working on a closed checkout than a store employee comes along and maliciously opens it on me.
This happened twice last night and I was getting pretty fed up. It's pretty close quarters in the space between stands, and customers are surprisingly unforgiving when it comes to checkout lines. If they can't be close enough to smell the farts of the person in front of them because I'm in the way, they throw a mini-conniption fit. You haven't seen "uppity" until you try to come between some people and their groceries. What are you afraid of, lady? You think someone is going to see a space in front of you and cut in like they do on the freeway? Your purchases are going to get away from you on the conveyor belt and someone else is going to buy them by accident? I'm sorry if you feel threatened by me being in what you feel is rightfully your space, but I assure you I don't care about your stuff nearly as passionately as you seem to. In the words of Tyler, JUST. LET. GO.
This doesn't go on just at the checkout stand. People do it in the aisles with their carts. I've lost count of how many times I've had to stop in the middle of working to move for some moron with abandonment issues who insisted on schlepping their cart all the way into the aisle just to retrieve a can of string beans. I can't decide which is worse, when they do this with the cart full or empty. If they have a baby with them, fine, but otherwise it's JUST FOOD, people. The store stockers aren't going to swoop in and put everything back on the shelves because you walk away from it for 40 seconds. It's not the airport where you'll be quizzed later about leaving your belongings unattended. And no one else is going to come along and take it to buy themselves. JUST. LET. GO.
I feel better getting this off my chest. Or maybe it's just my special new Tick icon, which is extra-appropriate for my inventory post because in it he is trying to count (unsuccessfully. How I love that big blue dolt of justice).
Last night we inventoried our downtown Wild Oats. I didn't really consciously notice Steven until Tery tiptoed over to me, a smirk on her face, and she whispered behind her cupped hand, "Do you have Steven's schedule memorized too?" I didn't know what she was talking about, until I realized "Steven" was the mildly slow adult bagger working the checkout close to the aisle we were counting. Not that proximity made any difference where Steven was concerned. Like many with his affliction, Steven had absolutely no volume control on his voice, and loudly repeated the following spiel ad nauseum to anyone within a 20 foot radius. "Hi, I'm Steven. It's nice to meet you. I have to work until 8 tonight, then I have to be back tomorrow again for 1-8." There were variations, of course, but most everyone who crossed Steven's path was treated at the minimum to an unprovoked but quite detailed outline of his work schedule.
It was funny to me at first, but Tery, who had already undergone close to two hours counting the front of the store right next to him, had had as much as she could take. We started discussing the pros and cons of being so forthcoming with this kind of information to complete strangers.
The Bad
Steven remarked a few times after getting the obligatory schedule talk out of the way about how nice people have been to him. Maybe so, Steven, but unfortunately not everyone in this world is nice, or what they seem. It probably wouldn't take much for someone not-so-nice to get not only your work hours but your home address out of you, now that they know you won't be home (not that I believe for a second that Steven lives alone). God, I'm paranoid and cynical, but I'm only a product of my environment.
Yes, Steven is a quaint distraction on the first trip. But honestly, the knowledge that I could expect to see him on a regular basis might be a significant deterrant to me shopping there anymore.
Similarly if I worked there, rest assured I would not be able to tolerate more than one day a week of working anywhere within earshot of him...which unfortunately would eliminate about a third of the store's square footage.
The Good
If Steven should ever forget his schedule, he can ask anyone in the store for it.
Again, knowing exactly when he is working would make it easier to plan my shopping accordingly to avoid him.
After hearing the speech four, five, six and seven times, it would become a very effective incentive to get those fingers moving faster and counting like I've never counted before.
Blessedly, 8:00 finally rolled around. Tery and I wondered if Steven would then walk around the whole store saying goodbye to everyone. We are going straight to H-E-double-hockey-sticks, I tell ya. But at least we'll still be together.
As the fastest counter there, I got to count the checkout stands as usual. This normally doesn't bother me, but in this store it is impossible to gauge the ebb and flow of the tide of customers, thus no matter what time I start it unfortunately always seems to become a hair-raising, heart-pumping marathon race trying to bob and weave in and out to get as much work done as possible before more customers show up. And I swear no sooner do I start working on a closed checkout than a store employee comes along and maliciously opens it on me.
This happened twice last night and I was getting pretty fed up. It's pretty close quarters in the space between stands, and customers are surprisingly unforgiving when it comes to checkout lines. If they can't be close enough to smell the farts of the person in front of them because I'm in the way, they throw a mini-conniption fit. You haven't seen "uppity" until you try to come between some people and their groceries. What are you afraid of, lady? You think someone is going to see a space in front of you and cut in like they do on the freeway? Your purchases are going to get away from you on the conveyor belt and someone else is going to buy them by accident? I'm sorry if you feel threatened by me being in what you feel is rightfully your space, but I assure you I don't care about your stuff nearly as passionately as you seem to. In the words of Tyler, JUST. LET. GO.
This doesn't go on just at the checkout stand. People do it in the aisles with their carts. I've lost count of how many times I've had to stop in the middle of working to move for some moron with abandonment issues who insisted on schlepping their cart all the way into the aisle just to retrieve a can of string beans. I can't decide which is worse, when they do this with the cart full or empty. If they have a baby with them, fine, but otherwise it's JUST FOOD, people. The store stockers aren't going to swoop in and put everything back on the shelves because you walk away from it for 40 seconds. It's not the airport where you'll be quizzed later about leaving your belongings unattended. And no one else is going to come along and take it to buy themselves. JUST. LET. GO.
I feel better getting this off my chest. Or maybe it's just my special new Tick icon, which is extra-appropriate for my inventory post because in it he is trying to count (unsuccessfully. How I love that big blue dolt of justice).