Shitters

Every day at work, my boss or his wife (who both work in the store) come up to me and say, "Lee Ann -- did you see that guy that was just in here? The one who [fill in the blank with a physical description to the tune of "has brown hair" or similar]?"

"Yeah," I usually answer, although sometimes I really don't know who they're talking about.

"He'll really be annoying if you let him. Next time he comes in, don't help him. If he wants to get something off the shelves, tell him to get it himself."

Their attitude towards their customers is hilarious to me. It's also a little perplexing. How they've managed to be so successful while alienating at least five customers per day is something I will never understand. But I don't get these customers, either. They keep coming back for more. It's masochistic.

It's as if there were a constant war being raged by my boss against what translates literally into English as "the shitters." There are tons of shitters in our shop -- or so my bosses claim -- and they need to be seeked out and obliterated. Maybe in another couple months I'll have the guts to tell them that they don't know shitters, real true shitters. Why? Because they've never worked a truck stop restaurant when they were sixteen. But that's a different story, I suppose.

I think it's my mom who says that everyone should have to work in retail at some point in their life. After 25 years in the business, I can understand why my boss just can't handle shitters any more. But really? They don't bug me so much. Half the people he complains about are perfectly reasonable towards me, even nice. Maybe I just have a higher tolerance for shitters -- four years of waitressing will do that to a person.

At any rate, I think it's like sport to them. They relish the rudeness when dictated by their seemingly arbitrary logic. I can't bring myself to be straight out mean to people, and I don't think it's ever going to happen. I get the feeling they're warning me about the shitters to draw out my mean side. They'll probably have to wait a long while for that. I'm American. We SMILE and stuff.

Today, for example, a customer asked me to find the catalogue of Le Douanier Rousseau. I know Rousseau, sure. I just didn't know that he was also referred to as Le Douanier. So I started looking at the books under "D" and couldn't find it. I asked the guy how to spell it, and he said, "Like a douanier." I replied, "And how is that spelled?" He spelled it for me, a little aghast at my atrocious spelling skills, and I sharply pointed out that I am American and the "ou" vowel is hard for me to pick up. And it's a word that, until today, I haven't ever used.

He was so embarassed and apologetic that I felt like crap for trying to explain my poor spelling to him. He apologized profusely and I eventually found his book, and we both had some guffawing and awkwardness to get over before we could conclude the transaction.

I'm sure my boss would think he was a shitter, but I felt like he was a normal guy that just didn't understand why I couldn't spell a common word.

All my other coworkers are like gossiping girls when it comes to discussing customers. They must think I'm a weirdo, because I never really have the correct response to their warnings. Most times, I say, "Ok, I'll try to look out for that guy next time..." and sometimes I even say, "Oh... he didn't really cause any problems." Such a statement is always followed by something like, "No, he's the supreme shitter. Steer clear." They don't even care if the person hears them say so. As a matter of fact, I think they'd take some sick sort of pleasure in it.