Trying Not to be Mean   Leave a comment

But this was inexcusable. Food service employees work very hard at a dizzying pace and deserve to be treated with respect and patience. Nonetheless, there is a certain level of competence and composure I expect from even the most monkey brained rookies. My most recent experience at the Price Center Subway defied these expectations. I impart the following recollection as a warning not to patronize the PC Subway while this person is working the register.

After completing a 9AM midterm on Friday, April 22nd, a friend and I converged on Price Center relieved that the one essay question we had studied for appeared on the midterm, looking to further relieve the hunger that comes with 9AM breakfast-free mornings. Subway sounded good, so Subway it was. Can’t go wrong with a $5 foot long, my friend ordered a breakfast combo. The team members building our sandwiches were friendly and efficient, and my meatball marinara looked palatable. The problem was the cashier.

A glut of customers ahead of us were stacked up waiting to pay for their sandwiches, which I dismissed as a happenstance SNAFU that goes along with a nook full of hurried and ravenous college students. The benefit of the doubt offered went unredeemed by the girl acting as cashier. Possibly the worst Subway cashier in the history of history.

My friend paid for her meal before me and her fast food breakfast sandwich-sized breakfast sandwich, slipped into a square paper sleeve, stood nearest to both the cashier and my friend, two foot longs trailing distinctly behind. The cashier asked my friend which sandwich she had ordered, to which my friend replied “the breakfast sandwich.” I cannot stress how easy it was to identify the four-inch diameter breakfast sandwich is a paper sleeve standing discrete. I stress this because the cashier asked my friend more than once and then asked her what type of breakfast sandwich twice even though they are all the same price. This happened before she asked my friend to point out which sandwich belonged to her. The identification and accurate pricing of my friend’s sandwich took a  notably long time- my meatball marinara was well built, but the sauce sinks into the break when it takes five minutes for the cashier to get the order in front of me correct. My friend did the cashier a huge favor by paying by plastic.

Okay, so it was my turn, and maybe since it was 10AM and this worker was probably new, it was taking her a little time to warm up. I expected a quick and accurate experience paying for my meal. I anticipated her asking me which sandwich was mine and what type, so I had “that one, meatball marinara” loaded and ready to fire. I was caught off guard when she asked me, after acknowledging the sandwich closer to her as mine, if I had a foot long or a six inch. I’m going to repeat that. I helped her identify my sandwich, she had locked her eye on it, and she asked me if it was a foot long or a six inch. The primary moral issue would have been overloading her poor feeble brain rather than dishonesty if I had replied “six inch”.

She was able to punch the button that pulled of $5.00 +$.44 tax without incident, so she gets credit for that. After reciting the price to me, I handed her the $6 I had been holding, George and Abe. She narrowed her brow and said in what I took as a tone inflected to denote annoyance, “It’s $5.44.” I was well aware of this fact, but she looked at me like I was paying with pennies. I was unamused with her tone. I soon found out why she was displeased to see my $6.

After getting the register open to put down the bills, she looked at the change slots like they were a page of vector calculus. I knew what was coming, so I planted my feet and tried to juice the sarcasm out of my vocal chords as I prepared to speak. Sure enough, she hands me only a quarter back with my receipt. I never expected the $.56 by which I had over-payed, but it boggles my mind how she thought giving me a quarter would make me go away. She certainly didn’t earn a $.31 tip. I unload the expressionless phrase I had prepared after doing some quick math.

“I gave you six dollars, I should receive $.56- my order cost $5.44.” She looks distraught and has no idea what to do. Staring at the register and not seeming to comprehend anything other than that there was a problem. Luckily for her, a coworker came by and asked what the issue was. I told her I paid $6 for a $5.44 sandwich and had only received a quarter in change. The coworker quickly extracted another quarter, nickel, and penny from the register and sent me on my way with a smile. I was exasperated at the cashier.

Price Center Subway. Do not retain the services of this employee. My imagination fails to comprehend a world in which I was the first customer she had encountered to pay for a $5 foot long with six dollars. She had absolutely no idea what she was doing. It’s only a minor inconvenience to me to have to have another employee straighten out my change, but it puts way too much mental stress on this employee to have to deal with impatient and hungry college students for hours at a time. She is not cut out for this task, so it would be best not to distress her any further by keeping her at the register. You are guaranteed to lose money if she remains employed as a cashier, either through patrons avoiding this location or through her complete inability to account for simple amounts of money. UCSD students are too cruel for her to survive at this job any longer without suffering severe emotional damage.

And I thought the following fit more appropriately tagged on here than standing alone:

Rhyming Dessert Rants About Morons In Class
April 14, 2010 by tritonthink
Moron to the left of you, moron on the right.
Someone brought a moron cake, and they all had a bite.

Billy asked a question Professor Jones had answered twice.
Billy’s mom bakes moron pie, and he eats every slice.

Suzie took a stance, from there she would not budge.
When proven wrong, she raised her voice, Suzie loves moron fudge.

Freddy asks questions late in class, precious time he’s always costing,
His comments might not be so bad, save for the moron frosting.

Donald simply isn’t, the best or brightest fellow,
Donald’s mind’s gelatinous, a plate of moron jell-0.

When she answers a question right, it’s like Sue won the lotto.
After class she’ll celebrate, enjoying moron gelato.

When Patrick goes to class, he thinks it’s not a fun day.
Patrick would rather be at home, eating a moron sundae.

Chatty girls in front of me, Greek garb, must have herpes.
Just as bad or maybe worse, they’re sipping moron Slurpees.

Bradley always sleeps in class, when Bradley’s not playing hooky.
He gets lots of chocolate chips, in his moron chocolate chip cookie.

Douglas likes to pound the table, humming nice lispy beats.
Know what Douglas had for lunch? Moron rice krispy treats.


Posted April 24, 2010 by Wada in Uncategorized

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