Ode to a Walmart Greeter
(originally posted on www.thenastywench.blogspot.ca and www.thenastywench.wordpress.com…now in its new home on www.thenastywench.com)
All due respect to Walmart Greeters around the world but if you ever walk into a Walmart and I’m there greeting you, take me out to the parking lot and back over me. Assume that I’m being held hostage and I’m being made to sing that freaking Walmart rah rah cheer song in the morning. I thought that was a rumor when I first heard about it but I got into a Walmart early one morning and they actually make their staff sing that asinine song. I cannot believe that it does not breach some human rights legislation.
Greeters don’t actually greet customers any more…it’s their entire job description – it’s right in the title, it’s their only task – greet the customers. They might notice you, they might glance in your direction but rarely do they actually acknowledge you. If you are bringing in a returned item, they are apparently obliged to tag the bag and instruct you to go directly to customer service. That’s it – a really short list of responsibilities. I guess Walmart “I might notice if you come in the store” person doesn’t carry the same cachet as Walmart Greeter so it’s just easier to refer to them as greeters.
I was in Walmart yesterday trying to free one of the shopping carts from the herd that was apparently welded together within about 4 feet of a handy dandy Walmart Greeter. As I struggled and the greeter watched, I was thinking wouldn’t it be handy if you were a Walmart Cart Separator…but that probably requires training and skills you just don’t have so you just sit there while I pry these apart. And…she did. In her defence, I guess someone has to carefully guard that pocket full of return stickers for people who bought the wrong crap and need to return it for other crap.
One of the saddest things I think I’ve ever seen was a severely handicapped Walmart Greeter – a young man curled up in the fetal position in his wheelchair and parked near the door. Before you get all offended about this particular observation, I am all for people with serious physical challenges making their contribution to society. But there was something inherently wrong with slapping a vest on this individual, rolling him over and parking him near the door first thing in the morning and then retrieving him at the end of the day. If I have a return, am I supposed to reach into his pocket for a sticker? I just want to be clear on this; I don’t want to be explaining this particular manoeuver to management…think maybe I’ll just keep the crap I bought and avoid a fiasco. I worried about him, what happens if they forget him there – he can’t roll away, he can’t call for help. I hope someone’s checklist of responsibilities includes retrieving the Greeter or he’s screwed.
In the grand scheme of things, I’m adding “if you ever find me greeting customers at Walmart” to the list of things for which I want to be euthanized. It’s probably going to require something more legally substantial than a blog post to make this happen, but this is a start.
There are 4 more situations on the list so far:
- If I utter the phrase “let’s go to bingo”
- Sitting on a bench in the mall discussing bowel movements
- If I start drawing my eyebrows on with a thick felt pen a good ½” above their natural location
- Talking incessantly about cats.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love cats but I was out the other night and a woman I’d never met before rambled on about her cats for a good half hour. An educated, professional woman…a lawyer if I’m not mistaken…the best she can come up with for conversation is an intensely detailed account of her cats that included impersonations and psychoanalytical play by plays. Behind closed doors you are welcome to enjoy whatever relationship with your cats the law allows for…but leave it at home – no one will ever love, appreciate or understand your cats the way you do and that’s just the way the world works.
But, I digress…where was I? Ah yes, Walmart Greeter…I think my work here is done.
∼ the nasty wench ∼