Okay, okay. Sure, I’m regularly picking on a place called
Tallmart.
I use this store name because I
want to avoid giving away the fact I am referring to a store named Walmart. Please don’t tell anyone, though.
As you can imagine, today’s
journalistic venture is about Walmart, er, Tallmart.
I continue to shop there because
they frequently have what I want, and the necessary stuff is reasonably priced,
and I usually come away with a true story of some sort.
The kicker is that going to my
local Tallmart winds-up being a treasure hunt, of sorts. I was looking for mineral oil. Mineral oil is not where you’d think it would
be unless you figured it would be with the laxatives.
My sainted wife and I searched
high and low, making our way through the personal health section, the pharmacy
department, even automotive. Since I
don’t normally imbibe in mineral oil – on-the-rocks or otherwise – we
eventually stumbled upon it by chance.
A dozen of eggs, three yellow
peaches, two Bosc pears, a bottle of mineral oil, and some elbow macaroni later,
and we were ready to check out.
My local Tallmart doesn’t have a
“suggestion box” likely because they don’t want suggestions. From previous shopping trips there I found
that speaking to the store manager is akin to talking to a folding lawn
chair. The aluminum type with the
plastic webbing. But I digress.
Speaking with a manager some
years ago, I was passing along information on an unpleasant visit there; the
manager patiently listened and eventually looked me straight into my eyes when
she said, “But he passed the drug test.”
This epiphany brought me back to
the real world where I realize I wasted so much time in school. Had I known I could get a job just by not
using dope, I could have been a CEO. Alas.
So I have now decided it is
better to come home and talk to Smokey the Cat who is much more intelligent,
and who also passed a drug test.
In any case, my latest suggestion
for Tallmart employees and executives, alike, regards the leaving process.
Yes, Tallmart has made leaving
their stores very, very difficult, bordering on impossible.
When my local Tallmart was built
some twenty-years ago, they optimistically built the store with eighteen –
that’s 18 – checkout lanes. Those lanes
easily occupy one tenth of the floor space.
Unfortunately, on any given day,
only two checkers are manning TWO of those 18 lanes.
Checkout lanes are expensive to
build and maintain, and occupy precious floor space on which merchandise could
be displayed.
Clearly there is a lack of
money-oriented people on The Shore that are able to pass drug tests.
So to expedite things to get
pesky shoppers like me out of the store more quickly, they installed
self-checkout machines. Ah, the Tallmart
braintrust was at it again.
Self-checkouts consist of
scanners with scales and a modest computer screen. Off to the side is a contraption that holds
the plastic bags into which you place your scanned items.
That barcode on each package is
waved in front of the scanner until it beeps, indicating it registered and you
will dutifully pay for it.
In all actuality, this
self-checkout thing is pretty enjoyable inasmuch as you don’t have to deal with
surly, drug-free employees any more than you absolutely have to.
 |
| $15/hour job creator - I mean eliminator |
On the way back home I realized
what corporate America
Here’s some final food for
thought. All those angry minimum wage
Americans demanding a $15/hour minimum wage should be careful what they wish
for.
At this rate, they won’t be
needed because the customers will be doing their jobs for them. Perhaps they should demand $50/hour for
avoiding customers. And they can smoke
weed all day long.
