You decided to do it differently this year. You usually buy online, with high-minded principle, from a company owned by the least-loathsome billionaire you can find. Instead, this Christmas you gritted your teeth and drove in a hot car to a local business where you (finally) found a park. Then you steadfastly hunted down the gifts that your family members simply must have, worked your way up the cattle race to the counter, upon which you triumphantly spread your purchases. With luck you’ll be out of here and home before the roads get too busy. That man behind the counter doesn’t look happy; who cares: as long as he’s efficient.
That’d be me. I’ve been standing in one spot for the last six hours (OK, one toilet break) and have another three to go. I’ve worked in retail for 14 years, and so far today I’ve dealt with 200 customers. I’ve smiled 200 times, but that’s getting harder. I’m so tired it probably looks more like a grimace. Sorry, but consider me a checkout robot, carefully rationing my battery charge by using muscle memory to hit the right keys and move the mouse cursor to make sure each of today’s 500 or so products (so far) is correctly entered and paid for.
The rub is that it’s Christmas. No, I don’t have to wear antlers (whew) but I have spent five hours listening to Bing Crosby. Yes, Bing, it is beginning to feel a lot like Christmas. You can feel the tension, hovering just below breaking point. Just about everyone is in a hurry.
That’s a good thing, in a way. When retail meets the Christmas rush, the last thing you want – staff and customers alike – is to deal with a ditherer. One of those “I’m the centre of the world” people oblivious to how much of your time they’re soaking up while the people waiting behind them in the queue shift from foot to foot, juggling an armful of presents, glowering.
They’ll arrive late in the day, during the peak, and often for discretionary purchases. They’ll walk in hugely enthusiastic, delighted to see you, as if your sole purpose is to share in the excitement and magnitude of their mission. They don’t seem to understand that you can only offer them the 1/200th of yourself that’s left.
When they have finally found everything they think they need, they’ll toss the products, barcode down, on the counter. This means you’ll have to turn each of them over to expose the barcode, which takes more time. They’ll have a loyalty card, but have forgotten to bring it, so will have to read out their mobile number. This means adding another 10 keystrokes to today’s zillion. Then just when you think the sale is complete they’ll suddenly remember one more thing from the list they forgot to bring with them. You’ll park their sale while they dash off, and you’ll beckon the next sullen face in the queue.
I am one of millions. We work in retail. Yes, we know how tough Christmas is, with all the extra pressures and commitments and stress building to a crescendo of manic activity crammed into year’s end, because we have to do Christmas too – but from the other side of the counter. Our job is to help make your silly season less so.
But you can help too. We are all in this together, and that elusive seasonal goodwill can be enhanced by a few small considerations.
Arrive early. Bring a list. And your loyalty card. Use cash or check there is enough money in your account before reaching the counter (transferring funds while 40 people wait may be technically amazing, but really …). And please face the barcodes up.
Also, please don’t expect us to be delighted to see you. Sure, you are the customer and we value you, but we have only so much delight available. If the blow-up Santa is sagging, then we probably are too. A brief “hi” will do. Don’t ask how we are or we may tell you. And remember, try to stay calm; it’s only Christmas.
Andrew Herrick is a Melbourne writer
