My name is Happy. How may I help you today?

 I'm a company girl. After I got my job at SuchandSuch (insert retail name...here), my Mom never stopped telling me that: I. Am. A. Company. Girl. I think it's supposed to be a compliment, and sometimes I feel really proud to hold a title like that. I look into the mirror (Okay, I don't -- I'm afraid of mirrors), I stare myself straight in the eye, and I smile, "You are a company girl! Congratulations!"
   But lately, I'm learning that being a company girl is not all it's cracked up to be. This being my first real job ever, working not even two blocks from home, and having a great team on board with me should really put me in my place, right? I mean, in today's economy, I'm lucky to have a job at all, right? Well, that's true. I'm terribly grateful to work for SuchandSuch. The only problem I can find...it's pretty simple, really:
   When taking said job at SuchandSuch, I totally forgot that I am not a people person.
  Don't get me wrong, people are cool and all, but so is space travel, and you don't see me heading up in the next shuttle. The fact is, people and I just aren't, erm, sympatico at the moment.

I get anxious and snappy and sometimes even downright cranky when you get me started. And it's very, very easy to get someone in retail/customer service frustrated. So I'm sitting there, thinking the same thing every (and I do promise you every) cashier is thinking:

   It's a bitter experience. Entry-level jobs, while certainly better than no job at all, are at the bottom of the food chain for any teenager. They're menial, tedious, monotonous, frustrating, and will make you want to pop your own head off like an oily, overgrown zit. And I couldn't stop myself from thinking that same thought every time I walked through SuchandSuch's doors. But what else could I do, other than what I had to? And how else could I do it, but to the best of my ability? It never occurred to me that my hatred for the customers might just seep through. Then we got a new manager. 

       In reality, this stewing I'd been doing over the stupidness of it all only lasted a couple of weeks before the store manager left us to follow his dreams in real estate. Don't worry, we're a multi-million dollar corporation, we'll always have an eye on him. Always. In any event, the new, young, handsome manager came on and introduced an idea that was relatively new to me: the comment binder. Essentially, the transition to the coupon binder was simple; the comments that customers left via the email prompts (yes, we've invaded your email) were recorded and left for our entire team to see. If it was a good comment, you got a pat on the back. If it was a bad comment, the big red highlighter came out and you were marred in the eyes of your manager.

Okay, maybe not marred, but he might flash you a little something like this:

I went into overdrive. Every damn customer got a smile, a wave, an offer of help on anything, and a thank you as they walked out the door. The first few weeks, I panicked every day that I came in. I would rush to the binder, throw open the pages, and...nothing but good comments, or no comment at all.The implications were staggering. Was it really possible that I had been polite, even sweet and kind to every customer we had? Hadn't I even screwed up once? But I hated people. My nerves were frayed; I needed my manager's approval, to show my entire team that they hadn't made a mistake by hiring the girl down the street. I had to make sure they all knew what a good worker I was. The pressure to keep my thoughts, and therefore my demeanor, positive was almost unbearable. Think sunshine, rainbows, little baby kittens with bows.

I am not that kind of person. And it was tiring to think that way every minute, with an unwavering albeit genuine smile plastered on my face. I was caving. The original 'comment binder pressure rush' was wearing down.

           Finally, after a long day of never-ending couponers and missing shopping carts and, "No, I'm sorry, we don't have public restrooms for your screaming five year-old," we were about to close up. Thank heavens, because I was so, so done. Suddenly, a rush of people burst through the door and filled the entire store with less than ten minutes to spare. Was it a holiday, a mad stampede to get the best deals from a super sale or stock up for the zombie squirrel apocalypse? No, just a normal night. And when the despicable jolt of customers at last broke like Moses parting the final drops of the Red Sea, I waited for my manager to finish counting up the cash, set the alarm, what have you -- And I ripped out a piece of receipt paper. I clicked open a pen. I wrote down every vile, frustrated, vicious thought I'd had during my entire shift, every funny little quip or random thought. I poured my heart out onto that tiny piece of paper. By the time the pharmacy crew came up with their cash drawer and bags for checking, the deed was done.Two sides of the scrap paper were completely filled.
       And I felt liberated. I felt so happy that I could have backflipped over my register. I felt like a bird flying free. That's how it started. The youngest pharmacist, a man who looks as if he's barely in his twenties, hefted the drawer on one shoulder and drawled, "Hey, Happy."
          "What? What did you say?" I demanded, still dizzy from my impromptu writer's high.
         "I said, 'Hey, Happy,'" he informed me proudly, seemingly satisfied with the joke. "You're always so damn chipper. That's our name for you back in pharmacy -- Happy."
      Looking down at my list of mean thoughts and snide jokes, I laughed at him. "You're right!" I told him. "I am happy! I work at SuchandSuch, and I'm a company girl!"
 

Since then, I've had so many of those thoughts, jokes, quips, and stories that I'm starting to feel bad about taking so much company receipt paper. My coworker told me to start a twitter. I figured I'd start a blog instead. 

Long story short, this is a place for me to complain about customers (all in good fun, of course, I really do love most of them), the hassles of retail, the drudge of the workday. Hopefully, no one takes me too seriously when I rant: remember, I am a company girl. I love my customers, my job, and understand how lucky I am to have a regular income. That being said, do you hate working in retail? Does working in customer service totally screw up your day? Are you sick of coupons and cash registers and returns? Let out some steam in the comments!

After all...

My Name is Happy, and I'm Here to Help!

(Also, please note that most of my posts will not be so mind-numbingly long)