New to Cooperstown, I stopped by here on Saturday evening at around 6:40, Aug. 19th, to pick up a few items. The store was nearly deserted as I made my way down the aisles. Then with my arms full, I arrived at Register 2 - the only register open. There, a couple of employees in blue Topps pullovers, replete with name tags, had just ended their shift and were buying groceries, themselves, before heading home. A short young woman with brown hair and glasses was performing the duties of a cashier, in between contributing her part of the conversation that poured back and forth. And at the end of the register stood a taller dirty-blond-haired woman of about 25 or so who ostensibly acted as the bagger (although never did I see her hands actually perform this task). Obviously the conversation between these four was of far more importance to them than my time and inconvenience, as I continued to stand with my arms full.
"This place is like a ghost town, Saturday nights," Short-Stuff volunteered; though no one should wonder why, I thought. Down at the end, Dirty Blonde smiled and nodded anew.
Then suddenly a stubble-bearded fellow of about forty-five, in a well-ironed shirt, walked up and stood behind me at Register 2. Instantly his milk-white face stubble caught the attention of the Dirty Blonde bagger, whose eyes grew wide with cartoon interest. "I can help you on Aisle 3!" she called merrily, pointing her beefcake to the next register. And, moving quickly, off she went to do just that.
"Why didn't you help me?" I called after the ditzy Dirty Blonde. "I've been waiting here five minutes!"
Dead silence. Not used to hearing that, I figured.
Stubble Beard hesitated momentarily, unsure of the etiquette. Then, like most self-centered Americans these days, went ahead and took the offer of immediate service. To hell with me.
"I must be invisible today," I said to Short Stuff when her coworkers had finally moved on. This one entirely ignored me as quickly she rang up my bread, sugar, cinnamon, etcetera - now suddenly wanting to get me quickly away from her.
Yes, I was miffed. In fact, at this point I seriously considered a "register dump." That's where I simply leave all my stuff at the register, tell them to kiss my can, and exit the store. But I didn't do that this time. I'm 63. I don't wear face stubble, so maybe I don't inspire the same biological urges in female cashiers. For all I know, I had just witnessed the infamous Gen X attitude toward work and might as well get used to it, right? Like hell.
"That's $19.96," Short Stuff finally said to me. In fact, it's all she ever said to me, even after I handed her my crummy "Tops Friendly Markets" card and a twenty dollar bill.
As she fished in her register for my four-cents change though, my patience ran out. "Keep it," I said, and walked out the door with the last groceries I'll ever buy at Cooperstown Tops.
May I suggest you join me in shopping at Price Chopper, or nearly anywhere else. read more
