Crikey, What a Bunch of Animals!
Jessi Silver

	A mother denies her toddler a piece of candy and the child throws a tantrum.  A 
husband and wife argue over the use of their credit card.  Two young lovers "neck" with 
each other obliviously in the aisle.  A group of pre-teens organize a Pokemon battle while 
their parents are buying more cards to feed their habit.  And I'm stuck in the middle of it 
all.  As a cashier at the Northtown Target discount store, I see all sorts of people on a 
daily basis.  I act as psychiatrist to those people who need somewhere to dump their 
problems.  I act as a security guard to those who are reluctant to pay for all of their 
merchandise.  I'm a choreographer handling the ebb and flow of the people waiting in my 
line.  My main role as a cashier, however, might be compared to that of Steve Irwin, the 
Aussie "Crocodile hunter" from television, who continually (and willingly) throws 
himself into conflicts with unpredictable wild animals and often has to deal with the 
unpleasant, painful, or outrageous consequences.   
	Most of the time, customer complaints are relatively benign, ranging from a mis-
marked price, a stain on an article of clothing, or a leaky bottle of bleach.  In contrast, 
there are those times when a complaint goes beyond the simple error and becomes a 
personal assault on my skill or intelligence.  It is those times when I have to use my 
abilities to halt the attack, to "tame" the savage customer, or simply to "play dead" while 
the individual vents their anger.  One of those moments might be best illustrated with an 
incident that occurred around Christmas last year.
	It was a busy Saturday afternoon and the herds of holiday shoppers were busy 
searching out the perfect gift, wrapping paper, or Christmas ornament.  I was working as 
hard as I could to keep up with the rush; I was scanning items furiously and counting 
change into the grumpy shoppers' outstretched paws, all without breaking a sweat.  
The next customers in line were a woman and her son hauling a cartful of 
electronics.  I made sure to double-check all of the items' prices before announcing her 
total.  When I did so, assured of her satisfaction, she handed me her drivers license.  This 
was unusual in itself, because a drivers license isn't considered a form of payment.  I 
asked the woman what I was supposed to do with her license.  At this point, she was 
understandably exhausted, so my query only fueled her anger.  With a wild glare in her 
eyes, she told me that I was supposed to use it to find her credit card number in my 
computer so she could pay the five hundred dollars for the presents she was buying.  
There was a problem with her request.  At my store, the computers don't have the 
capability to find a customer's credit number.  I explained that fact to her, and she 
handled the situation by demanding to see a manager, and telling her son I was a "stupid 
girl."  Her words clawed savagely at my ego, but I remembered it was all part of the job 
and stuff like that "came with the territory."  Her rage had yet to reach its peak, however.
When my manager arrived, she explained to the customer that I was correct and 
she would either have to use another method of payment or go home and find her credit 
card.  
I thought I had witnessed anger before that day, but nothing prepared me for the 
assault that followed.  She wasted no time with her words; they pounced on me and held 
on, savagely tearing away at my credibility and that of my employer's.  I did nothing but 
"lay limp" under her assault.  I made the judgment call that this wild animal was not 
worth fighting, and I made myself as uninteresting as possible until she finally gave up, 
throwing her wrapping paper at me and tossing her cart into the back wall as she stormed 
out.
For an eternal few seconds I stood there as customers and cashiers from the 
surrounding few checkout lanes stared at my manager and me.  As the threat of danger 
left our minds, we both began to laugh, nervously returning to business as usual. 
 In a roundabout way I had emerged the victor in the battle without striking a 
single "blow."  By using my experience in human interaction, I successfully avoided 
dropping to the woman's savage level.  I had the skills to know the difference between 
when to fight and when to surrender. And, like the Crocodile Hunter, I also had a wild 
story to tell my family once I returned home from the "wilderness."