Reader David writes:
Greetings from Austin, Consumerist. I thought y’all might like to hear tale of a visit to a local Walmart (store 1185, for those keeping track).
The journey started last Thursday evening, March 20 at around 10pm. I noticed I was low on food, deodorant, and a few other essentials that guarantee I’m a pleasant person to be around. Seeing how I’ve never had a major problem at Walmart, and its the closest grocery store, I decided I would go to Walmart, as usual.
I arrived to find it busy, as always. So I start getting the groceries. I almost get run over by one of those fork-lift-pallet-carrier things by some negligent employee near the yogurt/cheese area. Still, I survive and decide it’s not worth griping about.
After getting groceries, I decide to finally get that deodorant. They no longer carry my favorite deodorant. I’m forced to accept a second rate brand (tainted with lead?) that makes me slightly unhappy. NO!
These two minor events aside, I arrive at shortest check out line with its light on. I wait patiently in line as the cashier (the soon to be very evil and rude) Shanda checks out the person in front of me. She turns her light off as she finishes checking this lady out. When I start putting my stuff on the conveyor belt thing, she lashes out at me saying “her light was off the whole time” and that “she would not check me out”. Displeased with this result, I calmly remind her of her job responsibilities and I manage to get to check me out, even though “she did not have to check me out, but she would”.
About 2 minute later, her supervisor comes up, telling her to pull out. She then relates a story about how “this idiot is forcing me to check him out”. Of course, I get somewhat upset at this characterization of myself. At this point, however, the supervisor, tells me that “her cashier was already checking me out, so be quiet, shut-up, and don’t come back”.
I basically try to approach the supervisor to talk to her after checking out (at her podium-thing) and she runs off socializing with all the other cashiers. I finally get her to stop, but she refuses to reveal her name to me and had her name-tag backwards. Fortunately, a very friendly cashier in another line gave me the supervisor’s name, Yvonne.
So there you have it Consumerist, I’m not supposed to ever go back, and if I was to come back, I’m supposed to take their corporate draconianism in the a** and “Shut-up”. Thoughts?
Well, David. Here is my suggestion:
Isn’t the free market marvelous?