The following essay was written last January as a college senior on the verge of graduating with my degree in English and education, not retail management. My tone may come across a tad sardonic at times, but the message of the essay is sincere and one that I still believe in wholeheartedly: working in retail provides a unique opportunity to connect with a variety of people with whom you otherwise may never come into contact.
And the larger point is this: never take for granted the opportunities you are given since you have no idea where life is going to take you; look for the good in each experience, and use it as a chance to fuel your mind, body, and spirit.
Guests Welcome
by Kayla Gronli
by Kayla Gronli
Six
years. That’s how long I have worked at the same job. Six years. In the corporate world, anything beyond two years
is basically an eternity, which is how it feels when I stand behind the Target
customer service counter in my red and khaki uniform for what seems like one
perpetual shift of which I will never be able to punch out. Thankfully I have
not chosen to honor the store stamped on my name badge with a career in this
particular field. Sure, customer service offers me the ability to help people –
a quality I need in whatever I choose to make my life’s work – but this is not
my idea of a rewarding career: spending forty hours a week for the rest of my
life cooped behind a counter with stray merchandise sorted into carts according
to department, deteriorating defectives on a tub waiting to be processed, and
an overflowing lost and found bin filled with mismatched gloves and an elderly
man’s walker. And then there’s the line of customers that are herded like
cattle through the ropes, each receiving an opportunity to tell me their
problems. Honestly, after a while it all just sounds like one long moo.
The customer
service employee is the punching bag of the entire business world. We are
expected to solve each customer’s problems in a way that gives him or her the
maximum amount of benefit while also attempting to uphold our own store policy,
a thin tightrope that requires impeccable balance. For whatever reason,
customers decide that throwing things at us while we’re up on that wire is an
acceptable way of getting what they want. They unleash their fury on another
human being over, say, a mere two dollars because the customer service worker
is “one of them,” an employee of the
same system that supposedly screwed them over – on purpose, naturally. Or maybe
it’s just easier to blame someone – anyone – for misfortune and inconvenience
than to deal with it head on. Regardless, when that scapegoat is behind a
counter barrier or just a voice on the other line of a phone, we are
dehumanized. Seen as the enemy without emotion or feeling, we behind the
counter are susceptible to the ruthless sides of customers. I remember the time
I learned of the mobility of the registers that sit on the counter when an
irate customer shoved one at me after she couldn’t get a price adjustment on a
clearance item. Another time, a woman with a thick accent (I couldn’t quite put
my finger on the origin) chewed me out over the phone at the beginning of my
shift for something that had happened before I even clocked in for the day. The
assault went something like this:
“Champlin Super
Target, this is Kayla. How can I help you?”
“Give me money
back!”
“I’m sorry,
ma’am, I just arrived. Can you explain to me your situation?”
“Idiot! You supposed to know! You are poor worker and bad person. You
get paid?! You make money?! You shouldn’t because you no do your job!”
“… Um… Ma’am, would you… like me to get
my manager?”
“No, stupid
girl! You do this! You fix this! This be your fault! Go to hell!”
Anything that even remotely
resembled words stuck in my throat like a stale wad of gum as the tirade
continued. Even after I set the phone down and ran through the back employee
door before my body convulsed into a fit of sobs, the harsh words of a stranger
still resounded in my ears days later.
If you shop at
Target, you are not just a customer; you are a “guest.” Employees are “team
members” and managers are “team leaders.” Though this lingo has been expressly linked
to Target, the corporation actually derived the practice from The Walt Disney
Company starting in 1989. The team leaders explained to us in our orientation
that the company wants to create a friendlier feel with the labels they use
within the store to correspond to the “fast, fun, and friendly” atmosphere that
is apparently unique to Target. I guess I can see where they are coming from.
The word “customer” sounds cold and harsh, like an outsider who we only
recognize as someone who will give us money. “Guest” sounds much more
welcoming, like we are inviting them into our store. Hello, please come in
and make yourself comfortable by purchasing everything on your list and then
some. We would appreciate if you took your shoes off. In all honesty, I’ve never heard guests comment on
how that shift in rhetoric made them feel when they shop in a Target store. I
venture to guess that it’s not even a conscious realization if it is recognized
at all.
In my eyes, our
“guests” don’t act any differently than the “customers” my mom serves in her
restaurant, and they certainly don’t act like they would if they were guests in
my home. Would a guest call you up on their way to your house only to tell you
to go to hell, like the woman who yelled at me? And would a houseguest throw
trash all over your living room, ransack your closet, cupboards, and drawers,
and leave you to clean up the mess? Since I began working at Target six years
ago, I always put stray items back in the proper place if I can, regardless of
the store in which I am shopping. Customers don’t realize that upon deciding
they don’t want or need something, unwanted items conveniently abandoned
throughout the store do not magically find their way back to their shelves once
the lights turn off. The members of the Target team work together to “zone” the
store by straightening the shelves and gathering misplaced items in carts. And
guess where they dump the carts of stray to get sorted? Customer service, a
department of one. Great teamwork. But no matter how many unsorted carts of
stray are parked next to the counter, the top priority is always supposed to be
helping guests: the same people who tore apart our store and created that extra
work in the first place. Our “guests” are just as guilty as any customer of expecting
too much and seeking to find flaws in the system in order to play it to their
advantage, which makes me all the more eager to help them. And of course,
according to the customer service creed, the customer – excuse me, guest – is always right.
In comparison to
its competitors like Wal-Mart and Kmart, Target shoppers are statistically
younger, more affluent, and more educated. The corporation believes this group
is attracted to Target’s attempt to differentiate itself by offering more
up-scale, trendy merchandise rather than just focusing on low prices like other
discount retail stores. From what I’ve seen, no matter how “educated” the
average Target guest may be, it doesn’t make them any less vulnerable to
ignorance when it comes to our return policy. Of course, there are guests who
may be unfamiliar with our policy, but it is pretty hard to miss when it’s
watermarked on the back of every roll of receipt tape.
Refund / Exchange Policy
Most unopened items in new
condition returned within
90 days will receive a refund
or exchange.
Some items have a modified return
policy noted on the receipt, next to
the item or at Target.com
Items that are opened or
damaged or do not have a receipt
may be denied a refund or
exchange.
Ask about receipt look up for
purchases made with a Target
GiftCard, Target debit or credit
REDcard, or other debit and
credit cards.
But
alas, even the most educated people are prone to forgetfulness. Maybe they lost
their receipt, threw it in the trash, dropped it in a puddle of mud, let go of
it in the midst of a windstorm, or allowed their dog to salivate and swallow
it? It is for these situations and many others that Target offers no receipt
returns using a driver’s license or a state ID. There have to be stipulations
for these guests who necessitate the existence of this exception: every guest
is allowed to return up to seventy dollars worth of merchandise using their ID
in a rolling year, and they have to take the lowest selling price of the item
in the last ninety days for their refund value. I really am sorry that your
grandmother bought you an expensive camera that you don’t need and she paid
with cash because she doesn’t trust the banks, but I have to decline your
return. Rules are rules.
The
number of times that I have stated and restated this policy borders on
astronomical, considering that so many guests who come into our store are not
Target virgins. Shouldn’t they know how the system works by now? And even if
they have never wandered up to customer service, is it not common courtesy to
do your research or ask ahead of time before you bring in the black sweater
that you swore you cut the tags off before you tried it on? Oh yes, and I
suppose the layer of cat hair also came with the sweater when you bought it? Of
course it did because you said so. And guess what? The customer is always
right.
It’s
fairly simple to tell when someone is lying to you after you’ve worked in
customer service as long as I have, but naturally you can’t ever call a
customer out on an untruth. After six years, I consider myself an expert on
analyzing people. It’s not that I’m judging them exactly, but I can get a
pretty good idea of what a person is like simply from the words that come out
of their mouth in a brief transaction at the counter. Unfortunately, upholding
the Target brand means the “fast, fun, and friendly” attitude has to constantly
ooze out of my red and khaki uniform while my actual feelings must remain
locked within. Each guest that comes to the counter gets a generic smile that
screams “fun” and “friendly.” Then I quickly cut to the chase by beginning with
my signature phrase, “What can I do for you today?” Although I haven’t tried an
alternative, I imagine this opening routine is received much better than
saying, “What the hell do you want?” with my arms folded across my chest. No
matter what feelings of apathy are hidden beneath my exterior, I am the face of
the store for whoever comes through the line. Customers have the ability to
determine our existence as a company; they hold the power. They realize that
they can get away with things because their negative words against a company
carry destructive weight. If I have to endure hours of monotonous dialogue and
repetition of policy, then I’ll do it as long as I need to because after all, I
don’t want to be the reason for the demise of a multi-million dollar
corporation. Besides, it is what I applied for and it gives me a paycheck.
Recently, I found
myself back behind the same red counter, trying to scrape up some hours during
a break from college. A boy about seven walked up to the counter, barely tall
enough to see over it, and heaved a bag towards me. “I already have one of
these,” he said smugly as I peeled back the folds of the bag to reveal a
Nintendo Wii system, thankfully with a gift receipt attached. If my response
could have taken the form of an action, I would have knocked that pompous look
right off the boy’s face. Unfortunately it probably would have knocked me out
of the store immediately after that. Instead, I bit my tongue and automatically
explained to him what I say to every guest who returns a gift. After ensuring
that all the contents were new and unused, I completed the transaction by
handing the boy a store credit gift card for $149.99 plus tax. My guess is he
had a hard time finding something in the store that wouldn’t duplicate an item
he already had at home.
The next guest in
line was an older gentleman who walked with a cane. He slowly made his way
towards me and handed me his bag to return. I expected the plastic sack to
contain one of the usual items returned by an elderly guest: calcium
supplements in too large a container, a cordless phone too complicated to
figure out, or a box of crackers one day over their expiration date. My cheeks
flushed as I reached inside and pulled out a dainty red camisole and pair of
matching lace panties. I swear the face of the old man turned almost the exact
color of the garment. “I thought she’d like it,” he said with a hesitant smile
grazing his wrinkled face. “It was something she used to wear.” Those words
carried enough information to rip off any public pretense that the old man may
have conveyed through his appearance. His life, both past and present, was left
naked for me to see, and it was more unexpected than I could have imagined.
I’ve worked for
Target so long there are situations that occur where my responses are
practically scripted when they come out of my mouth. Ultimately, it is my job
to answer questions to recurring situations, communicating with the guest time
and again what I can do to help them and what options they have. The policies
that I have upheld behind the counter for six years are my method of
communication: mechanical and emotionless. I could rattle off Target’s return
policy even in the semi-lucid state between waking and sleeping. But the
customer service manual can only explain so much – the rest is part of the
learning process that occurs through experience. Even after six years, there
are some situations, like the telephonic tirade, that still catch me by
surprise and leave me speechless.
That same evening
I helped a young woman who returned a cart full of unused baby products. As she
unloaded the numerous packages of diapers and bags of newborn outfits with
uncut tags across the barrier between us, I asked her the same question I ask
every customer: “Was there anything wrong with these items?” The hard stare
that I got in response to my question gave me all the information I needed.
Undoubtedly, chiseled lines on her face represented the fresh wounds of pain.
The perpetual frown and bags under her eyes, I imagine, could potentially have
been from lack of sleep, but not because she had a newborn crying for a
mother’s attention waiting for her at home. Though she was a stranger to me, I
wanted nothing more than to put down my scanner, break through the counter
barrier, and tell her that I was sorry for her loss.
But I didn’t. I
had no words, ill prepared to handle the situation before me. What could I
possibly say that would hold enough power to remedy pain that runs so deep?
There was no script in the training manual that told me what to say in this
instance, and anything within the bounds of my normal service desk jargon
seemed too trivial for the weight of that moment. With language, we hold an
almost infinite power on the tip of our tongues for any means of communication.
I use words to convey my antipathy towards my job and communicate store policy
to customers, but I also use words to connect with my family and friends to
show them that I care about them. The latter variety of words brings us
together, smashing the barrier between us that makes us strangers to one
another. In a job where my primary goal is communication, how is it possible to
have not seen the potential for real connections until now?
Maybe Target does
have it right: the people that I service from behind the counter are not just
customers; they are guests, real people whose lives are open to me for only
brief moments. I am privileged to stand in my red and khaki, greeting guests
who approach carrying both previously purchased and emotional baggage, each
with a story of their own. Now, I welcome the unique opportunity to work in
this culture since I know I won’t be doing it forever.
Good evening,
Target guests. The store is now closed. Please bring your final selections to
the registers located at the front of the store. We would like to remind you
that our shopping hours tomorrow are from eight am to ten pm. Thank you for
shopping at the Champlin Super Target, and have a wonderful evening.
As always, the
main lights in the store dimmed at the exact moment I put the period on my
final closing announcement of the evening. Placing the clipboard with the
printed announcement back in its drawer, I realize again that I don’t really
need it to make the overhead call; after six years, I guess it’s just a habit.
As I attempted to clear off the perpetually messy counter on my last shift
before returning to college, my mind was already wandering back to studying,
books, and class schedules – anything to take my mind off the monotony of my
retail job. It took a few moments before I realized that a woman was standing
at the counter waiting for me to acknowledge her.
“I’m sorry,” I
said. “What can I do for you?”
“I know the store
is closed, but I’m wondering if you could still help me,” the woman said. “I
have a couple things to return.”
“It’s alright; I
have time,” I smiled. “How are you tonight?”
“You know, I could
be better…”
Ten minutes later,
the woman walked out the door no longer the complete stranger that she was to
me when she approached. A single mother and pediatric nurse at the local
hospital, she was squeezing in fifteen minutes to grocery shop and run errands
before she had to pick up her three kids from a neighbor’s house and put them
to bed. It occurred to me that I might have been the only adult interaction
that she had been able to have all day. As I exited through the back employee
door to go home for the evening, I could still hear her words ringing in my
ears. I wonder if she left feeling the same sense of connection that I felt at
that very moment. It may not have happened fast, but it sure was fun and
friendly.
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