There's only so much...

Barbara Ehrenreich's Nickel and Dimed might be the book that I think about most often. I've read it many times and it comes to mind every time I walk into a hotel, restaurant or Wal*Mart or see a nursing home, maid service, or an ad for a food pantry. I've done my fair share of "unskilled" labor- I worked in a CVS, a Dunkin' Donuts, a book warehouse, and a corporate day care chain. I had coworkers who lived with family because they couldn't pay rent, who walked miles because they couldn't afford gas for their cars, who were illegal immigrants all sharing the same SSN and living in a flop house owned by the manager, who were tending to rich people's kids all day while theirs stayed home with a marginally competent grandmother, who blew their entire paychecks on beer and strippers every other Friday while their baby-mama paged them (yep. dating myself) repeatedly for diaper money, who hid the unsellable donuts/bagels behind the "clean" dumpster in a plastic bag, who left their older child in the car parked in view of the business for an entire shift because there was no available child care (the kid was 11 and playing a gameboy the whole time- it wasn't summer and he could have come out to get help if he needed it). I was a high school/college kid working as many hours as my schedule would possibly allow. At times I made more than they did despite being 10, 20 or 30 years younger. I'm an amazingly amendable customer. I take rude customer service with a grain of salt because I figure there is a lot going on behind it. I rarely make a fuss about mistakes in restaurants or hotels and I can't bring myself to hire a cleaning lady/maid in 99% of situations. I'm usually conscious of my privilege to a fault. 

But there's only so much... 

It has been a difficult two weeks. Ramona (as she is now usually calling herself) turned 3 at the end of June and the floodgates just burst. She is a beautiful, wonderful, smart, amazing, inquisitive, imaginative, loving, endearing, miraculous pain in the ass. She melts down at the drop of a hat. She negotiates every moment of the day. She began having bathroom accidents more frequently. She screams-- red faced, sweating, fists clenched, eyes bulging out of her head. She wakes up raring and ready to go and fights sleep the as I imagine god fighting the fallen angles- fiery sword-weilding cherub and all. We tackled the bathroom accidents first because they were the most physically messy and they were interfering with our gym time. Pulling a card from my days teaching 1st grade inclusion in the Bronx, we decided to use a tangible incentive system. Each morning we would give her an object of her heart's desire-- with a catch. If she had an accident, we would take it away until the following day. (One year I had a student who purposefully peed on my rug every day. No one believed she could control it, but I knew she could. And this kid loved bling. So I decided on plastic bracelets. She got one every day when she entered the room. If she didn't pee on anything, she could keep it. Cost me about 100 plastic bracelets, but she never peed on my rug again.) Ramona love tiny objects. It started with a little black Christmas tree ornament when she was 1 1/2. Then Calico Critters toys, a tiny pencil topper from the 80's, a box of Littlest Pet Shop toys from a friend, a few packets of tiny puzzle erasers and then, our latest discovery, Zinkies. Zinkies are so tiny that you can comfortably sit 3 of them on a penny. They come with a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. They are sold in packs of 12 and are on clearance for only $4.50 right now at Wal*Mart. 

We started with one pack. Every time we were going to leave the house for more than an hour or so, we would give Ramona a Zinkie and remind her that if she had an accident, we would take it away. Miraculously, the accidents dried up. Two weeks, 12 Zinkies, no accidents. One of them even made it down the MetroNorth, on subways to the Museum of Natural History, through the museum, out to lunch, to a playground, back on the subways, into, out of and back into Grand Central Station and back home on the MetroNorth, clutched in her fist. 3 day music festival. Only porta potties. No accidents. On the heels of this success, we decided to up the ante. "No Temper Tantrums." As of tomorrow, if she has an accident OR an avoidable temper tantrum, the Zinkie is ours. 

To do this, of course, we needed more Zinkies. After a day of epic tantrums we finally got her to nap (a rare occurrence) and I hopped, exhausted and with a migraine, into the car to go to Wal*Mart-- where I wandered in circles for a ridiculously long time trying to remember why I was there. When I pulled myself together and found the Zinkies I was happy to see that they were still on Clearance and there were 4 packages (48 Zinkes!!!) that we didn't have yet for only $4.50 each. A small price to pay for what should last us several months. I snatched them up, along with a $1.00 pack of Squinkies (the Zinkies' big brother toy) and headed for the checkout. Express... as I had under 12 items. 

My cashier fit the general demographic of who you would expect your cashier to be in a somewhat Urban Northeastern Wal*Mart. I was her last customer before she had to close her register for a 15 minute break at 3:30. I was aware of this and wanted to just make it all quick and easy so I could go home and she could "enjoy" her break. The first Zinkie rang up at $4.50 and had a sticker that said $4.50. The second one had a sticker that said $4.50 and rang up at $7.00. Neither of the other packs had a sticker, and they both rang up at $9.00. The shelf they were on had all said $4.50. They are all, essentially, the same damn thing. I pointed out that the second one rang up different from the sticker price, and she said there was nothing she could do. I pointed out that the other two were supposed to be $4.50 and had rung up at $9, and she said there was nothing she could do. I asked if there was a way to overide it. You would have thought I had asked her to push a boulder up a mountain for all of eternity. She couldn't. Sorry. Someone would have to price check them. Could someone price check them, I asked. No. No one could price check them now. She put them under the register. I bought the one that had rung up correctly and went back to price check it myself. Sure enough, I found two more with the appropriate stickers and brought them with me to the same register where the cashier was counting out her drawer. She did not look pleased to see me. Could I please have back the one shaped like a birthday cake? I'd like to take them to another register. 

No. 

No? No, I can't have them back? 

No. I'm closed. 

Yes. I see that you're closed. That's why I'm not asking you to ring them up. I'd like to take them to another register. Please. 

She looked at me like I had spit on her mother's grave and pulled 3 half eaten pretzels out of her shirt pocket and laid them down on the counter and began to eat them. Nickel and Dimed came to mind again. This was terrible. This was her break and here was her snack? Couldn't she at least go to the break room or bathroom or something? Abandon her post so I could grab the damn Zinkies and go to another register? 

I explained that I found another item with a $4.50 sticker on it- so I just needed the birthday cake one and I would go to another register and see if they could get someone to figure out why they weren't ringing up right. I didn't want to bother her. 

She said that no one would fix it because the computer was ringing it up different. I explaiend that it was marked in the back and that it was on a clearance shelf and that there were stickers on them and that it must be a mistake in the system. Could. I. Please. Have. It. Now?

She pulled it out and took the other two from me and rang them through her register. Two rang up at $9 and one at $7. "See?" she said. "They ain't $4.50." But... but the sticker... the shelf... could I just take it to an open register? Maybe they could get a manager to look into it? 

She told me, again, that no one was going to change it. She told me it came to $26 something. I said I didn't want her to ring it up, I just wanted her to give it to me. 

"Then what am I ringing it up for?" she asked. 

Beats the fuck outta me.

She voided the whole order and then stood there staring at me, holding all 3 of them in her hand. 

Could I have them back? 

She kept holding them. 

Could I just....

She started scanning them again. A flurry of activity on the keypad and they all suddenly rang up at $4.50. 

WTF?