Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Holy Lack Of Divison Skills, Batman!

Yesterday, I went to the grocery store to pick up, oddly enough, groceries. When I was finished, I scanned the available checkout stands and decided I would do self-checkout since I didn't have my usual I'm Feeding Three Boys Don't Judge Me amount of food in my cart.

I easily scanned my bread, peanut butter, cereal boxes, and crackers but hit a snag when I tried to scan my carton of milk.

When two more swipes across the scanning screen didn't solve the problem, I looked at the bar code and realized it had a wrinkle in the middle. Upon further investigation, I realize the wrinkle was permanent.

I looked at the young man supervising those of us crazy enough to try to check out on our own and motioned him toward me. The conversation went like this:

Me: The bar code for the milk isn't working. Can you just manually input a gallon of milk for me?

YM: Um, it isn't?

Me: No.

YM: Are you sure?

Me: *heroically resists both eye roll and sarcasm* I wouldn't have called you over here if I wasn't.

YM: *wanders back to his register and flips through a laminated book, presumably looking up the code for a gallon of milk.*

YM: *looks up* Do you know how much it was?

Me: They're on sale 2 for $5.

YM: Oh. *flips through book then takes out a calculator.*

Me: *tries to figure out what YM needs a calculator for*

YM: *fiddles with calculator some more*

Me: Um, do you need some help?

YM: I'm just trying to figure out...see, you're only buying one.

Me: Yyeess...

YM: *fiddles with calculator some more*

Me: Even though I'm only buying one, it's still $2.50 a gallon.

YM: *looks up, relief evident on his face* Oh, I was going to ask...so $2.50's okay?

Me: Yyeess...

YM: Okay, then. *puts calculator away* We'll just say it's $2.50. It's easier that way.

Me: Sure. Yeah. Whatever. *wonders how on earth YM ever got promoted to checker in the first place.*

Sometimes people worry me. They really, really do.

9 comments:

  1. Ditto on the making the brain hurt.

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  2. Management probably got too many complaints when he threw 5-pound bags of potatoes on top of bread, eggs, and tomatoes and figured checkout was a better role for him from a customer-service perspective.

    (I once had a bag boy who looked like he was about 12, but he packed my bags and fit them in the cart like it was a Tetris game. It was a beautiful thing. I never saw him again.) (I really wish they'd let me pack my own groceries, but it's against DA RULEZ. *fumes*)

    My question is, my kid has to know frickin' calculus to pass 7th grade, so how does that kid not have to know to divide 5 by 2?

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  3. Perhaps he is the son of a manager/owner? I don't know. I DO know that in all my years of whining through high school algebra that I DIDN'T need to know it because I would NEVER have to use it (and lo and behold, I was sooo right), it never once ocurred to me that someone might apply the same principle to third grade math.

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  4. I had a similar experience out our new Kroghetto last Saturday. My item wouldn't scan, so I had to ask for help and the person who was supposed to help me was TEXTING and walking VERY SLOWLY from one end of the store to the other.

    You would have been shocked, because I actually said to the lady working the ten items or less line, "WOW! She's SPEEDY, isn't she?"

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  5. Angelic DaughterMay 12, 2009 at 3:57 PM

    Considering my leet skillz involving mathematics, I can sympathize with him.

    But only a little bit, I wouldn'y wanna ruin my image.

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  6. Angelic DaughterMay 12, 2009 at 3:58 PM

    Also, I shouldn't hit enter impulsively. I HATE making typos, with every fiber of my being.

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  7. That's almost as good as the argument my mother-in-law had with my husband about how long to put the popcorn in the microwave for.

    Mom: Put it in for 120 seconds. Any longer and it will burn.

    Hubby: Okay, putting it in for 2 minutes.

    Mom: NO! I said 120 seconds.

    Hubby: Uh-huh...2 minutes.

    Mom: 120 seconds or you will burn it!!!!

    Hubby: How many seconds are in a minute?

    Mom: 60, why?

    Hubby: So, 2 minutes is the same thing.

    Mom: NO!!!!! (screaming at this point) 120 seconds is the exact time to make sure it doesn't burn!

    Hubby: What's 60 plus 60?

    Argument continues until he just put it in for 2 minutes & walked away.

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  8. I'm telling you...education is going to hell in a handbasket these days...

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