|
A
few days ago I had the unfortunate experience of having
someone call me filthy names in front of a large crowd.
Now, just the mere fact that I was
called dirty names is terrible in itself, but to have to
it done in a public place such as a super-market and by
the assistant manager at that, was highly atrocious!
It began like this: I was in
Jackson
Heights
, an area on the outskirts of
Queens
, where a lot of East Indian
people populate, when I happened to catch sight of a
store selling ‘smores.’
(I don’t have the accurate spelling so take it
easy on me.) Anyway,
me with my big eye decided that I wanted to taste them.
I had sampled it several times before whenever I
visited
Jackson
Heights
(that was actually one of
the few East Indian sweets I allowed myself to indulge
in.) I
thought I had enough cash on me but regrettably I did
not. Opposite,
was a large super-market with an ATM machine.
I went across to withdraw my money as my mouth
salivated for the delicious flavor of the smores.
Swiping my card I entered my personal
identification number, entered the amount and waited
patiently for the bill to come out.
Instead, what popped out was the receipt
basically showing that I supposedly received the money and charging me the ATM amount.
Looking at the receipt with utter confusion
plastered on m face, I politely asked one of the
cashiers if the machine was working or not.
Looking at me with expressionless and chewing on
a stick of gum like a cow, she replied in her Puerto
Rican accent,
“No
mammy. I
don’t know if tha’ machine works or not.”
Almost
hypnotized by the way her mouth flipped the colorless
gum from side to side, I replied,
“Do
you know if any person other than myself came in today
and used this machine and it worked properly or there
was still some malfunction?”
“Mammy,
I don’t know. I
just started my shift ‘bout an hour ago.
Mammy, want me call the manager for you?”
“Yes
thanks,” I quietly responded.
About ten minutes and less patient than when I
first entered, the manager for the night walked up to
me. Very
nonchalant and looking like I had interrupted him from
sports center or girls wrestling he greeted me:
“What
seems to be the problem?”
“Well,
I swiped to get some money in this ATM machine you guys
have in your supermarket, and the receipt indicates that
I was given the money and it charged me the
one twenty-five
for using it.
Thing is, I didn’t receive any money.”
As I talked, he looked at everyone and everywhere
else but at me. He
seemed eager to return to whatever he was previously
doing, so I decided to take even longer.
“Can
you help me to get my twenty dollars please?”
“Listen
miss, that ain’t my machine and I can’t get you the
money.”
“Well
then how do I get my money?
I have a receipt indicating that I got
the money so where is my money?”
“Lady,
I don’t know ok?” he responded shifting from leg to
leg.
“Am,
ok. I am
trying to be really calm and collected here but aren’t
you supposed to be the manager today and in being the
manager aren’t you suppose to try and help your
customers?”
“Lady
listen, you’re not one of my customers, and this issue
isn’t my damn problem so just take the phone number on
the machine and tell them your troubles!
I have other work to get to!” and with that he
stormed off leaving me in total bewilderment.
I looked at the machine so a toll free number.
The numbers were very faint on the sticker and
not readable. I
looked at the sides and again at the top where the
buttons were to see again if maybe I had overlooked
another telephone number, but I hadn’t.
I looked around the supermarket and saw the
cashier’s busy with their cashing and customers
looking at me as they stood in line and mumbling to each
other. My
face went beet red and I felt a heat overcome me.
Turning once more to the cashier whom I had
initially spoken with, I asked her once again to summon
the ‘manager.’ A
few minutes later he came out with his grumpy and nasty
attitude not far behind.
More
Page 2
|
