So last night I stop at the Giant in New Cumberland on the way home from work. I have maybe a dozen items in my cart. It’s about 6 p.m. and half the checkout lines are closed. I pick the one where the store manager is working the cash register.
I like to watch managers do real work occasionally.
The customer in front of me gets through the lane, and the manager starts on my stuff. Then a big, dirty guy ambles up to the bagging end of the lane, eating something from a broken plastic spoon. He licks off the spoon and puts it somewhere. Then he wipes his hand on his dark, dreggy Giant golf shirt.
I don’t know why. His hand was probably cleaner before he wiped it on the shirt.
This is the guy who is going to put my food into a bag.
Eventually. First he has to stand there and watch the food a while as it slides toward him. I’m guessing that he’s waiting for a big enough pile to accumulate at the end of the conveyor belt.
I look at the manager, who seems aware of the situation and would like to avoid unpleasantness.
Me too. I walk down to the plastic bags in front of Dirty Giant Guy and pull one, and start packing my groceries. No big deal, I have to bag my own stuff roughly every other time I go to this store.
(That’s not so at the Fancy Giant in Camp Hill, which has enough employees to serve the more affluent shoppers who go there. Rich people rate good service.)
I fill two bags before Dirty Giant Guy notices and devastates me with the snarl of passive-aggressive louts everywhere: “Whatever.” He walks away.
The manager hands me my receipt and honestly, I’m pretty sure he said, “Thank you for shopping at Giant.”
This, ladies and gentlemen, is why Wegman’s will kick ass.