We’ve moved into our master bath area with the intention of actually making it a functional bathroom. Unfortunately, the floor was not level. It was far from it. During construction, a couple of the beams had been installed lower than they should have been and that threw the floor out of whack. I should fir the SOB that did that, but then he’d have to move out of the house. I built up a bit of the floor with additional plywood and will finish the job with floor leveling compound.
The project has been interrupted so I can paint kitchen cabinets for some friends of ours. It’s not a large kitchen , but there are a lot of cabinets. I spent the day sanding them down and needed some shop towels. Since the lumber yard had closed, I went to Walmart, much to my chagrin. I hate that place. Today was no different. I had collected my items and was in line behind a young woman who gave the cashier a personal check for $17.34. After some curious fiddling with the cash register, and while the young lady waited at the kiosk to put her signature not the screen, the cashier handed the woman a receipt. “Did you ring it up as a check, or cash?” the woman asked the cashier. After a minute in a confused state, the cashier replied, “I’m not sure.”
Well, she did ring the scale up as cash. “Oh, that’s okay,” said the young woman. “I’ll just give you the cash.”
She pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and handed it to the cashier. She looked at it like it was some kind of alien currency. “I think I can make change for this,” she said, and turned to the cash drawers where she pulled out several bills, waffling over which ones to take. She finally threw the bills on top of the drawer and said, “That’s not right.” She looked at the register screen again, I suppose hoping the machine would magically calculate the change required, but of course, that didn’t happen. She played with the currency again while muttering, “How much is the change?”
The young woman, obviously annoyed, said, “Eighty-two dollars and sixty-six cents.” I nodded at her and said, “Good for you,” since it has been my experience that few young people know the first thing about making change.
The cashier looked at her as if she had just insulted her. Then she pulled out a calculator and punched a few buttons. “Okay,” she said. “Eighty-two dollars and sixty-six cents,”
The young woman finally got her change as it was dumped into her outstretched hands, and left. Then it was my turn. The cashier said, “Computers,” while rolling her eyes, then ran the items through the scanner and the total came to $17.32. Well that threw the poor woman into a quandary. She checked her screen and punch a button or two while frowning at the thing. “Oh,” she said, “I thought it still had the last transaction on it.” I had enough foresight to use my debit card, relieving the woman of the necessity of going through another trying set of calculations. I didn’t say anything, fearing it might completely upset her. I left, wondering why in hell I had gone to Walmart?
Sometimes I just have a lack of common sense, as an inquiry with my wife will rapidly confirm. Today was one of them. Oh well, back to the kitchen.