The N Word, No Not That One

Thirty years ago, an episode of Seinfeld introduced soup vendor Al Yeganeh and his restaurant, Soup Kitchen International, to the world. The show was based on the reputation Yeganeh built amongst his customers; he offered delicious soups, but to get the soup, patrons had to follow strict, regimented rules for ordering. He was such a tyrant customers nicknamed him the “Soup Nazi.” The customers said the nickname accurately reflected his demanding and merciless demeanor.

Sounds like a joyful person. When I first saw the episode, I thought, only in New York would customers put up with being treated so poorly; thinking it was funny. I was misguided in my conclusion.

A few weeks ago, I offered the notion that we should take time to be nice to service providers, and I stand by that idea. That is true in all but one case. The case of the checkout Nazi.

She is an imposing five foot four inches, has gray hair and is slight in her build (she is not big-boned, a description my mom used, and I suspect most of you can infer its meaning). She always seems to wear a mask. I assume it is to hide her natural snarl that must dominate her face.

She is not intimidating by sight, but scary in her attitude. Bless her heart, she works as an assistant in the self-checkout area. This can’t be fun. It is one area of the grocery store that engenders negative feelings. No one is in a good mood when they have to scan, bag and pay for the food they collected.

I am sympathetic to the challenges the job might pose, but with this small ball of anger, my sympathies have faded.

I learned she had a salty attitude the first time I tried my new grocery store checkout area. As I was preparing my cart for the protracted process; I was minding my own business when she wandered over and reached for my screen. Not sure what she was doing, I politely said, “Excuse me, am I doing something wrong?”

Without hesitation she replied, “There is no excuse for you.”

It was direct and let me know where I stood. She also wasn’t joking. Her furrowed brow said it all. I was in her space, and that was a problem.

Our relationship has deteriorated since then. Each time I attempt to use the checkout system, I have a problem with the screen. I fancy myself as being reasonably adept at technology, but the user interface on this is awful. It is as though the creator of the interface decided it would be fun to toy with customers. Think Austin Powers playfully toying with a globe, fantasizing about the control he has.

I always mess up. And she is always there to ridicule me. Last time we shared a moment together. She said, “It’s not that hard. Not sure why you can’t figure it out.”

She’s right. I can’t figure it out. All I can do is wave my white flag. No longer will I submit myself to the terrors inflicted by the mean granny at my grocery store. I am too proud to cower anymore. No, I will stand in line waiting for a real checkout person indefinitely before I will allow her to harass me. I cannot have my feelings hurt.

Someday, when I get my nerve, I will confront her. Sort of like road rage but with shopping carts. I am sure it will be a sight. It won’t be easy to break her, but I am tough. I can do it.

You might think this is an overreaction, and when I was younger, it would have been. Not now. Today, we should be in tune with every slight, real or perceived, we face. That is the accepted way to act. I have been slow to learn this expectation but learn it I will.

In order for me to keep up with society and find outrage in every slice of life, I must pay better attention. This silly old lady be damned, she is tearing down my safe space, and I shouldn’t feel that way when I am shopping to feed my family.

I tell you what I am going to do. When I confront her, I am going to record it. I will chronicle the entire event. I don’t know how to use Instagram, but for this I will learn. Imagine all the likes I will get. I could become popular. Maybe even grow this blog. That’s it. I need to be more confrontational, and I can’t think of a better way than to out this mean person. Maybe she will become famous as the checkout Karen. I hear that’s the way to describe people like this. In fact, I am likely doing her a favor.

I am getting into this new way of being outraged and sensitive. It is fun to attack others all in the name of staying safe.

I am going to sleep on it, but maybe tomorrow is the day. I can’t go today. First, I need to Google how to become an instant star at someone else’s expense, and that will take all day.

I feel much better. I have to change only one thought. She can’t be called the checkout Nazi. Today under no circumstances can you ever, ever, ever, call someone a Nazi.