My patience for such rank stupidity as the following tale has definitely come to a middle.
Me last night: "Item not recognized." High-70s IQ sales help comes over because Pavlovian conditioned reflex to flashing red light. Tries both magic tricks she knows. Item still not recognized. Like the computer told her the first three times.
"I can't sell this. I don't know what the price is."
"Ma'am, I'm gonna go out on a limb and bet that your $19.98 Clearance sticker on an 8-year-old banged up book that went for $24.99 brand new in 2014 is probably a major clue there."
"But it's not coming up in the system. So I have no way to sell this to you. Is there another one?"
"No, it's the only copy you have of a How To book from 8 years ago. I have the money for it. It's the only one you have. I'd like to buy it now. How hard is that?"
"But I have no idea how much to sell it for. Anyone could have put that sticker there. And it's not coming up in the system."
Smoke streaming from both ears, Midwit then puts it over on her counter, like I'm a five year old in a timeout and can't see it there any more.
I had no idea people coming into the store and dropping off strange books with the company's clearance stickers was such a huuuuge problem at their stores until just this moment, but at least I've finally solved the lifelong mystery of what ever became of the kids from kindergarten who ran with scissors and ate the craft paste who didn't end up in Congress. With a little luck, Midwit here could become a congressweasel from NYFC if she's not careful.
Thusly hijacked by stupidity, I complete my remaining purchase and tote my trove to the car. Then come back in to look for someone who can either take their socks off and do the math, or with a higher IQ than Midwit. I'll take either one. Worst case, I'll see if I can't find the same book on Amazon, and cut them out of the sale entirely, and let them eat shit on the deal. (Note to anyone who cares: the 'Zon in fact has it, in stock, and for another $10 less than Wallytardia. But I'd have to wait until next Wednesday for it, plus S and H. So that's a wash.)
But Midwit has already rotated to some other low-IQ task. The new flunkie now on duty is pre-occupied. So I walk by , lift the book, and carry it back to where I found it, only I stash it instead behind the coloring books (which, to be fair, is probably the only area of the store she's got committed to memory), at 10 minutes to closing.
Went back this morning just after they opened, with a whole new crew on duty, found another newer clearance item with the same price, took both items to the registers, scanned the new one, paid the bill, left the other item, and bagged the book I wanted in the first place the night before.
Wally World has now, despite the best efforts of their chattering hired monkeys, successfully sold the ancient item they couldn't unload for 8 years at the exact price to which they marked it down, and I have the exact item I was prepared to pay for the night before, banged up and cover-worn, but still worth the price to me at a 20% discount.
And nobody there among the high-functioning retards has to flap their feathers and burn out their brain transmissions by grinding gears in their tiny brains to figure out how to sell a book to a guy standing there with cash in his hand to buy it, because the all-powerful CPU has forgotten what it is nearly a decade later, and they haven't been clued in to the use of a signal flare, and calling the undoubtedly 80-IQ assistant manager over to help them.
Most stores have managers on duty to make exactly such high-level corporate financial decisions, but what the hell do I know, since I've only been buying stuff at stores since eleven or twelve presidents ago, and I seem to recall the clerks back then used this arcane art known as looking at the goddamned price sticker, typing that into the cash register, ringing it up, and taking your money, pretty much the same way that's been done for over 143 years, ever since James Ritty invented the sonofabitch in 1879, and nobody had a stroke over that, including an entire century of history when no computer had anyfuckingthing to do with the entire retail process whatsoever, and even the most simple-minded idiots could accomplish the task of ringing up a sale without taking off their shoes or spraining a synapse. I could be mistaken, but that's my best recollection of how it's worked, oh, since EVER.
If the corporate twatwaffles who run that ship of fools has a problem with that, they probably shouldn't have forced me to be their employee to ring up my own shit, because they're too stupid and cheap to hire a couple of more minimum wage checkout clerks every day and shift.
Monkeyfucking assholes hiring monkeyfucking assholes is no way to run a business, even if they're getting good-guy points for hiring the high-functioning retarded kids and rehabbing the brain-fried stoners from the '70s and '80s, or something, and paying them 16 bucks an hour.
One has to but wonder what sort of productive work such an employee can actually accomplish, and dollars to donuts the only reason the pallets of goods dropped around the store just prior to closing get broken down each morning before they open is that they must hide food pellets among the goods to keep employee interest in clearing those boxes up to par.
Half of me expected her to turn to the side and reveal that sentient apes in the back office had done brain surgery on her or something.
WallyWorld had a minor kerfluffle a few years back when they pulled a certain mug. I don't think they actually pulled it. It's just a hunch, but I think they just saved them to give out internally to store employees across the chain for this sort of accomplishment.