The K Mart! Great Gosh! What a seedy place!

I never thought that I would agree with Rosie O'Donnell about anything but on my last trip to K Mart this last week, my first in two years, I couldn't get her off my mind. About three years ago, she and Penny Marshall, of LaVerne and Shirley fame, were gung ho advertisers of K Mart -- lending their name and talents (talents?) to television commercials mostly geared to kids who are the real pullers of their parent's purse strings; they were paid millions of dollars per year. Suddenly they pulled out of the loop, Rosie refusing ten million dollars per year, she said, to advertise for K Mart because they refused to close down their retail gun department. For that I applaud her. I mean really! Refusing that kind of money on principals, in this kind of world, took sheer, unadulterated GUTS!

But Rosie and her guts are not my story -- my recent shopping experience, which I'm sure will be my last with K-Mart, is. First off, the few sales people they have seem frazzled, like they're into work overload mode, which translates into, "Customer, don't bother me with your stupid questions!" The stock in most departments is in disarray, from extreme handling, I'm sure, and not inviting. Then, the most offensive sales pitch of all is the poster images of Martha Stewart, which seem to be placed everywhere in the store; they are reminders of "Big Brother", but in this case, "Big Sister". She is in the housewares department, the garden department, the tools department, the paint and accessories department (or is that Sears?), and etcetera. She is everywhere, looking down from her lofty poster, watching what the customers buy. The intimidating posters do their jobs; they make one feel guilty to pick up, for purchase, a competitor's item. Every time I picked up an article for examination, I found myself looking up to her image for her secret approval or disapproval.

My golden years have taken me into a weird world, I mutter to myself, as I head for the jewelry counter, to buy a cheapo, digital wristwatch, which is why I ventured into the store in the first place. That morning I had snapped the watchband on the cheapo watch I was wearing, which I had bought three years before; buying another throwaway wristwatch is cheaper nowadays than replacing watchbands. As most stores today, K mart displays their stock of wristwatches under swirl cases of protective glass and so I scanned the immediate area for a counter clerk; there was none in sight. With my eyes, I casually browsed the models by twirling the case. I spotted one I liked for about $15.00. Again I scanned the area and still no clerk. Waiting for one to arrive, I took out from my shirt pocket my small notebook and started to jot down my observation notes. I had almost finished the notes on this story when I realized that there was and was not going to be a clerk in attendance for the counter.

I ambled away thinking of a few other items I needed at home. Why not pick them up now, I asked myself. As I passed housewares, heading for the cosmetics department, which was a lengthy walk away, Martha benevolently smiled down at me. I picked up sundry items, you know, high profit stuff, like hairspray for my wife, shaving cream and deodorant for me, and hair shampoo for the shelf in our shower. On my way to the payout counter, I saluted Martha, as I was sure I would never see her and her calculating grin again.

Paying for my merchandise was the least of my problems that morning. The frantic cashier had no pleasant words for me as she more than hurriedly scanned my merchandise, demanded my money and rushed to bag my items. Adopting her uptight attitude, I found myself grabbing for my wallet, almost tearing the edges of my rear trouser pocket. With my wallet in mid-air, I said:
"Calm down. You are not at the end of the world, you know."
  "Sir, I'm only doing my job!"
"Being courteous in actions is part of your job, I would say."
  "Please sir I don't want to argue."
"Then stop rushing me."
  "Sir, I have to do twenty-five rings per minute or I'm in trouble with my store manager! So, please, will you pay now?"
"Then call your store manager over here. I want to speak to him about the stores inhuman demand that you ring up and complete twenty-five sales per minute."
  "Our store manager is not here in the mornings."
With that and a heavy sigh, I paid my bill.

As I left the counter, another cashier called my cashier over to help her with her machine. With my interruptions and the cashier's interruptions, I quickly calculated that the poor soul had lost, for K Mart and Martha, who I'm sure has a piece of K Mart's action, at least five minutes of sales rings equaling one hundred and twenty five rings, an amount staggering to her mind, no doubt. I walked away from K Mart shaking my head and wondering what wrath her store manager would bring down around her head for being behind in her sales rings.

Postscript:
The next day I bought my cheapo, digital watch at Radio Shack for $9.95. Accompanying my paltry purchase was the clerk's smiling personal attention and I didn't have to stare at Martha's image reprimanding my purchase!

EDITOR'S NOTE:
In our effort to help "Chuck" stamp out bad service handed out by retail merchant's, we send his articles, along with your e-mails of complaint, to the main offices of those businesses. So far, none have responded. Contact him on site; http://www.4pointspress.com or direct your email to the Editor.