July, 2018

Warning: Due to a Shortage of Robots, Workers Here Are Human Beings and May React Unpredictably if Abused

"Thank you for calling Papyrus, this is Shelly, how can I help you?"

Even five feet away and working in the stacks I could hear the caller's voice. I couldn't make out the words—it was like an adult on a Charlie Brown Special, "wah-wah-wah" but LOUD.

Shelly punched frantically at the down volume button, to no avail. She held the phone away from her ear. "I'm sorry the website is giving you a problem. I'd be happy to place that order for you." She grabbed a steno pad. "Mm-hmm…mmm…any particular book?" Wah-wah-wah. "Okay, I'll see what we have for that…" Wah-wah-wah. "Okay… Hardback?" Wah-wah-wah. "Okay. Uh-huh. Uh-huh." Wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-wah-WAH-wah-WAH-wah. "Okay, please give me a sec, I'll be right back."

She put the call on hold, muttering, "Geez, under a hundred decibels would be nice." She scurried hither and yon, running back to the front desk with stacks of books. Good sale. "Okay, I got everything on the list. I have two books on quilling—Susan van Sant, and the other by Margaret Feldman and Lester Quince." Wah-wah-wah. "Both? Sure. Okay, do you want to pick it up or—?" Wah-wah-wah. "Sure, that's fine. Let me get a total…" Her fingers flew over the calculator. "Plus tax…shipping… Okay, the total is $121.04, is that Visa, Mast—" Wah-wah. "Okay, ready when you are." She was poised in front of the computer screen, ready to type.

From the phone I heard beep-beep-beep.

"Sir? Sir! Mr. Huft! I'm sorry, I need you to say the numbers to I can type them in." Wah-wah-wah. She laughed. "That's right. I'm a people, not a machine."

According to theory, anyway.

Credit card dealt with and address confirmed, she grabbed the pile of books and headed off to the online room to box it for shipping, leaving Chanda at the desk to help the customer who was walking up.

"Writer's Guide to Poisons… and Quick and Easy Meals." Chanda looked up at the young man and grinned wickedly. "Big weekend planned?"

He held out a hand for his change. "Maybe…" He shoved the money into his pocket and picked up his books. "Might want to check the 11 o'clock news." He winked and ambled toward the back door.

It's fun when a customer one ups us.

(I hope he was one upping us.)

Chanda shrugged at me expressively. "Who knows… May—"

"Get me your manager!"

The voice from across the room made both of us flinch. Oh, joy. The words that strike dread in your heart, like seeing Christmas lights on a cop car in your rear view mirror—even when you've done nothing wrong. I took a breath and squared my shoulders and walked over to the table marked INCOMING TRADE. Geoff was training our newest (and currently youngest) employee, Beverlee, on evaluating trade credit. The stacks were heavy on Harlequins, and the condition was only fair; 10-15% of cover price at best. "May I help you?"

A customer I'd never seen before turned and gave me a sneering once over twice. "And you are?"

The person who is remembering 'we have the right to refuse service to anyone' means just that. "Cassandra Talmage-Mallard. I'm the owner."

"Well!" she flounced. One fist planted on a hip, she threw her other hand toward the table. "What do you plan to do about this?"

Beverlee was staring down at the table and Geoff's face was carefully blank. "Could you be more specific?"

She snorted. "Can't you read?"

I bit my tongue. "Is this about your trade credit?"

She gave me a rude 'no shit, Sherlock' look. I went around to the other side of the table and glanced at the stacks. Geoff silently slid from his chair and stepped back and I took his place. I only swapped a couple of books, but when I added my figures the difference was a whole seventy cents. Not enough to argue about. "The trade credit is correct."

Another nose huff worthy of a thoroughbred horse. She jabbed a manicured fingernail masquerading as a glittered purple dagger at the slip. "Look!"

I looked. Again. "I'm sorry, what—"

She slammed her hand on the table, making Beverlee jump. "My name is NOT KAREN!"

I slid the paper from under her hand. If the customer is a regular, we have their name and address on a card and keep a running tally of trade credit. It gets paper clipped to the new tally sheet while the customer shops. For one-time-only customers, we give them a playing card to hold while they shop and clip a matching card to their tally sheet so we can match the books with the customer. No name needed.

But in the corner of the sheet was scrawled a small 'Karen.' Oops.

"I want her fired!" 'Karen' demanded.

"I'm very sorry this happened. I'll have a word with—"

"NOW!" She stamped her foot. She actually stamped her foot!

I stood slowly and give her my best Spock eyebrow. "There are labor laws regarding an employee being counseled. It's a matter of privacy," I said coldly. "I will speak with Beverleee regarding this in private—" Beverlee started to slowly rise. "—later."

That just flamed the fire. "I want my books back!"

"Absolutely." I barely got the word out before Geoff got the books back in the box. I've never seen a box packed so quickly. "Thank you for coming," I said automatically.

She snatched her box. "I'll destroy you on Yelp!" she vowed.

I can't wait.

Apparently I missed the build-up, because as she stalked to the back door, several regulars applauded loudly, calling out good-byes—one going so far as to sing, "So long, farewell, auf Wiedersehen, good night."

That helped to break the ice. Several people rushed the table to tell me how awful this 'Karen' had been, how excruciatingly patient Geoff and Beverlee had been—"She made nasty comments that Bev isn't even old enough to be working here, that she doesn't know how to add, she was just horrible!"

I sighed and looked at everyone. "Okay. I can agree with the general assessment. She was a 'Karen.' BUT… This isn't Facebook and you can't write things like that down. Keep it for the break room later on."

I went back to the other side of the table, waving my hand languidly. "Okay, you've been counseled, it doesn't go in your 'permanent file,' yadda, yadda, yadda…"

I passed a cadre of customers who predated my purchase of the store. "I hope she does go on Yelp," one of them chortled evilly. "I'll shred her."

"I get to go second!""

"Dibs third!"

This could be fun.