by Sharon Ruth Hill

Created on: January 02, 2011

I feel the penetrating stares in anticipation of the greetings from the cashiers who are standing at attention by their registers near the entrance of the grocery store.

“Hi, how are you?” and on the opposite bay of registers “Can I help you find anything?”

But I don’t require their predictable salutations, I just want to get what I need and then get out of the store. For me, this isn’t a social event or a panacea to a perception that I am lonely and that I visit the grocery store to fulfill a desire to connect with other people. I know my solitude is not to be, though, because in every aisle and in every department I will face the multitudes of associates.

I mean no disrespect toward these individuals who tow a hard line while bowing to every whim and expectation of an increasingly irregular John Q Public. Theirs is a life of screaming children and pensive parents uncertain how to discipline. I also realize they must succumb to the dictates of the store’s customer service policy and expectations. After all, their delivery of pleasantries is measured and gauged by the strength of gross sales. What a heavy load to bear for the hourly wage-they earn every penny and then some.

But it’s gotten to the point where I feel anxious entering the grocery store, department store, or drug store. I walk briskly and intently, as though I am on a mission for Homeland Security, and I stare straight ahead because I fear any eye contact. I don’t want to open the door to so very many invitations to assist me. I feel that if I should need that much help, perhaps I shouldn’t be out alone anyway.

I can read the overhead directories and the product signs and use this information to find the products I need. I am proud of this ability so please don’t try to take this from me.

I can easily name the stores that are the worst offenders with customer service overkill, but I don’t need to. You’ve had the same experiences I have and you too cringe as you make your way down the aisles and feel desperate to think and decide without the continual interruption of “Are you finding everything alright?” You want to scream out “Please, just stop! I’m trying to think here. Can’t you see there are too many choices for instant coffee and I need some personal time?”

And so I labor on-trying to decipher new techniques for avoiding the throng of associates who stand ready to defeat my intentions for retail solace.

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