Walgreen's, Amsterdam Avenue, 1992
I was told by 3 co-workers at Tower Records that cashier #10 at the Walgreen's on Amsterdam Avenue in the 60s regularly threw in an extra $10 bill in change to anyone who made their purchase at her register. By the time I got around to trying it she was gone, but I never had any reason to doubt those co-workers who told such tales.

Art Institute of Chicago, 1990
"FOUR DOLLARS AND THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS. DO YOU HAVE THE CHANGE? DO YOU HAVE THE CHANGE? I'M RUNNING OUT OF CHANGE! FOUR DOLLARS AND THIRTY-SEVEN CENTS DO YOU HAVE THE CHANGE?"

The most intense cashier I've ever seen. Running low on coins, and nearly unable to supply customers with exact change, she left her cash drawer open so all who made purchases or who thought about making purchases heard her plea, then saw the nearly-vacant sinks of change and either took action or turned around. I was unsure whether I should turn back and return my desired product (a Seurat coffee cup) or make the effort on her behalf to look for change.

For months after this incident all I could hear when I went to make a purchase was her voice asking "DO YOU HAVE THE CHANGE?"

Walgreen's > Tampa, Florida > Early 1980s
I was next in line to pay for God-knows-what when an obese woman pushed me aside and tossed her desired products onto the counter. The cashier looked discomfited, but processed the purchase anyway. The moment the obese woman was out the door the cashier pointed at me, touching her pointed finger-nailed finger into my chest, and said "Don't ever let anyone get in front of you in line. If that happens again you stand up."

Not knowing what "you stand up" meant I was confused (I had not been sitting down), and I only understood what she meant many years later. Today I still let obnoxious assholes get in front of me in line, because I don't have the energy or the interest to engage in petty pissing matches with perfect strangers.

As an aside, I have found that this is an especially valuable and time-saving disposition for anyone who spends much time on the Internet.

A Pet Store > Tampa, Florida > Late 1970s
I wanted to buy hamsters, and had one or two questions to ask at the store before deciding how many to get, whether or not to get 1 or 20 hamsters, whether to mix females with males. So my mother drove me over there, and I went in alone. The cashier was talking to a couple of grown-up customers about adult things. Their conversation sounded authoritative and adult-important at first. But it just carried on and on for 15 minutes while I stood there, next in line, waiting to buy something and waiting to ask questions of the very tall man who was probably about the same age then as I am now. The cashier would not stop talking at the two grown-ups. I could see them wanting to leave. I could hear the cashier making stuff up, inventing problems that they might encounter with their dog so that he would have something to talk about for the few more minutes it would take to drive my 10-year-old ass out of the pet store.

I stood in line for about a half-hour. The adults and the cashier's conversation was processing at full throttle. I beat my right fist against the counter, feeling like Charlie Brown when he walks up to the movie theater (All the Peanuts characters were evidently about 2 feet tall) and asks the oracle behind the counter for a ticket to the movie.

I finally left, belching an audible yawp of disgust and impatience and punching my fist one last time into the counter. To this day I can still feel the door opening and closing behind me. I got back into the car. Mother asked what the pet store people had said about my hamster inquiry, and I said that I had been standing there in line that whole time. "The cashier was talking to the adults for that whole time. He was trying to make me leave. I don't care about the hamsters."

"The 'Watts' Line" > Q105 FM > Tampa, Florida > 1983
It was a radio show in which anyone in town could call in and say whatever they wanted. It was not live, so if you called you had to sit and listen to the playback to see if your comments were in there. I listened to the show for weeks while planning my call. When I called, I would say something about how I loved a certain girl.

I tried calling in but it was busy.

One night while listening to Watts Line a call came in from Cindy. She said "I'm a cashier at the blabba-de-blah store on Dale Mabry, and I just wanted to tell Mark Thomas that I'm in love with him."

It was the first in a lifetime of excitement surges with disappointment chasers. I don't know who she was. Immediately I knew her message could not have been intended for me, that there must be other Mark Thomases in this enormous city of Tampa. I went downstairs, opened up a White Pages and found several listings for people with my name.

Once that bit of curiosity was satisfied I looked up dirty words and found a listing for "Someporn Peniston" and another one for "G. Shitt."

Boston Pizza > Broadway > New York City
It was 102 degrees and I stepped into Boston Pizza for 2 slices of double pepperoni and a root beer. I was in line behind an elderly couple, a teenage boy, and two 20-something women. The cashiers were both men. They were sullen and indignant to the elderly couple. They used invective when talking to the teenager. But when the two women before me reached the cash register the two men turned into the happiest, most cheerful sons of bitches you ever saw. They told jokes, they slapped each other on the back, they made vaguely lewd comments, all while the women said absolutely nothing except that they wanted two slices and two Cokes. Both women get free sodas, and the cashiers cleared a table of teenagers ("Go play video games!") so that the women would have a place to sit and eat their meal in peace.

When next it was my turn to order those two slices of double pepperoni and a root beer the cashiers turned into the same sullen, recalcitrant people as before. It was like a comic book, and I could hardly believe it was real until I remembered that men often get shit on like that, it's just a question of the context.

A Furniture Store > Upper East Side > New York City > 1995
Window-shopping at various no-name furniture stores, I saw a fine looking bunk-bed in the window of a store on 2^nd Avenue and 80-something street. A man inside the store got up from behind the cash register and walked outside. He did not appear to be coming to talk to me, his valued customer, but I walked up to him anyway and asked "Do you sell loft-beds?"

He grunted irritation, said "Fuck you" and went back to his seat behind the cash register.