Shady Shandies & Cigarettes
Walked one, ran three miles today on one of Kill Creek Park’s mountain bike trails. Mild temps, overcast skies and great scenery made it an enjoyable jaunt. The humidity made it a sweaty one.
You only get to see some of the paved warm-up leg because if I stop running to pull my smartphone out of its armband and take a photo of the prettier sections, I may never get started back up again.
If you’ve got a tip, or your own system for taking photos on the fly while on runs or the like, I’m all ears. Suggestions involving minimal, low-cost and light equipment are even better.
One of the Best Parts about Working in Miami County, Kan., is the Scenery
It’s a problem easily avoided, but a habit more easily picked up: The customer pays with cash and I count it out as I’m putting it into my cash drawer. That’s all dandy until a customer doesn’t give me the correct amount because once that cash drawer opens, the whole payment is contaminated. There’s no way I’m convincing the customer that the ten dollar bill I pulled out of the drawer is the same money they just retrieved from their wallet. I can almost hear it now; “By God, I gave you a twenty!”
An awkward moment passes. I exchange furtive glances with the manager, who realizes by now that he will eat that ten dollar difference. He shrugs and sips his coffee because there’s nothing to be done now. I had to go and open that drawer before counting the money.
This time, though, I get lucky. God has sent me a minister for a customer. When Mr. Galvan realizes my sincerity, he insists that the manager count the drawer so he can make it right, if it is not already. The drawer comes up $10 short and Mr. Galvan reaches into his wallet for another ten dollar bill. This time I get lucky.
Of course, having not earned the vindication, I can’t enjoy it. I created the situation by not doing my job properly. It’s a problem easily avoided, after all: The customer pays with cash and I count it again, out loud, in front of them, before even thinking about the drawer. But old habits die hard and it’s easy to feel rushed at work.
As I help Mr. Galvan load his newly-rented TV into the backseat of his car, an awkwardness still hangs over us. I ask if there’s anything else I can do for him but he says there isn’t, that the remote’s all he needs. He’ll be streaming YouTube videos to the TV over WiFi anyway, he says. I ask if he’s sure I can’t get him an HDMI cord, just in case. He pauses before reluctantly accepting the gift he didn’t earn and probably won’t enjoy. Before he drives off, we wish each other a good weekend, share a forced handshake and cut our losses.