Blockbuster Rant - Day 1

The summer is ending and so ends my time as a slave to the juggernaut of movie rentals, Blockbuster. I’ve worked there now for about three months, just basking in the world of just above minimum wage and people with absolutely no taste in movies. Though I don’t want to sound arrogant, like I’ve been slummin’ it with the uncultured folk, it just comes out that way because, well… nevermind, it’s true.
And as I have just completed my final shift as a “Customer Service Representative,” I figured I would share a little about what makes this such a miserable experience. I hope you can see all the comedy that I saw on a daily basis.
Oh, and because there is so much to talk about, I’ll have to stretch it out over a few days. Enjoy.

Basics of My Job

My illustrious title at Blockbuster is “Customer Service Representative.” Which means that first and foremost my job is to make the customer feel all warm and snuggly. The customer is always right, right? Yeah right.

The customer is an idiot. If you saw half the stuff that I see, you’d want to high five me right now, trust me. Try fifty people requesting Whole Ten Yards when
a) we blatantly don’t have any in stock, as those shelves are empty
b) they have already asked at least once since they first walked in the store
and c) this is one of the worst sequels, and dare I say movies ever put on film.
All of this I will cover later, in a segment entitled “The ‘Do You Have This’ People.”

Anything the customer needs, I’m supposed to get. Or at least look for. Anything that can help the customer “Make it a Blockbuster night.” Within limits.

And when I’m not wrapping a warm and welcoming blanket around the tired, poor, and huddled masses of people yearning to rent a movie... I work the register.

Most of the time I dish out the most express checkout you’ll ever see. I like to call it “The Leins Special.”

The Leins Special:
This is basically the get in, get out, no bullshit treatment that everyone wishes they could have everywhere they go. You hand me the movies, I check ‘em out. You hand me the money, I hand you the movies. And you’re out the door. There’s no “Did you find everything ok?” or “Nice weather we’re having” coming from this direction. You unwillingly consented to a nonverbal agreement to have a nonverbal checkout, people.
You don’t really want me to chit chat with you. And I REALLY don’t want to small talk with you. So let’s keep this simple and we’ll both be happy.
Meanwhile, I whip that hand scanner out like I’m drawing a six shooter and pull the trigger as bar codes fly by with the other hand. That little red line flashes out, catching electronic information with each satisfying beep. I’m almost tempted to blow on the end of it when I’m done.
And I slide the magnetic locks from the cases so smoothly, it’s almost graceful. I have the weight of the little yellow locks down so well that I can launch one of them two registers over and land it in the container with all the others. Safe. Secure. The way a little lock should be.
And as they’re handing me the money, my fingers are flashing through the keystrokes on the register.
You see, it’s all about efficiency. And no chatter. Mr. T didn’t tolerate jibber-jabber, and neither do I.
That’s the “Leins Special.”

Which is why when people slow down the process, I’m not happy.

Here’s a tip, just to keep in mind: have your Blockbuster card ready.
That’s all. Nothing special or super secret, just have it ready.
I’m not even asking you to have it on a utility belt or even have it out and in hand like a baton in a relay race, just know where it is, at the very least.
Because what takes the most time at the register is that guy waiting for you to hand him the card. You see, the blockbuster slave can’t do a damn thing until that card is scanned or he finds your name among the thousands and thousands in the database.

And what’s worse is that some people think it’s funny that their extensive rummage through their purse or fanny pack is taking an excruciatingly long time. It’s like a bad magic trick. There’s shuffling involved and a lot of distracting chatter. And sometimes a rabbit. And finally, in the end they pull it out and say, “Is this your card?”

Though the urge to strangle rises when they finally locate that card and it is, in fact, the wrong card. When they hand me a Randall’s card from their bag after three minutes of digging, I hope my body language screams loud enough for them to hear. Of course, on the outside I just chuckle along with them (at them) as I hand them back their card and a little piece of my dignity.

You want to know why you had to wait in line when you tried to come up to the register? Because the last six people thought that little trick was a knee-slapping hoot.
It wasn’t. And it isn’t. And it never will be.

The rest of the mystery lies in the credit card machine. I never thought a little black box that you swipe your card through could be so difficult to master, but alas, it is quite the enigma for the general public. Most of the time I have to hold their hand and walk them through the two steps of pressing “Yes” to agree to the charges and then swiping the card. I do this all with reassuring words and pats to make them feel like they’re special. Then I give them a lollipop.
I just say, “Press the green button, then swipe your card.” About 75% of the people search frantically for the green button if I don’t point it out in my own condescending manner.
Though I must say, it’s pretty hard, what with the other buttons being various shades of grey. It’s like an Easter egg hunt for these grown adults, because they giggle like schoolchildren when they finally find that green button. Congratulations, you have now mastered the credit card box. Chalk one up for the humans in the battle against machines.


Look for more rants throughout the week!