I Got Robbed at Kmart
Odd Job #1: Electronics Cashier
Howdy folks and welcome to installment #1 of Odd Jobs, this one taking place at my first “real job” when I worked at Kmart as an electronics cashier in the late 90s. And yes, I did get robbed. Read on that below. One thing about working odd jobs is that it gives you perspective. You can learn a lot on an odd job. I’ve gotten to meet so many wonderful and colorful characters that I could fill volumes.
Off to work… Kyle
I Got Robbed at Kmart
It was a normal evening in the electronics department at the Kmart in West Columbia, South Carolina. On most weekday afternoons, I would finish up at school and then drive my air condition-less Honda Civic to the Kmart parking lot, walk in through the sliding doors toward the break room where I’d punch the clock and begin my shift.
Just inside the sliding glass doors, I’d pass the sad blue light that looked like it was stolen off a fake cop car. Somehow this sad blue siren at Kmart, the home of blue light special, was never on. Music and voices hovered overhead.
“Blue light special on aisle 9,” crackled the voice of a store manager occasionally interrupting the Muzak long enough to lure some shoppers over to a sale in the home goods or clothing section.
After clocking in each shift, I’d don my red vest and head towards my little oasis in the far left corner of the aging department store.
A normal evening in the electronics department was pretty chill. I’d help customers locate the photos they had sent off to be developed. Some nights I’d stock the shelves with CDs and VHS tapes at the end of the shift so they would be available for their release day. Sometimes I would sell those big Aiwa stereos with 5-CD changers and blinking digital displays. Selling those also came with a small commission, but that didn’t do much to incentivize me because I’m terrible at sales. I can always find more reasons not to buy something.
Still I tried.
The best selling feature on these Aiwa systems was called Super T-Bass. If you were looking for those low 90s frequencies to blast your Tribe Called Quest album, you were definitely going to want that Super T-Bass. One customer, presumably a local fisherman, asked with straight face “What’s T-Bass?”—as in largemouth bass.
“Blue light special in sporting goods,” the manager’s voice gently crackled in my ear.
“That’s TEE B—AAAY—SS, sir,” I politely replied biting my lip, trying not to laugh.
Other evenings, the best evenings, I’d spend my time without customers. In this strange solitude beneath florescent lights I would examine the CD stacks trying to learn about bands. Green Day. Weezer. Nada Surf. Cake. Counting Crows. Tom Petty. Blink-182. Red Hot Chili Peppers. It was a very heavy diet of big label alternative in those days. Spoiler alert: I spent hours looking at that one Dave Matthews Band album with the hidden picture of a hand giving the peace sign on it.
When customer traffic was slow, I’d spend my time studying the album covers of all these mainstream 90s albums that I’d yet to listen to wondering what they sounded like.
My main job in electronics, other than selling things that require electric current to be of any use, was to make sure those items were purchased in the electronics department at my cash register, thus less likely to be stolen in another area of the store.
Toward the end of each shift, the manager’s intercom interruptions steadily increased.
“Attention Kmart shoppers… Kmart will be closing in 15 minutes.”
“Attention Kmart shoppers… Kmart will be closing in 10 minutes. Please make your final purchases.”
“Attention Kmart shoppers… Would you please leave? I’m trying to get home.”
Once the shoppers had exited the premises, I would count my register, adding up all the bills and change. They would print out any credit card purchases on receipt paper, but this was usually a fraction of the money in the register—cash still being king.
I would count the money multiple times and compare it to the print out of the purchases. The goal was to be within a few cents of the actual purchases that day. Sometimes I came up a few cents short (sorry Kmart); other times I came a few cents over (sorry shoppers).
Once the money was counted and organized I’d place the money in a bank bag and carry it to the office where it would be checked in and others would count to confirm you have the right amount of money. I would then clock out and head home walking past that sad blue light on the way out the door, breathing the fresh air of being off work.
All said, I was pretty good at this job.
Until I wasn’t.
One day near the beginning of my shift a customer came up to my register. With my trusting teenage eyes I asked him, “How can I help you sir?”
“I need change for this 100 dollar bill, could you help me with that?”
“Well, I guess I could. Would you like five 20s?”
He nodded in agreement.
I turned a key and pressed the right button to open the cash register. One. Two. Three. Four. Five 20s.
“Here you go, sir. Have a good…”
“Well…” he quickly interrupted. “I actually wanted a mix of 20s, 10s, 5s, and 1s. Can you switch these out?” he asked handing back two 20s.
I had no idea I was now messing with a magician, but my right hand didn’t know what his left hand was doing. I was now the rabbit in his hat. And he was about to pull this rabbit out along with a big handful of cash.
As I proceed to hand him back the change of 1s, 5s, and 10s, he “reminds me” that he handed me back two 20s. “Could you just hand me those 20s?” he said.
I reached in the register and handed him back two 20s.
If you are following the math here, the man who started with a 100 dollar bill now has 140 dollars.
Not only did I not give him the correct change that first round, I didn’t give him the correct change the second or third round either! After a few more rounds, he said that the change I gave him was now to his liking and then exited the department. I shrugged and then continued through the rest of my shift like every other evening waiting for the manager to interrupt the Muzak:
“Attention Kmart shoppers… Kmart is closed.”
By the time I counted my register that night I came up over 200 dollars short. I counted again and again. Something was not right.
Only then—hours later—did I realize what had went down.
I got robbed at Kmart.
Panic and shame flooded through my body like a rushing river. How stupid could I be? Would they really believe I was tricked out of $200? How did I not see that coming? I felt sick and used. And the only thing I could do was confess. I wrote a letter explaining what had happened and placed it in the bank bag with the remaining cash. I turned the bag in and then promptly headed home. The counters would be in for a surprise, but I’d be home by the time they counted the money from my register.
The next evening at the beginning of my shift I was summoned to the store manager’s office. He took it pretty easy on me considering the circumstances. My body radiated fear, but I told the truth: I was tricked and it won’t happen again. I may have been robbed, but I did somehow get to keep my job.
Thou shalt not steal. Yes, I knew that commandment.
But on that odd night at that odd job at that odd Kmart with the sad blue light I learned another one:
Thou shalt not be swindled.