Get Angry. The moment you get mad you definitely won’t be helped: Sorry, it’s not in stock (nope, not in the back either), no you can’t return that, I’ll get that complaint filed right away (to the garbage). Nobody in this country is paid enough to be treated by shit by some other wage-slave because a manager (the person you should be bitching at) forgot to order the only brand of wheat bread you’ll touch to your lips.
My name isn’t where’s the bathroom, or what isle’s cheese on. My, like many companies, make us all where name tags so all you creeps can feel buddy-buddy while you buy whatever it is you fill your gullets with, so the least you can do is glance at the piece of plastic on my chest, and use my name. It’s better than assuming I’ll assume you must be talking to me instead of any of the other 300 employees who might be standing around.
Don’t insinuate I’m lying to you. The entire job revolves around sales, I’m not an anti-sales clerk, my job isn’t to convince you to shop somewhere else, yet so many of you seem to think I have shit stashed away in back and am just too lazy to bring it to you, when my only other job besides trying to talk to you is bringing all that shit from the back out, taking it out of its box or crate, and putting it on the shelf, so you can turn it into shit over the next 24 hours.