Facing Fears: Cash Registers

In June of 2000 I graduated from high school and began working three jobs to continue stock-piling my money for college. The first was a full-time day job at Trolley Square in downtown Richmond as a glorified receptionist for the high rise apartment building. That was my 8 to 5. Then, I was able to snag a 6p-11p  part time job at Hollywood Video. The store manager was in my ward and put in a good word with the regional manager so I could get the job (really-- who needs a good word to work at a video store?  Apparently I did.) On Saturdays I leased apartments on the west side of Richmond in the suburbs, filling in for the full-time leasing agents who would much rather do something else with their weekends. It was a busy life.

One evening as I was putting away videos while working job #2, my store manager Ryan called me to the back office. I sat down, curious and a little nervous about what he was going to say. Bosses don't usually take you to their office for a good reason, this much I knew.  "Michelle, your till was off $20 last night." I was shocked, and apologized profusely for my error. "I had no idea," I stumbled, "I will do better to make correct change. I really thought that I've been really careful.... I'm so, so sorry."  A few nights later, I was called to the back office again. My till had been off again. And the amount was again $20 exactly. This time the manager told me I  suspended from the register until further notice, it was company policy. I was mortified. I felt awful. I had reached a new low. I was so inept I couldn't even stand behind the register. After all, I really didn't have any prior retail or register experience beyond working at the snack bar at my pool at the ripe age of 13. When I was told of the registers being off, I assumed without question I must have been the one in the wrong...both times.... two random evenings. $20 exactly both times.

It wasn't until a few days later I thought of something worse: what if my boss suspected I stole the money, and not just mishandled it and gave out wrong change? I was too inexperienced and loathed confrontation much too much to ever address these thoughts with him. But I suspected I must be thought of as a thief. Except I was never fired. Just wasn't allowed at the registers anymore with the exception of an occasional busy night when they really needed me. So I spent my evenings restocking the candy and putting movies back on the shelves. The evenings were some long nights in the movie store.

Looking back on it at the end of the summer it was easy to connect the dots. I soon fell to the likely assumption that one of the assistant managers who closed and counted the register at the end of the night had stolen the money. It made sense as I was an easy target being the new girl. The assistant manager I suspected was a thirty-something single woman who continuously shared her plans of grandeur to move to Alaska with her long-distance boyfriend.  She was the one who had closed the store, 1 hour after I left both evenings my till was off.  But before the summer's end,  I spent my nights there with my self-confidence in the gutter. Registers and handling money in any form terrified me. I was relieved beyond description when the end of the summer came and I was off to college. That meant I no longer had to work in a place where I felt inept and feared others thought I was a thief.  When I  began looking for a job on campus my second semester, I specifically avoided any money handling jobs. I was hired to work at the campus pastry and ice cream shoppe, Sugar n Spice, and never once had to work at the register. I scooped ice cream, made milk shakes, loaded donuts on trays, and handed out brownies. Since then I have never gone near the front side of a cash register and have been completely content with it.

When my little sister told me she was applying for a job at the bank while she was in college, I warned her of the scariness of registers. I didn't want to scare her, but just to let her know apparently it's either really easy for your register to be off... or there are droves of dishonest people around when it came to money....or that I was just as incompetent as they come.  I thought she was the bravest person in the world desiring to work around all that money. I knew that if you were even a cent off the registers at banks you were put on probation.  She passed the register tests with flying colors thought, and never had a problem. She was my hero then, and she continues to be my hero today.

Fast forward 11 years---  The school Book Fair was coming up and needed volunteers. I kept putting off signing up (don't laugh) to help because it meant I'd likely have to work at a register.  Seriously. Those things still caused me great anxiety. As the fair drew closer, the woman in charge of the fair was desperate for help so I relented, hoping I could be the person who "worked the floor" rather than the registers.

The night before I laid in bed awake and finally said aloud, "I hope they don't put me on the registers tomorrow at the book fair,"  Kyle was confused, so I told him my story. When I finished he chuckled and kissed my forehead. Of course I knew how childish it sounded, but it still didn't deny the fact that I'd rather fold 73 loads of laundry than complete a few transactions at a cash register.  And I hate folding laundry.

I showed up at the library while the librarian was explaining to another volunteer how to work the register.  I thought to myself--  maybe they just want one person on the registers and two women on the floor. Nope. Two volunteers were needed at the registers. And I became one of those two people. My heart started pounding and my palms got sweaty. I prayed that no one would come in and buy books. I know that wouldn't benefit the school, but that's how terrified I was.

I sat behind the counter and waited. For about 5 minutes it was blissfully quiet and slow. I decided to get up and straighten some books.  I was beginning to think how lovely it would be if I just got to do that. And then they came. By the dozens. Back to the register I went and took several deep breaths. I was painfully slow for the first 3 transactions and then it got to be a bit more smooth. I did enter one item incorrectly and wasn't sure how to void the transaction. So I  took a pen and wrote next to it on the register tape, "This transaction is wrong" then drew an arrow and wrote " this transaction is correct."  At the end of my shift I learned that the register tape could just be trashed. Oh. All that worry for nothing!

At the end of the day I breathed a sigh of relief and called my big sister to tell her I had faced my fears. Confused, I told her about the Hollywood Video drama, and then told her today I used a register, handled money and everything!

I know it was silly of me to have avoided registers for so long, but you can't deny the power of a life-experience to shape how you feel about something, no matter how long ago it happened or how childish or unfounded the reasons may seem.  To be completely honest, even though I faced this fear,  the only kind of register I'd truly feel comfortable working with is still this one:

Long live the Fisher Price Model. I loved this thing growing up. I think Ruby just may need one, too.