Why I couldn't patronize my corner grocery

Meir: Why should I pay the price for your unrealistic expectations?

Raizy: I can’t patronize your business if you won’t work with my needs.

Meir

There was a line snaking halfway through the store. Why was there only one checkout open?

I dashed into the back room. Sure enough, two of my workers were deep in conversation while they loaded a cart, ostensibly restocking the shelves.

“Dave — I need you at the checkout,” I said crisply. “Mikey, that’s great, we could do with this out on the shelves pronto. Guys, it’s Thursday, things are hectic, let’s keep the show moving.”

I’m not a tough boss by nature, but I’ve learned to be assertive. The workers exchanged wry glances and headed off. I leaned against a mound of boxes and caught my breath. Then I plunged back into the frenzy.

“Mr. Scharf, do you have cans of crushed pineapple in the back? I don’t see any out.”

“Mr. Scharf, where can I find frozen parsley cubes?”

“I bought this completely by accident, would it be possible to exchange it?”

I plastered on my most patient smile. Customer service is so important, especially for a small grocery competing against the large supermarkets out there. Baruch Hashem, business was good, and the store was five years old and counting — but I work very hard to keep those standards high, and insist on my staff doing the same.

Not that it was easy. Sure enough, a moment later, I heard a familiar young voice behind me.

“Mr. Scharf?”

I turned around. Copper curls, light eyes — one of the Goldens, of course. Cute kid, maybe ten years old. But.

I took a deep, calming breath. “What can I do for you, Moishy?”

His eyes lit up in appreciation that I knew his name.

How could I not? These kids are here all the time, and boy, do they make themselves known.

“My mother asked me to get pickles, the sweet kind, not too sour. And also olives with red pepper stuffed inside. But I can’t reach the back of the shelf. Could you get some down for me?”

“Sure.” I passed him a jar. “The olives come in two brands, they’re different sizes. Do you know which one your mother wants?”

He consulted his list with a little frown. “Um, I don’t know. I think maybe the bigger one? But I think we have a jar that looks like the small one at home, in the fridge. So maybe that’s the right one.” He looked up, anxious. “I don’t really know. Can I call my mother?”

I sighed. “Go to the counter, ask the man behind to pass you the store phone. But try to ask her all your questions at once, okay?”

The kid nodded, wide-eyed, and scurried off. I sighed again. Last time, it had taken a total of four calls to get that list right, and the next day Mrs. Golden had called about returning a few products, strictly against store policy.

Moishy was back a few minutes later, announcing that his mother wanted a big jar of the brand that only came in the smaller size. So that necessitated another phone call, of course. I pointed out the red onions and helped him navigate the freezer section — Mrs. Golden wanted chicken cutlets, the smaller size, and ground meat, but only with her preferred hashgachah.

“Mr. Scharf?” Another customer approached, looking baffled as he scrutinized a list doubtless written by his wife. “Do you know where I can find parsnip?” He lowered his voice. “What is parsnip?”

“Okay, I gotta go,” I told Moishy Golden. “Try to figure out the rest of the list yourself, okay? I need to help other people out now.”

He nodded confidently. “Sure, Mr. Scharf, thanks for helping me! I’ll be fine now.”

But he wouldn’t. I knew what would happen in a few minutes. There’d be just one more question, can-you-reach, can-I-ask, do-you-have...

I shrugged. Some customers were just higher maintenance than others, right?

Still, I wished Mrs. Golden would just come do her shopping herself.