Tag Archives: my work

Snow

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Photo by Zach Vessels on Unsplash

There’s a television in the breakfast room where I work. During training, my coworker told me he keeps it tuned to the morning news. He had it on the station that plays Good Morning America, but on the second day of my training he flipped the channel to the New Mexico CBS affiliate. I never changed the station. I like the CBS Mornings program that comes on after the local news, and I like The Drew Barrymore Show on in the background while I clean up after breakfast

I keep the volume turned up pretty loud so old people (like me) can hear it from across the room. No one has ever complained about the volume, although I did once come back into the breakfast room to find someone had lowered it substantially while I was gone.

The hotel had gotten really busy again. February had been really slow, but in mid March, lots of people were staying at the hotel. I think families were visiting and traveling through because of Spring Break. In any case, I’d been hustling to keep the coffee flowing and the steam table stacked with eggs and sausage.

I’d left the breakfast room to boil eggs. I boil eggs on a hotplate in the dish room which is in a building separate from the hotel. When I returned to the breakfast room, there were maybe half a dozen people eating or preparing their plates.

I was at the sink washing my hands when I heard the volume of the television decreasing. My back was to the TV, so I had to turn around to see what was going on. An older man was standing next to the wall-mounted television, messing with the controls on its side. I figured the sound was too loud for him, and we could all just live with a lower volume until he left. I suppose I could have told him to leave the volume alone, but since one of my goals at work is to engage in as little conflict as possible, I didn’t say anything.

The fellow continued to mess with the controls and the picture disappeared and was replace by the “snow” TV screens show when there is no signal. What was this guy doing?

Noise, commonly known as static, white noise or static noise, in displayed devices, VHS tapes, analog video, radio and television, is a random dot pixel or snow pattern of static displayed when no transmission signal or being weak is obtained by the antenna receiver of television sets, flat screen televisions, radio televisions, smart televisions, CRT television sets, VHS sets and other display devices. The random pixel pattern is superimposed on the picture or the television screen, being visible as a random flicker of “dots”, “wavy vertical lines” or “snow”, is the result of electronic noise and radiated electromagnetic noise accidentally picked up by the antenna like air, cable, TV or CATV. T

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noise_(video)

Can I help you sir? I called from across the room.

I was trying to change the channel, he answered gruffly.

The nerve! The audacity! Didn’t he know this is my breakfast room? I control the TV here. But what could I really say to a guest who took it upon himself to change the channel? I was committed to no conflict, remember.

What came out of my mouth was, Well, all you got now is snow.

Snow is better than what was on before, he retorted.

Unfortunately I was not paying attention to what was on the television before the man became so offended that he had to take matters into his own hands. I wonder what CBS Mornings was showing that was so upsetting to him. The ongoing invasion of Ukraine? The first trial of Capitol rioters? The “Don’t Say Gay” bill in Florida?

I just left the snow on the screen. I decided I had better things to do with my energy than fight an elderly man about television programming. If he didn’t want to see the news, he could look at the peaceful, silent static pattern.

The breakfast room was very, very quiet with no sound coming from the television. The other guests barely spoke. When they did talk, it was in hushed tones. The old man who’d tried to change the channel sat alone, so he talked to no one.

The channel changer stayed in the room for another 10 or maybe 15 minutes. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to finish his meal.

When the elderly man left the breakfast room, I went to the television to get the news back. No matter what buttons I pushed on the TV or its remote control, I couldn’t get the screen to change. We were stuck in the snow! Sometimes the screen showed “analog 3” in the upper left hand corner, but I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know how to fix the problem. This was probably a job for Gary, the nice, calm, quiet man who was working the hotel desk. I had yet to present Gary with a problem he couldn’t solve.

Gary pushed a button on the side of the TV near the buttons the guest had pushed hoping to change the channel. A few different options appeared on the television screen, and Gary navigated through them. Soon we were back to CBS Mornings. Gary saved the day!

I learned later–on a Tuesday morning after finding someone had set the TV to Disney Junior and everyone in the breakfast room was subjected to several hours of shows starring Goofy–that the channel button on the side of the television does not work. Touch that button like the antagonist in this story did, and you’ll end up with nothing but snow. The only way to change the channel is with the remote control, and to use it, you have to walk right up to the TV and point it at the back of the monitor. You now know the secret, but please don’t tell the guests. I want to be the only one who changes the channel.

Is This America? (Blog Post Bonus)

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Since today is American Independence Day, I thought I’d share an American story with you as a blog post bonus.

A couple of months before I started working at the fuel center (aka gas station), the corporation that owns it decided to stop accepting a major credit card. According to a flier given to customers before the major credit card was blackballed, the company I worked for

is charged excessive bank fees when customers use [the major credit card in question] at the checkout. To help keep your grocery price low, we’ve decided not to accept [this particular major credit card].

At the time I worked there, the fuel center accepted three other major credit cards, as well as debit cards, including debit cards with the name of the credit card we didn’t accept on them.  Confused? So were the customers.

The folks who lived in town and got fuel regularly where I worked were slowly growing accustomed to the change, but I worked in a tourist town, and the tourists who stopped in for fuel were in a perpetual state of WTF. Every day at least five visitors ran their card two or three times before the screen on the pump instructed the person pumping fuel to see the cashier. (Of course, when I was at work, the cashier was me.) Nine out of ten of the customers sent to see me were already pissed off. I could see it in their faces and their body language. When I told them the problem was that the store quit accepting their credit card of choice months earlier, they were usually incredulous. Some of them wanted to discuss the situation with me (What card CAN I use? or Can I use my debit card?) but some simply walked away without speaking, looks of anger and/or disgust on their faces.

You must be the only gas station in the country that doesn’t take [the credit card he wanted to use], one visitor spat at me during my last week of work.

Maybe, I said noncommittally to him. I wasn’t going to argue with him because for all I knew, he was right.

Many of the locals who knew they couldn’t use the particular credit card where I worked were not too happy about the situation. One elderly lady gave me an earful. Neither the bulletproof glass between us nor the scratchy intercom deterred her.

I know it’s not your fault, but it is ridiculous you don’t take [the credit card in question]. And it’s a shame they make you say it’s to keep prices low. Every time I go into the supermarket, everything is so expensive! My friends don’t even come here anymore.

I cut in to offer my apologies, but she didn’t want to hear them. She just wanted to rant.

I know it’s not your fault, she repeated, then started back in with her tirade.

I wanted to ask her why she was making me listen to her complaints if she knew the situation was not my fault and I could do nothing to remedy it, but instead I kept my mouth shut and tried to appear sympathetic. I didn’t understand why she continued to spend money where I worked if she thought the prices were too high and she hated the payment options.

The fellow in line behind her must have been tired of listening to her too. He was a big guy, easily over six feet tall, and he probably weighted upwards of 200 pounds. While he didn’t physically push the little old lady away, he used his size to intimidate her, so she stepped off to the side of the drawer I used to collect payment and deliver cigarettes, candy, and change. While the lady was still complaining, the large customer drowned out her voice by demanding, $25 on 6!

The elderly lady looked startled, then scurried away.

On the one hand, I thought the male customer had behaved very rudely.

What’s wrong with you? I wanted to ask him. That woman was old enough to be your mother. Would you want someone to treat your mother that way?

On the other hand, God bless him. If he hadn’t stepped up, that lady might have gone on for another five minutes.

Of course, each pump had a sticker saying we only took the debit version of the card. Of course, most customers don’t read the words on gas pumps.

One afternoon an elderly man approached the kiosk while a manager was in there with me. She happened to be closest to the intercom when the fellow walked up, so she asked how she could help him.

He said the screen on the pump had told him to see the cashier. The manager asked him if he was trying to use the credit card we didn’t accept. He confirmed that he was. The manager told him we’d stopped taking that card several months prior. He was obviously livid.

The customer stomped off, and the manager went to the back of the kiosk, out of sight. I thought she’d left.

Maybe two minutes later, I looked out of the bulletproof glass to see the already angry customer booking it back to the kiosk. When he reached the window, I switched on the intercom and asked how I could help him.

You don’t take [card we didn’t take], right? he asked me.

That’s right, I told him.

Then why does every pump have a sticker saying you take it? he wanted to know. He really thought he had me now.

Oh, sir, I said nicely, those stickers say ‘debit only.”

He spun on his heels and took off without a word.

I thought his head was going to explode, my manager said.

I thought you’d left, I said to her.

I saw him coming back, so I ducked out of sight.

I’m really glad you saw that, I told her. It happens all the time.

A few days later a youngish woman came up to the kiosk. She was holding two red two-gallon gas cans. She seemed a little frantic.

The pump told me to see the cashier, she said to me.

Are you trying to use [the credit card we didn’t take], I asked her. She was.

I’m sorry. We quit taking those in April.

Now I’ve lost my place in line, she screeched. There should be a sign! There should be a sign!

I tried to tell her about the stickers on the pumps, but she didn’t want to hear anything I had to say. She was already crossing the fuel center to negotiate with the woman who had pulled her truck up to the pump the woman with the gas cans had been trying to use.

My favorite response from a frustrated credit card user came one busy afternoon. The line was about five deep when a man stepped up the window and told me the screen on the pump had instructed him to see the cashier.

I asked him if he was using the credit card we didn’t accept. He said he was. I told him we didn’t accept it.

He busted out with, Is this America?

I almost busted out laughing, but managed to keep a straight face. I don’t know if the guy was referencing the free enterprise system or the Rah! Rah! Rah! U!S!A! freedoms certain segments of the population tend to celebrate. All I knew was it didn’t matter what country we were in—I couldn’t process the card he wanted to use.

I took the photo in this post.