Volunteer Bagger
We Used to Call Them Boxems
A senior customer once told me while bagging his groceries:
“You know, I used to be a boxem. That’s what a bagger used to be. You have pride in your work, I can tell. It’s not common these days.”
Pride. In bagging groceries. Wild, right?
These weren’t just tossed-in boxes. They were packed like Tetris, not because someone made a rule about it, but because that’s how you did a job well. It looked right. It felt right. And customers remembered. A standard.
Then came baggers. And they kept that same energy. Bag it well. Load the cart. Connect. Say hi. Maybe even walk it out for ‘em. Half the time the customer didn’t even need help — they just wanted a little company. A short walk. A friendly face.
It was about more than the groceries.
It was community. It was service. Customers looked forward to coming back.
And now?
They cringe at the thought.
⏳ Time Does What Time Does
The baggers became courtesy clerks. The courtesy clerks got stretched thin.
One minute they’re sweeping a spill, next they’re grabbing carts, and then they’re expected to smile through checkout with a line of impatient people wondering why nobody bagged their chicken right. It’s not strictly a training issue; a large number of the entry-level workforce doesn’t give a shit. The good workers carry the load for the lazy, until they quit. I’ve seen it happen.
Meanwhile, expectations are higher than ever — and patience is gone.
🙋♂️ I Volunteer As Tribute
Like Katniss.
Except I’m not starving or running from wild dogs.
I’m just waiting for an order and doing what I can to help out. I love to bag groceries. It helps me get better at it, and it is a direct connection and conversation with the customer. It’s about leaving a positive impression before they walk out that door. It’s a simple, “Do you mind if I help you out to your car,” and taking a break for humanity’s sake.
Sometimes people in the store ask me where something is.
Sometimes they just say hi.
A few have even asked if I’d be interested in a job.
And I genuinely love those moments.
Those little connections? They make all this worth it.
I’ve only been shopping for a couple years, but I’ve seen what happens when a store feels like a store again — not just a warehouse with music and carts.
💡 The Truth? Service Has Tanked.
“Customer service shouldn’t just be a department. It should be the entire company.”
— Tony Hsieh, Delivering Happiness
That should be printed on breakroom doors. Or tattooed on forearms.
But let’s be real — service has become transactional.
It’s outsourced, automated, rushed, and undertrained.
And the result?
A few employees end up holding the whole store’s reputation together with a smile and a thank you while their coworkers purposely avoid their duties. Why would a good employee stick around when effort becomes irrelevant?
You know the ones doing the heavy lifting:
The bagger who actually says good morning.
The cashier who remembers someone’s name and plastic or paper preference.
The one who bags groceries like it’s performance art.
They’re rare. But they matter more than any metric the platform or district manager is tracking.
🧠 Hey Grocery Stores: Wake Up
“The humanization of business is what will separate the winners from the losers.”
— Gary Vaynerchuk, The Thank You Economy
That’s not a theory. That’s a warning.
Customers don’t just want fast anymore. They want connection.
They want to feel like they matter — like they’re not just swiping a card and getting rushed out the door.
Used to be, stores created that connection. Now they’re watching it fade while they chase margins and shrink labor.
The Community’s Still Here — You’re Just Not Looking
The need for connection?
Still here.
It’s in line. It’s bagging groceries.
It’s in every customer who asks for help instead of just walking past you.
I see it every time someone thanks me like I just rescued a kitten, when all I did was separate the raw chicken with it’s own bag.
We still care.
We still try.
We still value doing the job well, not fast, not sloppy, not half-thought-through.
🔁 Back to the Start
No customer =
No delivery.
No store.
No app.
No employee.
That’s the whole ecosystem. One domino falls, they all go.
If we want this to work long-term, we have to stop pretending service is optional.
It’s not.
Bring back the pride. Bring back the personal touch.
Bring back the thing that made grocery shopping feel like a human experience.
So yeah, I’ll keep bagging like a boxem.
I’ll keep smiling.
And I’ll keep waiting for someone at corporate to realize they’ve let something priceless slip out the back door.
Community’s still here.
But not forever.
