This is a true story that happened to me today. Like with all my stories, I tell it bluntly without polish because life isn’t always about lip gloss and item returns. Here it goes…
My wife vowed once our son was born she would “never go back to [the store],” and she was right. Her stories were examples of the extremes of pettiness that retail can offer, so much so that when—like today—returns had to be made, the task was put onto me. Which was fine because, like all men, we want to go in the store, get out, buy our items, pay, and leave. (Ladies, key thing to remember about us menfolk.)
I arrived with the card and the items, found myself a nice parking spot, and went inside to the return counter right by the door. I was prepared to get in and out when I saw him… Brad.
(We’ll call him Brad. Middle-aged, white, his son and daughter laying on the dirty floor, arms crossed, head to toe in Nike gear, giving the air of his town’s median income of $140k superiority.)
Brad was up against two women on the other side—Maria and Destiny—Hispanic and Black, most likely from the small city right over the rich town’s border with a median income of $65k. The former was hitting buttons on Destiny’s screen, training her.
“Sir, the item rings at 25% off,” Maria said.
“That is not what the sign says! The sign says it was 50% off on the rack!”
He did not yell. He raised his voice slightly, but it was the tone—the tone you would give a dog or your children.
“I’m sorry, but it rings 25% off. The computer is never wrong,” Maria responded, trying to de-escalate the situation.
“On that rack! All the way over there it says ‘50% off.’ You can go check!”
Maria frustratedly said, “Maybe I will…”
He smiled, crossing his arms, triumphant in his victory. Maria walked away.
I smiled, knowing the trick. It’s the trick of “now I can stall and make him wait,” where you know the computer is not wrong but are trying to show the customer you care. It’s like what I do when a parent screams at me, and I say, “Let me check the calendar” (not always, almost never, but I have done it).
Brad turned to his kids. His daughter was sliding her butt on the floor like a dog does with its butt. His son was looking at the siding of the register, almost seemingly testing to see if he could eat any of the chips.
My task, which should have been two minutes, was extended; and I let my wife know:
“Some ass is complaining about a price…”
“Par for the course,” she responded.
“Don’t do that on the floor! We’re in public!” Brad said.
The daughter and son stood. Maria came back.
“Sir, I checked and that coat was on the other rack at 25% off.”
“But it was on the 50% item rack!” Brad rose his voice, still not yelling but even more patronizing. “It was over there,” Brad said, thrusting his finger forward like he was pointing to a mountain. “Over there!”
I couldn’t help but ponder how embarrassing it is for a grown man to be complaining about a price, but there are a few conditions in the man code book where an argument is allowed… and this isn’t one of them. This isn’t when you were presented with a price of a meal with $2 extra for scallops and charged $8 for four pieces of scallops; this was you trying to reduce the price and save yourself money from women who can’t afford the luxury of the very item you’re arguing for.
How much could the regular price be? A Nike jacket? Kid’s jacket? Let’s say it’s $200 (and we’re pushing it here). So, you want it for a nice $100 price tag (when really it would probably be more like $50).
Maria went into her microphone, called a manager—“Haime”—and the man got his 50% off single jacket. (You would think that if jackets were 50% off, you would buy two, but I’m a cynical smartass.)
Then, taking his children to the side, he scolded them on how to act in public.
I was taken aside by a guy. In two minutes, I was done. I was there for about fifteen minutes total (maybe more), thanks to Brad.
