*This happened at the beginning of December, just as the holiday craziness was beginning.*
I am tired and patience is running on empty. A woman comes up to pay for a shirt. It’s $15.99, plus tax. $17.67. She’s holding her credit card.
“I had a coupon for 10%...” she trails off. Customers love the trail-off, hoping I will fill in the ending for them.
“OK,” I say, and wait.
“This is a new card,” she explains. “When I got it in the mail, they said I could get 10% off.” There is no such thing. The new cards have a few features, including tracking purchases to reward loyal, big spenders with coupons. But I have never heard of this 10% coupon, and I’m not about to honor a woman’s random claim.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you need the coupon.”
“Yeah, they told me I couldn’t use it down there [at the other register]…” Which is why you came down here, even though an employee already told you no?
“I’m sorry. If you find the coupon and bring it back with the receipt, we can do a price adjustment,” I offer. I know she won’t find the coupon. It doesn’t exist.
I ring up the shirt and swipe her credit card through.
“Can you please sign?” I ask.
She stares. “How much was the shirt?” she demands.
“No. The original price,” she snits.
After the credit card is swiped, a window opens on the screen, waiting for the customer’s signature. I cannot access the list of purchases until the customer signs.
“I can’t see it,” I try to explain. I show her the screen. “I can’t see it until you sign.”
“Well, if I sign, the purchase goes through,” she snits again. This woman is dancing on top of my already-frazzled nerves.
“Fine,” I huff. I cancel the sale, take the shirt out of the bag, and re-ring it.
“You’d think you’d be happy people are shopping in your store.” Snit.
Ring. Original cost: $40.00. Sale price: $15.99. Total: $17.67. So glad we learned all that. I swipe her card again. She signs. I hand her the bag. She throws it back on the counter.
“You know what? Return it.”
“Return it. I don’t like your attitude.”
I stare at this woman. I am not about to fight with her over a $16 shirt. If she wants to indulge in the delusional belief she is taking a stand over the snooty salesgirl, let her. She wants to think her $16 sale makes one iota of difference in this business conglomerate, let her. We don’t want you here anyway. Go back to Walmart.
I tap out the necessary buttons. Return. Scan receipt. Scan shirt. Swipe card. I take devilish pleasure in demanding that she sign again. I staple all the receipts together and hand them to her.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t solve your problem today,” I say, and move onto the next customer.