Lycanthopy, retail-style

Although I work in the middle of a city that prides itself on being a model town, people suddenly morph from model citizen to outright asshole when they step into a restaurant or a store of any kind. I read The Store’s manual on Providing Good Customer Service but they never mentioned this change in behavior.It’s like werewolves, except that it’s a sales associate instead of a moon that causes this change. Instead of long pointy fangs I just get a view of rather shoddy personal dental hygeine. And of course, the mismatched and unsightly outfits don’t morph into fur. That said, the attitude is just the same: petty, angry, and full of spittle.

Today I encountered one such she-wolf. Overly-tanned with sunspots to show off year of sun damage, she is clad in a loose-knit pastel top, tasteless gold jewelry, and black shorts. Her hair is cut short and fluffed/permed in a loose white-woman afro. Yuppy Uniform of the Suburbs. She walks in carrying a bag with The Store’s logo. A return, how nice.

“Hello, welcome to The Store,” says I. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

She walks to the counter and unloads her bag unceremoniously. “Retail Slave, I need to return this.”

“Would you like to take a look around the store first?” I suggest, according to Store Protocol.

A look of irritation passes across her. “NO.”

I process her return. Once I get to the end, I’ll need her credit card in order to return the charges. We have old-ass computer systems. I take a look at the reciept again. “Ma’am, I’ll need your Visa.”

“Well, I don’t have it.” she replies. “It belongs to my daughter.”

“Would you like to get store credit or wait until you can get the card from her?” I say, giving her an option. She looks hard at me again.

“It’s a debit card. Can’t I get cash back?”

Uhh, what the hell?

“I’m afraid not, ma’am.”

She-wolf suddenly rears up. “What do you mean, NO?”

She says “you” as if I am an earthworm or some other creature unworthy of her time. Me saying no to her is offensive from a person of my stature. Come to think of it, a lot of this probably has to do with a Yuppy upbringing and a life-long sense of entitlement. Saying no to a Yuppy is like asking for a fistfight.

“Company policy, ma’am.”

“My daughter’s out of state right now for summer school.”

Did you want me to run right over and pick her up?

“There’s nothing I can do, m’am.”

“What if I use my Store credit card?” she says slyly.

“Sorry ma’am,” I reply. “I can either give you store credit or you can wait until your daughter comes back with her card.”

I’m letting her down gently but she takes no notice. With a sweep of a flabby arm she sweeps the clothes back into the bag.

“Ridiculous,” she shrieks. “Ridiculous.”

She walks away briskly. Or rather, as briskly as she can.

“Have a nice day,” I say to her quivering back.

Now that school is out for the summer, I see a lot of these same she-wolves with their cubs in tow. I wonder what sorts of lessons they’re passing on in interpersonal skills.