Well, Tuesday was a right mess. No cashiers, although we had ten freaking door greeters. Who makes the schedule out when I'm not there obviously has NO clue what they're doing.
At any rate, there is only one person at customer service, three registers open and the place is a madhouse. The line at customer service is like eight people long and this man starts waving a bag from the deli in my face.
"I want to talk to the manager."
Now, this usually means they think they want something, but they don't know what they won't, and they're too stupid to just ask if someone can help them with their "problem." Asking for a "manager" at a big-box retailer just means you're going to have to wait. If you see someone who looks like they're in charge, tell them what the problem is. More than likely, they have the authority to help you.
So this guy says that his chicken tenders that he got last night were hard and not tender. OK. I actually believe him, because I stay away from the things myself. The girls in the deli just can't cook chicken. Moreover, it is not the best quality chicken to begin with. I tell him to go up to Customer Service and he'll get his money back, or he can get some more tenders and get the credit for those. Either way, he has a receipt, AND the tenders, so I've got no problem, at least not yet.
Ten minutes later, and after some screeching old hen grabs my arm and shrieks "IS THIS ALL THE CASHIERS YOU'VE GOT?" Well, yes it is. Do you think we do this specifically to torture you?
Meanwhile, I have to take something up to customer service when the man with the chicken hollers at me. "Do I have to stand in this line?"
"I'm sorry sir, but this is the only place you can get your money back." Then, he gets obnoxious and goes completely beyond the pale.
HE proceeds to start raving. "I've got somewhere to be in 40 minutes and it ain't f****** here. I just want my money back on this d*** hard f****** chicken." Then, he takes the bag of chicken AND THROWS IT DOWN ON THE FLOOR, as if to demonstrate just how hard the tenders were.
I just look at him, sort of, "are you insane?" and step back, then go "I'm sorry sir. "This is the only place to get money back. If you'd like to leave and come back, I'd be happy to sign your receipt and write a note. I do regret the wait." And I walked off.
Now, we can do a return at any register. I had the key right on my arm. And any girl, even the one at the self-pay terminal had enough cash to do it. But to make a scene, throw chicken on the floor and curse at me? Oh Hell NO.
You can wait in that line until there is snow in Hell and Satan is an Olympic luge champion before I will do you a favor after that mess. So that was my Tuesday.