I want a red T-shirt

Sunday night is the last time and place to be making "demands" of just about anyone at Wal-Mart. Whatever "help" you get is going to be thinking about the long weekend they just spent helping the other 20,000 people just like you spending the other $1 million dollars our store does every weekend.

So when this elderly gentleman rolls up to Customer Service after 10 p.m. on Sunday night and throws a light blue T-shirt on the counter and started yelling at me, I have to say, I wasn't exactly in the best mood. Nevertheless, I did try to help him. He just didn't want my help.

Him: "I want a T-shirt exactly like this (as he's stabbing his huge finger at the blue one) except that it is red, a size large and has a pocket on it." In other words, you want a totally different shirt!
Me: And I, in retrospect, followed a bad plan, and tried to inject some levity into the situation by saying "And I want a winning Lotto ticket!" And then I laughed.
Him: The man gave one of the nastiest looks I've ever had. And then goes "So that's what you have to do to get service around here, win the d*mn lottery?"
Me: "Sir, it was just a joke. Now, where did you find that shirt? Have you looked over in our menswear section. Do you need directions?"
Him: "No, I've been over there with two girls. They can't find any more for me."
Me: "Sir, if they can't find any, then we must be out of the red shirts."
Him: "That's not what I said."
Me: "What exactly are you asking me for then sir?"
Him: "I want you to go on that computer there — and he stabs his finger at my register — and type in "red shirt" and find me a red shirt."
Me: "It doesn't work that way sir."
Him: "Whaddya mean it don't work that way! I know they've got to have perpetual inventory around here. This is a huge company."
Me: "I understand that sir. But inventory is not done by name of product but by UPC number." And I show him the barcode off the shirt he has. And I explain. "This number will tell me how many of this particular shirt we have in stock, how many are in the warehouse and how many have been ordered. But I can't ask the computer for red shirt, pocket shirt or large shirt. That won't tell me anything."
Him: "So you're telling me that you're not going to help me?"

My supervisor, who happened to be at Customer Service the whole time, finally took over.

Supervisor: "Sir, you've had two people looking through menswear for the shirts. They told you we don't have any more. We've told you that we can't just go into the computer and look for a "red shirt with pocket. What else can we do for you? Do you want someone to go back over to menswear with you?

Him: "This is just not the kind of F****** help I expect from F****** Customer Service."

And the throws the shirt he has in his hands into an unattended buggy and stomps out.

I hope he falls and breaks his hip.