I've decided that every blog I ever write while drinking a Mickey's wide-mouth, I shall topic title with whatever picture puzzle they have under the cap. In this case, it is "Don't Flake Out".
Third best thing about Mickey's. The first being that it comes in a squat little bottle that looks like a green hand grenade. The second being that the shit is totally malt liquor at 5.5% alc./vol.
But I digress. It's story time!
So after a pretty frighteningly good day at work Monday, Tuesday has an unexpected surprise in the style of a big fat dude who tried to grift me for forty bucks.
Guy came into my department asking if he could buy a roll of aluminum foil. Being the electronics department, I am privileged with turning him away if I'm busy or if I want to. I indulged him, though, and said yes. So he puts down his bag of (presumably) already purchased groceries on the counter and pulls out a few bucks in change.
"Oh, can I also get change of two twenties?" he asked me.
"Sure can," I answered back.
So while I'm finishing up the transaction for the 2-something dollar roll of foil, he puts down three tens and two fives. Alright, so far so good.
I give him the receipt and his loose change for the foil. Then I count out the $40 he put on the counter. Confirming the correct count, I put that in the till and pull out two $20 bills and put it on the counter.
At that moment some Chinese dude asked me a question about something I don't even remember anymore; I turned my head to see him.
"Oh, excuse me," said the big man, "you still haven't given me my $40 yet."
Ahhhhhh hell . . . . .
I'll skip through the next bits. I was pretty sure I gave it to him and held that as my stance. He continually assured me I had not. He pulled out his pockets (the first of several instances to prove that indeed, there was no money in his pockets). I continually told him that I can't give him anything until we resolve the dispute. He gets belligerent, gets profane. Begins accosting me for ripping him off, tells me that he'll never shop here again, that I must think very highly of myself "for being a fucking Superstore cashier."
Hell, he even played the race card. "Is it because I'm white?!" Oh sir, if we didn't have this $40 issue, I would have told you to leave right then and there . . . oh man . . .
Got a manager to come over. Man tells him about how I've wasted 20 minutes of his time there, that it took 20 minutes to get a manager to come (all a lie; he was there for no more than 10 minutes, and the manager was only called about two minutes prior). Accuses me of calling him a liar and so on and so on.
Manager tells him that this is an easy fix: all we need to do is count the till and see if there's an extra $40 in there. Man gets sarcastic, figures it took 20 minutes (a lie) to get help, and will take another 20 minutes to count the till while we waste "[his] fucking time." Manager assures him it will be quick. I tell the man that it can feel fishy when a guy who already did shopping comes back to buy a 2 dollar thing after the fact. Man alleges he forgot it, and in doing so is now being ridiculed for it by me (wasn't as funny as he must have thought). In any case, Man no longer has interest in waiting, asks for the name of the store manager. Assistant manager tells him all the information is on the receipt.
Man leaves. We all shake our heads.
Now let's face it, things happened so quickly, it's very possible I didn't give the guy his $40 back. I'm pretty sure I did, but yeah. I'm not opening that for a dude just like that no matter how intimidating he tries to get. Quite literally, even if I was pissing my undies, I still wouldn't open that till. Didn't come to that, though.
So I ask the manager, if there is indeed $40 extra in there, what'll happen.
"You'll get written up," he says. I acknowledge. "You won't get fired or anything, though, not for this." I know, but still. Feels bad if you screw up. If, anyway.
So he takes the till away to get counted in the cash office. So I have a tense 5 or 10 minutes.
Let's think about this now. Again, off the bat, it's fishy to see a guy already with a (presumably) paid for bag of groceries coming back to buy a small two dollar thing, secondly to come to my department of all places (though granted, if it's busy we can be a quick means for people to get out). He gets super angry and sweary really quickly; in general, I'd like to think that normal people don't get pissed off that quickly, even if they had just had a long day. His constant dares to suggest areas where he could have hidden $40 so quickly, as though he were "a fucking magician." Well, I didn't say them out loud, but let's see . . . waistband of your shorts, crack of your ass, under your crotch, under your belly, up your ass . . . yeah, there's plenty of places anyone can hide $40. And then of course, playing the race card of all things.
Who the hell plays the race card on a guy who has absolutely no accent, speaks completely calmly and clearly, and who pretty much presents himself in a manner that is as far removed from "asian" as anything? It's not quite Godwin's Law, but yeah . . . you play that card, sir, I promise, you will lose.
Also, for the record, I dislike Chinese shoppers far, far more than I dislike anyone else. Just sayin'. Officially, I am equally prejudiced against all peoples. Except those mainlander Chi-Coms, they do have a couple pegs higher . . .
. . . ahem . . .
Anyway, manager came back with the cash tray and says to me, "you're lucky this time! You are short $1.25, though..."
In any case, I sure as hell didn't keep an extra $40 that I shouldn't have.
Take that, crazy fat forty-dollar guy. Never shop at my store again, okay?
