(A girl in her late teens approaches me holding a t-shirt, turning it over in her hands, apparently searching for defects or blemishes in the material.)
Customer: “Do you have any of these that are new?”
Me: “I’m sorry? They’re all new.”
Customer: “No, this one is used. I want a new one.”
(I take the shirt and inspect it, finding it to be in perfect order.)
Me: “It looks perfectly fine to me. I unpacked these from today’s shipment an hour ago. We have multiples of each size if you’d like me to help you find another one.”
Customer: “I checked them all. They’re all used, see…”
(She snatches the shirt and points at the tag which reads, under the bar code, “USD $14.99″.)
Me: “That’s the currency. United States Dollars.”
Customer, becoming irate: “I can f**king see that. Fifteen dollars for a used shirt is f**king retarded.”
Me: “No. U-S-D. United States Dollars. We don’t sell used clothing.”
Customer: “What are you, a f**king idiot? It says you do, right on the d**n tag.”
Me: “My mistake. Here, I’ll take that and make sure it gets thrown away.”
(I take the shirt and begin walking to the stock room.)
Customer: “Can I just have it? You’re going to throw it out anyway.”
Me: “Sorry, no. There’s an IQ requirement.”
Customer: “A what?”
Me: “It’s an acronym thing. Don’t worry about it.”
Customer: “You’re a f**king a**hole!”
(She storms out.)
