For this post, I thought I would bring back another edition of supermarket horror stories. This one’s a real classic- an angry middle-aged loner, immense lottery winnings, and two employees almost losing their jobs.
It all started when a slightly graying man, let’s call him Sam, took his usual place in the hopeless lottery line, trying to win enough to support his serious Budweiser and Stouffer’s tv dinner habit. This specific night was a total zoo; the Powerball lottery skyrocketed to over 400 million and every one and their brother was feeling lucky.
Sam and his decade old Reeboks finally made their way to the front of the line where he proceeded to drop a whopping six dollars on the Powerball. One of my favorite co-workers, Mark, was the poor victim chosen to man the lotto line that night.
Good old Sam pulled out a crumpled and sweaty twenty-dollar bill, looking like it had taken a spin through an overused washing machine, and slammed it on the counter. I was in the process of taking over Mark’s register till and asked him a question about it.
You would’ve thought our store just threatened to discontinue selling Stouffer’s because Sam FREAKED out. He started yakking about how Mark had shorted him change and owed him another four dollars.
“If you would stop flirting with your girlfriend over there for a second, maybe you could count my change right,” Sam shouted, the steam already pouring out of his ears.
I, being the very polite and sweet Customer Service employee, walked over to the counter to explain that I was asking a work-related question and indeed not flirting. However, it didn’t matter what came out of my mouth, Sam was furious. And like all dissatisfied customers on the wrong side of 40, he promptly exercised his right to speak to a manager.
Andrea, our outspoken manager with dreadlocks down to her ass and a fierce personality to match, walks over with the look of annoyance already visible on her face.
“These two disrespectful brats deserve to be fired,” Sam exclaimed before Andrea even got within spitting distance.
Like geez buddy, I’ll buy you a damn case of Budweiser just to get you out of here. A whole truck full if you never come back.
He goes on and on about how he’s missing four dollars and that we called him a thief and he would never lie to get money and blah blah blah. Cue the violins. Andrea has full on resting bitch face, clearly contemplating if her salary is worth this daily bullshit and promising herself to never turn into such a senile shopper who argues over four dollars. FOUR FREAKING DOLLARS.
Mark and I count the lottery till, the only way to determine if the four dollars hasn’t been paid out. Sam is huffing and puffing on the other side of the counter. Mark decides to hand him the four dollars and cut our losses at the end of the night just to get him and his Axe body spray cloud out of our store.
The greatest part of this whole fiasco? Once we finally counted the till, it was four dollars short. MEANING we gave Sam the correct change from the jump and he weaseled his way into being four George Washingtons richer.
So, who’s the thief now? Hopefully Sam’s old man pride will keep him out of the supermarket for a while and maybe his criminal ways will lead him to a few banks where he can really hone in on his burglar skills.
Just living life and loving every moment. Just Jordyn.