On Black Friday It Will Smell Like The Black Death

I work in a clothing chain and it is Black Friday, so it is heaving. A customer comes out of the dressing room. The wait to use the dressing room is about forty minutes long.

Customer: “The floor in your dressing room smells like feet.”

Me: “Sorry, sir. It’s very busy today, and—”

Customer: “I want a discount on my jeans because of it.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

Customer: “I don’t want this, then.”

The customer stares at me as he sloooooowly places the super-discounted pair of jeans into the returns tray. He is daring me to stop him and save myself the distress of losing such a valuable sale.

I do nothing.

Customer: “You think I’m bluffing!”

Me: “No, sir. I think you’ve waited forty minutes to try on a pair of $25 jeans on Black Friday and you still want to get it cheaper.”

He harrumphed loudly and stormed off, tossing the jeans on the floor.

It was a long day.