I have been working at a big pharmacy retail chain for a few months, and I’ve gotten used to some of the regulars that come in, especially those from the assisted living center for those aged fifty-five and up right next door.
Most of the elderly folks that came through are pretty decent. They like to chat a little and ask questions about deals in the weekly ad but nothing really out of the ordinary. However, there is always the exception. There is one older man, who appears to be in his late sixties, who is always trying to scam us somehow, some way.
One of the managers has grown wise to this old guy’s scams.
Every three to four weeks, this old guy comes in and asks for his brand of cigars. Since about two-thirds of the employees at the store are not yet eighteen, we have to call the store code for management to come up and approve any tobacco sales. As I’m working the register today, I just so happened to be the one that gets the brunt of this old guy’s poor attitude as he is trying to scam free cigars.
The old man approaches the register, and he’s carrying a white plastic bag with something inside it. He comes up to the register, sets the bag on the counter, and pulls out the last receipt he has from us, which is from a week ago.
Old Man: *Demanding* “You need to give me a new pack of cigars because all the cigars in the pack I purchased last week are stale.”
The cigars he purchases come in a pack of twenty, so he’s claiming that out of the last pack of twenty he purchased a week ago, all twenty are stale, and he wants us to swap a new package for his old one.
I can’t do returns or exchanges; they have to be handled by the manager. Plus, it has to do with tobacco and that also falls under the jurisdiction of the manager because I’m only sixteen. I page the manager for a return, and as we wait for a moment:
Old Man: “How can you just sell old, stale cigars. Don’t you people rotate stock? I don’t have time for this. I just want to exchange these and be on my way!”
Me: “Sorry, but the manager has to handle any returns or exchanges. It’ll just be a moment.”
The manager comes around the corner, and I can see the irritation in his eyes as he sees it’s the old man.
Manager: “Good afternoon! What can I assist you with today?”
Old Man: “These cigars I purchased last week: they’re all stale. I want to exchange them for another pack!”
Manager: “Sir. We’ve been over this before and I’m tired of going over it with you. We will not exchange the cigars for you. I’m sorry that sometimes you get a stale cigar in the pack you purchase, but you cannot keep all the stale ones you get from multiple packs you’ve purchased over the past five or six months and then expect us to simply give you twenty new cigars for all the stale ones you’ve sat on.”
Old Man: “I don’t do that! I told you last time when I had a stale pack, they were all stale, and you exchanged them for me. I want to exchange them again.”
Manager: “I told you last time that that was going to be the last time I did that for you. I am not exchanging this for you.”
Old Man: “Look at how stale these cigars are! All the tobacco is just falling out of them, and the paper is crumbling!”
He pulls out one of the cigars and starts tapping it all over the counter, causing tobacco to fall out of the cigar and the paper it’s wrapped in to break off in small pieces.
The old man has now made a big mess on the counter — old, dried tobacco all over as he continues to demonstrate how “stale” the cigars are.
Manager: “That’s it. You’re making a big mess, and I’ve already told you I wasn’t going to exchange any more cigars that you’re keeping and trying to scam a new pack from us. Take your bag of stale cigars and leave.”
Old Man: “You think I want these? They’re all old and stale! Exchange them for new ones!”
Manager: “I’m done. If you don’t leave now, I will contact the cops to escort you out, and on top of it, we will ban you from the property. Take your bag of cigars and go.”
The old man huffs, shoves the bag of cigars toward my manager causing the bag to fall to the floor and spill tobacco all over, and quickly leaves the building.
Manager: “God. I hate when he does this. Every five to six months. He keeps the one or two stale cigars from all the packs he buys, tries to repackage them into the plastic wrap they ship in, and claims the pack was all stale. I’m tired of the store taking a hit, and I’m tired of his crap.”
He takes a deep breath.
Manager: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that on him or for you guys here to see it. Let me go get the broom and dustpan so we can get this all cleaned up.”
I liked working with that manager. He always had our backs with the rude customers.
