Monday, September 17, 2007

You Fucked with the Wrong Marine!

Last Wednesday was HRH's second day of school and to celebrate, I took RC out with me to buy Andy a couple of new pairs of khakis and some new shirts. I'm a party girl from way back.

Anyway, he liked the way the first pair fit (same pants, different colors) and wore them on Thursday. Friday is casual day so he went to work in jeans. This morning as he was putting on the second pair, he noticed that each pant leg had an approximately one inch cut along both seams on the cuff.

This afternoon, I went to exchange them, receipt in hand. The cashier provided me with a green ‘exchange ticket’ and I began looking for a similar pair and browsing. When I approached the cashier station a second time, the store manager was up there and told me that he would not exchange the pants and accused me of purposely altering them.

He stated that 'his cashier' would never have allowed them to leave the store this way - uh-huh???

He questioned me as to why they were damp - they were not, merely cold from being in the car on a cold day.

He said they smelled of laundry detergent - they did not.

He asked why the tags were off - uh, because my husband had planned to wear the pants to work that day.

He asked why I had not noticed the cuts - because I was shopping without my husband and am not in the habit of trying on his clothing.

Dude, you got me, this is what I do for fun. I take a pair of twenty-freakin'-five dollar pants home, wait a few days, wreck them, then bring them back to the store so my kids can run around like wild men while I fight with a retail store manager. That's my idea of a good time. Afterward, I'm going to load the kids up with sugar, then go to a busy restaurant, where I'll return my food.

Eventually, while the kids destroyed a cuff link display (I totally let them) and as three other sets of patrons witnessed our tete-a-tete, he acquiesced and agreed to exchange the pants this one time.

Even now, two hours later, after writing the requisite hate letter to the corporate office and calling my immediate family to vent I'm so filled with righteous indignation, I had to blog...

Picture Jack Nicolson in A Few Good Men (only I'm innocent): I eat breakfast 3 feet from two preschoolers plotting to kill me. So don't think for one second you can come down here, flash a tape measure and make me nervous.


Jen said...

While you're still in a fighting mood can you call Stop and Shop and ask them why in the world they would put a Matchbox Car display in the fucking pasta isle?
That thing spung up on us with no warning, and with no where to run the rest of my shopping experience with angry, raging, car freak boy was a nightmare.

Ahhh, nice to use YOUR blog as a place to vent :).

Danni said...

Chris and Jen-just a quick question. Does your Friday am yoga instructor make house calls? I think that a little "Namaste" might be in order! Or a mixed adult beverage of some sort. Who informed me that 4 o'clock is the new 5??? Start mixing and count me in! :}

slouching mom said...

Oh, that would have me madder than mad. Hell, I'm mad FOR you!

helena said...

dude, you are scary! :) in a good way, ps, I tagged you AGAIN!

suburbancorrespondent said...

Yeah, he did, all right. How rude!

BOSSY said...

Bossy needs her agita medication.

Sue said...

That sad, pathetic little man probably spends all his free time anticipating what customers might do to his precious merchandise. I pity the fool.

And I'm with Danni - cocktail time, yoga time, either/or - count me in!

Andrea said...

Christine, good use of the F-bomb! Small man, big jerk. Hope they are glad that for 20 bucks, they got rid of a really good customer. I think that pretty much defines "penny wise and pound foolish." Idiots.

Hey, and thanks for visiting Mystic soup! Now I'll really have to behave ;-).


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