ENTRY 14: ...13's bad luck
My boss has been on vacation the past couple of days, so I'm not sure if he's still mad at my manager for refusing to take back the "toliet phone". I guess it's understandable that the old guy got upset though, simply because he's from back in the good old days when Radio Shack had a much more lenient return policy than they do now. He still recalls the times when if you brought in something you had found in a ditch, that seemed to possibly be electric in some way, you got a full refund. The store that returned it didn't care, because back in those days Radio Shack Headquarters reimbursed any such transaction. People used to buy things, then smash them in the parking lot, and return them for fun. It's not like that anymore.

Since Radio Shack Headquarters started refusing to be so lenient about refunding the individual stores, the individual stores have had to start being tougher on the public. It's a trickle down effect that ends up in you not being able to sell your crap back to us anymore. That's why my manager didn't return the toilet-soaked phone, and that's part of the reason why I had to call the cops last night.

Some gruff looking black guy in a a work shirt, sporting either his or the previous owner's name, purchased a SUPER TWEETER(tm)(c)(R) from one of my coworkers at some point last night. For those of you who don't know what a SUPER TWEETER(tm)(c)(R) is, it's a $29.95 speaker designed to enhance your car's stereo system with brilliant highs. The adjective is to convince you that it works.

This same gruff guy, after leaving the store with the words "With this receipt I can return it no matter what right?" came back to the store and tried to return it. When I asked him why he said, "It uh... didn't work." Not at all? "Uh... nope." He walked off to pick out the next speaker he wanted to rent. When someone does something like this a few things flash through my mind:

1. He bought it and blew it, and decided to come back and get something that his system can handle.
2. He bought the same speaker a while back, it finally gave out, so he bought a new one and returned the old one in the new box. It happens more often than you think.
3. Maybe, just maybe it didn't work when he got it home because someone else did one of the above and we didn't catch them.

When he came back to the counter I told he and the rest of his possy that I couldn't personally return it and that he had to speak to a manager. He got angry.

"What? Man, you're returning this thing."

"I can't. You have to speak to my manager. He'll be in tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand, you're returning this thing."

"You have to talk to a manager sir."

"I DIDN'T SPEAK TO A MANAGER WHEN I BOUGHT IT, HOW COME I HAVE TO SPEAK TO ONE NOW????"

"Because now you're trying to return it sir."

"Look, fine, don't return it. We'll make an even exchange. I'll return this one, and I'll take this one. We're even." He wanted a different model than the one he initially purchased. If the real problem was just that it was already broken when he got it, he'd want the same model, just one that works.

"WHY AIN'T IT????"

"Because you're taking one that works and you're giving me one that doesn't."

"And? What could I have done to it?" He posed the question as though speakers are impregnable.

"Let's see, you could have blown it?"

*phfffssst* (that sound of rushing air through lips that usually proceeds an unintelligent use of "WHATEVA!") "WHATEVA! You best be calling somebody."

"Who? Who you want me to call?"

"You better call someone before I bust your bitch ass."

"How about the cops? Want me to call the cops?"

"Yeeeah. Let's get them on up here."

He and his gang stood back and laughed as the white boy dialed 911. They made comments about how racist I was for not returning the speaker, and stood around for the ten or so minutes it took for a cop to arrive. (They're not too quick in our area. If you want help, call a pizza boy.) I helped customers.

When the cop finally did get to the store the guy ran outside to meet him, and they argued for over thirty minutes before departing. Maybe it was because the guy was so hostile and wanted to "bust my bitch ass." Maybe it was because the cop sounded like Barney Fife and kept coming inside to ask me why I wouldn't return it. He giggled when I told him about the "bitch ass" part. The worst part is that after it was all over with I still had an hour left to work. *sigh* It's such a boring job.

Entry 12: *zzzzzzz*
It turns out Erica didn't run away, or die, or anything afterall! She just spontaneously passed out, and couldn't make it in to work. She didn't bother to call or anything... for two days... but she brought in a nice doctor's note that gave her permission, so that apparently makes it okay. Something I find interesting about her is that she's over twenty, and doesn't have a driver's license, yet that doesn't stop her from owning a car and driving. She said that she's had two cars before this one. I never thought about it before, but I guess the car salesman really doesn't give a damn if you can legally drive or not. A nine year old with a wad of cash could probably drive out of the lot, and the dealer would be all for it. Of course, this whole spontaneous passing out this is supposed to be common for her, so driving's more than likely not all that good of an idea.

A few updates ago I told of a woman who dropped her phone in the toilet, and successfully returned it to my boss. (I think with a little work I could turn that into a rather interesting limerick...) Well, as I mentioned then, my manager (being logical) told the woman he couldn't take back the phone, and my boss undermined his authority. We had another similar case within the past few days: Manager says no, boss takes back the phone. Apparently my boss got really mad at my manager for showing such a logical thought pattern, because all day Friday the guy wouldn't even talk to him. My advice? The next time some drug addict comes in at night with a stolen stereo system worth a few hundred dollars--whether or not it has ever happened, I don't know--he should refund it entirely and tell the guy to have a nice day. Throw a pack of batteries into the deal too, just for spite.

"We had a slew of winners come in the store Saturday," I tell you before wiping the sarcasm off my chin. At one point we had at least seven people in the store that absolutely reeked of illegal substances, to the point where they must have spent the majority of their day puffing away in a small box. I think I heard one mention a trailer, which would explain it. Marijuana odors are kind of common where I work though, especially on the customers looking for prepaid phone minutes. The part time cop that works with me said that he smells more drugs at Radio Shack than any number of patrols combined. I can believe it. After one of them leaves I always have to go get the Baby Powder Scented Lysol Spray(R)(c)(tm), even though it really doesn't get rid of the scent. It just kind of mixes in with that malordous scent of smoked weed, giving a combination stench that I could only identify as "crack baby."

We had a few hicks that I found entertaining--an old father and his daughter, who looked to be in her late twenties. She was rather amazed by a combination VCR/TV that we have sitting on a shelf on one wall, eliciting a, "Gawsh daddy... lookit that thing."

"Whar?" He stared into space.

"Ova der daddy! That box!" She didn't point, but stood facing the shelf full of boxes, otherwise known as televisions.

"Uh... oh yeah. That's pretty." He was still facing the wrong direction.

"Naw daddy, over there. The Vee See Are with a box init! I haven't seen one of dos befer. They got neat stuff here."

"Yepp."

I burst out laughing and had to run to the back. Maybe it wasn't that funny, a hick and her senile father having a conversation about a combination VCR/TV, but I was tired, and the day refused to end. I worked for a good 82 hours that day, not counting the 30 seconds set aside for dinner. Your mind gets warped on days like that.