My shift at Pet’s Paradise usually felt pretty alright. Most days, it was just stocking shelves with bags of kibble, helping folks find the right chew toy, or maybe ringing up a new fish tank. I don’t mind it. It’s better than sitting around at home, and I get to be around all sorts of animals, which is neat. We get a lot of cats and dogs coming in, some in carriers, some on leashes, all looking excited about something. I like seeing them. But today, it was turning into one of those days that makes you wish you’d just stayed in bed.
It was late afternoon, and the store was getting a bit busy. A few people were clustered near the register, waiting for their turn, and I was trying to ring up a lady with a big bag of birdseed and some new toys. That’s when she came up. She had a cat carrier with a fluffy orange cat inside, poking its head out a little hole, looking kind of confused. In her other hand, she was clutching a mostly empty bag of cheap cat food. Not even one of our brands, I could tell by the plain white bag and the really bright orange lettering. I always felt a weird sour taste in my mouth when I saw that shade of orange, like I’d just bitten into a really unripe kumquat. It’s an odd thing about me, some colors just make me taste things. Anyway, she pushed past the other customers and set the empty bag and carrier right on my counter, a big sigh coming out of her.
I finished with the birdseed lady, who gave me a sympathetic look before she left. Then I turned to this new customer. She was a woman, maybe in her late 40s, with a permanent frown line between her eyebrows. She looked at me like I owed her something already.
She started right in. She said her cat, Muffin, was very sick because of our cat food. She told me Muffin had been throwing up all morning, and it was all our fault. She pointed to the mostly empty bag, which, again, was not a brand we even carried. I tried to explain that this particular brand wasn’t sold here, but she just waved her hand like she was swatting a fly.
She then said she wanted a new bag of cat food, but not just any bag. She said she wanted the expensive, grain-free salmon kind, the one in the fancy purple bag that costs almost eighty bucks. And she wanted it for free, of course. She said it was only fair since we had made Muffin so sick. I tried to stay calm. I explained to her that we don’t sell that cheap orange-bagged food, so it couldn’t have come from us. I also asked if she had a receipt for anything she might have bought here, even if it was different food, just so I could try to help her figure out what happened.
She scoffed. She told me she didn’t keep receipts, because she was a loyal customer and we should just know her. She said she bought all her cat food here and that it was ridiculous I was asking for proof. I really tried to make her understand. I said, “Ma’am, for us to even look at a return or an exchange, especially for opened food, we really need a receipt. And it also needs to be a brand we actually sell.” I pointed to the bright orange bag again, feeling that sour taste in my mouth intensify. “This one isn’t ours.”
Her face got redder. She leaned over the counter a bit and lowered her voice, but not really, so everyone in line could still hear. She said I was being difficult and unhelpful. She told me she was going to write a very bad review about me and that I was causing her precious Muffin more suffering. The cat in the carrier just blinked slowly. I wasn’t quite sure what to do next because she just kept talking over me every time I tried to explain our policy again. It was like she just couldn’t grasp what a receipt was for, or how stores work. She just focused on wanting the expensive purple-bagged food for free.
Then, from a few aisles over, I heard it. A high-pitched, whiny sound, followed by a loud, ripping noise. It was some kid playing with a toy that had a huge strip of Velcro. Riiiiip! My teeth instantly felt like they were vibrating. I really, really hate the sound of Velcro. It always makes me jump, and it really gets under my skin. It sounded like the kid was doing it over and over, just for fun. Riiiiip! Riiiiip! It made it hard to focus on the woman in front of me.
The woman, however, was not bothered by the Velcro. She was still going on about Muffin. She said, “I am a customer! My cat is starving because of your terrible food! I am taking that bag right now!” She pointed at a display of the expensive salmon food. She actually reached over and grabbed a large bag of it, pulling it towards her side of the counter.
That was too much. The Velcro noise combined with her trying to just steal something pushed me past my polite-self. My voice got louder. I told her very clearly that she could not just take the food. I said that was stealing, and if she didn’t put it back, I would have to call my manager, and maybe even the police. My hands tightened on the counter. I wasn’t going to let her just walk out with eighty dollars of cat food for free, especially for a cat that wasn’t even sick from our products.
She froze for a second, the big bag of cat food half on and half off the counter. She stared at me, probably surprised I finally matched her energy. But then she puffed herself up again. She said she dared me to call anyone. She started yelling about how this was the worst customer service she’d ever experienced. The cat in the carrier let out a tiny meow. Riiiiip! went the Velcro from the toy aisle.
I took a deep breath. I reached for the store phone under the counter. I punched in the number for the manager’s office. “Hey, it’s me, at register one,” I said into the receiver. “Can you come up here? I’ve got a customer trying to take a bag of food without paying.” I put the phone down and looked back at her. “My manager will be here in a minute,” I stated.
She just kept ranting, getting louder, making a spectacle of herself. She was holding onto the expensive cat food bag like it was a lifeline, still claiming it was her right because of Muffin. A few other customers in line were watching, some with wide eyes, some with expressions that looked like they had seen this all before. The Velcro noise from the kid’s toy was still happening, fading in and out a bit as the kid moved around, but always there, grating on my nerves. I just stood there, staring at her, a knot of annoyance in my stomach. I just wanted her to leave, or for my manager to get here and handle it. But the manager seemed to be taking a while.
Suddenly, the store intercom crackled to life. “Attention all Pet’s Paradise shoppers,” a voice boomed, “we have a spill in aisle four, near the bird feeders. Could a team member please attend to it immediately?” My eyes widened a bit. Aisle four was right next to the registers, and I was the closest person. I looked at the woman, still gripping the cat food and fuming, and then back at the birdseed aisle where a small pool of water and spilled seeds was forming. I sighed. With a final, frustrated look at the woman, who was now muttering to her cat, I told her, “Stay right here. My manager will be here any second.” I had to go clean up the mess. As I walked away, hearing the Velcro rip again, I wondered if she would actually wait, or if I’d come back to find the expensive cat food gone and Muffin’s owner vanished. I honestly didn’t care much at that point, I just wanted the day to be over.
