What I’ll do When I’m Rich

Sarah was telling me about a horrible customer at work today (Sarah is a floor manager at a department store, so most days she comes home with a story of retail horror.) About a customer who was pissed off because his pants weren’t discounted by a coupon, because it was Valuepriced. His argument was that they can call anything Valuepriced just to get out of discounting it. She checked, and sure enough, there was a big display above the pants that said “Valuepriced“.

So one day, when I’m rich, I’m going to get a job working retail. And when Mr. Crabby-pants comes up complaining about his coupon, I will say “Come here.” And we will walk over to the pants. And I will point at the sign that says Valuepriced and I will say, “Well there is that, but let me check to make sure it’s right.” And then I will call Jimmy. Jimmy is the 13-year old retarded boy who I pay to live in a plastic Playskool house in the middle of the store. And Jimmy will come over and ask “Yes?” and I will reply “Jimmy, what does that sign above those pants say?” And Jimmy will say, in his own retarded way, “Valuepriced“. “And this reciept, what does it say?” “It says Valuepriced.” “And the coupon?” “It says, no good for Valuepriced items.” And Jimmy will take off his pointy cone hat tied on with a bit of elastic and put it over the head of the angry customer, belittling him everso in his own retarded way, and say “Here you go.” And he will go back to the little plastic house and the customer will know better to question me because he wanted to save a buck sixty-five.

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