I don't mention it much, mainly because it's usually fairly dull and tedious, but I do still work at a nearby Radio Shack. Today, however, had a moment of minor interest and drama. A guy came in to look at megaphones, of which we carry one model at the moment; it's $149. He also seemed to require very little in the way of a sales pitch to be convinced to buy one, which should have tipped me off that this sale wasn't going anywhere - or, if not that, the megaphone already hanging around his neck, the stack of Socialist Worker newspapers under his arm, the general scruffiness, and the earnest Lenin goatee. Yes, this was one of the heralded freaks planning to descend on Centretown for Bush's visit on Tuesday, attempting to buy a megaphone, and strangely curious about the generosity of our return policy.
I'll be damned if I'll help some trust-fund communist cause a riot blocks away from where I live, for free
. If there was any chance of us keeping his money, I wouldn't have given it a second thought; it's not as if I typically demand to know how customers use what they buy. Not using the Nexxtech Personal Massager
to "arouse circulation" and "loosen flaky dandruff?" Don't care, don't want to know. But in this case, he was transparently planning to rent it for three days, which annoys me. Sorry, comrade, that's not the sort of injustice that you can promise will be remedied when the revolution comes; if you want a gratis $150 piece of hardware to play with until you return it, dirty and unboxed, go elsewhere. Despite the half-dozen in the stockroom, I sent him off to another store halfway across town, which actually did have none.
I feel guilty about it - mainly for the sake of the need to boost numbers for this sales period - but not much. He'd already call me an evil bourgeois capitalist pig-dog imperialist war criminal if he knew me. Why disappoint expectations?