251- Bombastic

I'm tired- here's some new vocab for you. 

    "It's a requisite, you know," droned the voice over the counter. 

What the?

"Sorry," I said, twitching my lips into a smiling grimace. "But what's required?"

   The drone stared at me- eyes narrowed. Shit, I thought miserably, She's a sparkling fountain of personality. 

 "You have to present a receipt to return items."

Oh. 

 I nodded emphatically to show her I completely empathized with her, "Yes, I completely understand. But it was a gift and I'm afraid I don't actually have a receipt for it. It still has its tags on -"

"It has to have a recipet."

 I could feel my face falling and she looked back down at the computer monitor- clearly dismissing me as another profligate shop lifter, aiming to cheat the store of its crappy hand lotion and flimsy flip flops. 

I couldn't help but take in her multi toned dyed hair that was cut in a page boy style around a face that was clearly swollen from lack of sleep and over indulgence in some kind of caffeinated beverage.  I tried again, cheer and good will positively dripping off the syllables.

"Of course! Well, is it okay if I switch it out for another size? My little brother apparently thinks that I'm a size 4 and as flattering as that may be, I'm can't actually get into the darn thing."

She looked back up at me, and flicked her eyes to the display rack of the dress in question. It really was an ugly thing- hot pink with yellow trimming and fat Phoenician lettering print splashed across its bias.

"It's store policy to have a receipt," she finally uttered, customer service training clearly at war with her desire to tell me to give up and leave. The demarcations of the counter clearly was rotting her sense of feminine unity. Despite her taste in nail polish (neon green) and her obvious hatred for her job, she might at least do store credit for the same damn thing-

"Oh, well thank you, I appreciate it." She nodded, a twisted mockery of a smile stole across her features before it faded back into the habitual mask of boredom worn by most store employees. I tucked the dress back into the bag, mindful to clearly display the tags. If she was determined to be a stick and cling to apocryphal disillusions that someone would actually steal this ugly ass thing-

"Excuse me, is that a size 4?"

 A blond with large green eyes was standing at the display of the dress in question, holding one loosely in her hand, a rumpled stack next to it a clear indicator that she had been rummaging through the dresses in search of her particular size.

 

"Um, yes," I answered, tucking my bands behind my ear," It is."

"And you're returning it? Because I've been to the three other stores and no one has my size." She half heartedly folded up the dress in hand and placed it carelssely on top of the pile- the drone emitted a low buzz of frustration behind me but I smiled back at the blond.

"Well, since I don't actually have the receipt..."

"But you don't want it right?" She asked, eyes wavering from the yellow bag in my hand to the counter behind me.

"No, I was hoping to return it."

"Oh, would you take $45 for it?" 

You have got to be kidding me- I'd take $15 for it.

"You would buy it from me?" I asked, uncertain I understood. The drone behind me obviously was as incredulous as I was judging from the noises she was making behind me. 

"I would take it off your hands if you just wanted it get rid of it," she said. 

Practicality warred with disbelief for a moment but the pragmatic hegemony of the material world quickly found my tongue for me.

"Sure," I heard myself say," $45 is fine."

The ugly thing cost $60 and I obviously am never going to get a chance to redeem it for it's actual value.

 The drone was hissing something to a fellow drone behind me but I ignored her bombastic little jabs at customer policy and tasteless transactions as I handed over the yellow bag to the now beaming blond who was holding out a fifty in return.

  It really was an arbitrary call, I thought happily. After all, if it wasn't for tyrannical policies, I'd be walking out $45 poorer and with overpriced sunglasses.

And besides, I mused as Blond thanked me and turned to leave,  who keeps receipts?