...
.-.-.-.-.-.-.
The Customer Is (Not) Always Right
Chapter 10: Not Always Right
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Wham!
The sound of a closet door slamming breaches my semi-conscious mind. I roll onto my side and jam my ear into my pillow to block out the noise, but to no avail. Again and again, the closet doors fly open and slam shut, each successive bang dragging me further back to the world of reality.
I sit up in bed groggily, whatever pleasant dream I was so desperately trying to slip back into already faded and forgotten. Squinting through the early morning darkness, I can just make out my mother's hulking form by her wardrobe, indecisive as usual. No one should ever have to wake up to this. Whose wise idea was it to make this place into one giant, one-room house anyway? Idiots.
I let an irritated moan die in my throat, my silent grumbling negated by the fact that I should probably be happy she hasn't kicked me out of the house by now. I crawl out from under my warm covers and fumble through the dimly lit room to my closet to get ready for another day of work. I'm pretty sure my mother didn't used to shut the closet doors that loudly, but I don't dare complain. Especially seeing as we're not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.
She hasn't said a single word to me since the night she picked me up from jail. Her not talking to me would be a pleasure if she didn't go out of her way to make her loathing of me apparent every waking minute. She's always strutting about the house with this haughty air about her, making a show of her disdain in the littlest of actions — from the way she tears open the curtains, to the way she violently spoons sugar into her morning tea. There's really no sense in attempting to reconcile with her, though. This wouldn't be the first time she's given me the silent treatment, and I know from past experience that it's best to stay as far away from her as possible and let her be the first one to start talking again.
Before heading off to the Bazaar, I stop by the shed to check on my new shield. It has been coming along beautifully. The paint job is magnificent, if I do say so myself, and my new sealant made with blue feather oil has helped make it significantly more resistant to damage. Now I just have to send the design out to the blacksmith and get it reproduced, but that could take quite a few more days.
Ugh. A few more days.
I lock up my shed and set off for work, wandering zombie-like through the dark neighborhood. Each step feels like a colossal effort in of itself, but the thought of fluffy Bazaar pancakes keeps my feet moving forward one after the other. Since the atmosphere at home has been so tense, I've been eating at the Bazaar's restaurant lately. It's not cheap eating there every day, but it's by far the better option compared to dining with my ever-so passive aggressive mother.
I arrive at the Bazaar in what feels like a short amount of time, my hazy state of mind seeming to compress the minutes. With food on the brain, I drift through the main entrance and into the restaurant. I instantly double back the other way when I see who's standing at the end of the breakfast line. Croo. On second thought, I'm not that hungry.
I duck out of there before the old man can catch sight of me and quickly walk down the Bazaar. Gondo looks in my direction, but I pretend not to see him. I'm not in the mood for social interaction. I look past the Scrap Shop to the Item Check. It's completely vacant, its lovely owner not having arrived yet. Something deflates inside me. What a shame. I was thinking of paying off some more of my debt to my mother today, but I guess that will have to wait until later too. Oh well. All the more reason to put it off.
When I reach my stretch of the Bazaar, I'm surprised to see a young man and woman already waiting for me at the Gear Shop. They look familiar, the woman's long, brown braids ringing a bell in particular. Something's wrong with this picture. No one waits by shop first thing in the morning unless—uh oh. They both turn around and look at me, a very unhappy scowl planted on each of their faces. What did I do?
"Hello, friends!" I slip behind the counter and swing around to face them, trying my hardest to revive my perky shopkeeper self despite the nasty looks they're giving me. "Is there something I can do for you?"
"Sure is," the man speaks up, in a tone that is undeniably hostile. "We want a refund."
My eyes unconsciously flick to my rather obvious, boldly printed 'NO REFUNDS' sign hanging on the wall beside me. Of course they do.
"My sister's bird ingested some of your deku seeds and got sick. She went down mid flight, injured her wing, and they got stranded on a tiny island in the middle of frickin' nowhere!"
I just blink at him, my tired brain taking longer than usual to process his words. I think what little spark of desire I may have had to help these people has already been doused in apathy. The man whips a receipt out of his pocket and holds it up in front of my face. It's for a small satchel and a pack of deku seeds, signed and dated by me ten days ago. The two siblings glower at me, awaiting my response.
"Well," I say, "you're not supposed to feed them to your loftwing."
Judging by the looks on their faces, that was a wrong answer.
"I didn't 'feed' them to my loftwing, she ate them on her own. What kind of idiot do you take me for?" the girl lashes out defensively.
"Do you know who we are? We're loftwing experts! Neither of us would think of feeding our birds something we know is poisonous to them."
Now that they mention it, I think I have bought loftwing treats from them before. Ack. I really did sound a little patronizing just now.
"My deepest apologies," I say, raising my hands in a placating gesture. I look the girl in the eye and reach deep inside myself for some fake empathy. "I certainly didn't mean to sound like I was insulting your intelligence. I'm very sorry for what happened to you, and I know it must have been upsetting to see your loftwing in such a miserable state. But I'm afraid we don't give monetary refunds for any reason. Store policy, you see." I brace for a possible explosion.
"No refunds at all? That's ridiculous!" she replies. "Just look at this."
Her brother tosses something small and white onto the counter. It's one of my seed satchels, only it's been torn open and ripped to shreds.
"You call that 'expertly woven?'" he says sarcastically, folding his arms across his chest. I stare down at the shredded piece of leather that was once one of my flawless creations. Gee, thanks for showing me this to begin with.
"She must have mistaken it for a bag of treats," the girl explains. What a dumb bird. "She was able to tear right through the material and get at the poisonous seeds, and for that I feel I'm entitled to a full refund."
That's kind of what their bills are built for, Miss Bird Expert. Tearing things. "I'm very sorry you feel that way," I bow my head slightly, the automated response I often use to mollify angry customers leaving my mouth. I point to my sign on the wall. "But our policy on refunds is clearly posted and each and every customer is made aware of it when they make a purchase. Now, we do have a return policy—"
"I want to speak to your manager!" the man barks, cutting me off.
My lips curl back into what must look more like a snarl than a smile. "I am the manager."
"Then who's this 'we' you keep referring to?"
An audible groan almost escapes my mouth. It is way too early for this. "Sir, I assure you, there is a 'we.'" That would be me and Henry, my imaginary underling I deflect blame onto when things go wrong. "But that's beside the point. I will uphold our store's policies, and that means no monetary refunds. Now as I was saying, we will take back a defective product in exchange for an identical item free of charge if purchased within fourteen days or less. Seeing as you bought this only ten days ago, I believe you may qualify for that."
The girl shakes her head. "I don't want another one of your flimsy bags, I want my money back!"
"Now ma'am, there's no need to raise your voice," I say, softening my own. I must appear sensitive and sympathetic, no matter what I'm feeling on the inside. "As I said before, I'm very sorry you feel that way, but we never offer monetary refunds. Just replacements."
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," the man growls.
I grind my teeth in exasperation. There was a time, back when I first opened this shop, when I would relinquish to these sorts of demands. 'I'll make an exception just this once' I would say, 'but if this should happen again, there will be no refund next time. Is that understood?' Oh, how naive I was. If there's one thing I've learned from being nice, it's that if you cut people some slack, they just try to get away with more. Like spoiled, rotten children, they learn they can get what they want if they only scream loud enough. And that's why I won't let them bully me into giving up my money. It's obvious these people are just a couple of freeloaders trying to buy dinner on me.
"Refunds are not an option," I say with finality. Maybe if I repeat myself enough, they'll get it. "Now, I've told you that I'm willing to take back this damaged satchel back in exchange for a brand new one." I flash them a knowing grin. "Will you refuse that offer?"
They remain silent, glaring a challenge. I don't budge. Why do customers never seem to get that the more they fight me, the less inclined I feel to give in to their demands? I know all too well that being lenient with these types just creates a bunch of money grubbing monsters.
After a few seconds' deliberation, the brother slams the receipt on the counter with an unnecessarily loud thwump. It would appear the message has finally penetrated through their dense skulls. I collect the receipt and the torn satchel and go back into the store room to exchange it with a new one, tossing the old one onto my work table. At least I might be able to salvage it later. I throw a few deku seeds into the new satchel, anticipating that they'll be expecting some compensation for them as well. Normally I never offer replacements on ammo, but whatever. At this point I'm willing to sacrifice a few seeds just to get them out of my face. And I don't really want to risk losing them as customers for good. The entire point of having have a return policy at all is so dissatisfied customers might still return.
"All right, here you are," I say, returning to the front of the store with their new satchel of deku seeds and handing it over. "But listen. I believe you two are now well aware of the risk this satchel poses if left unattended, so if this should happen a second time—ahaha, what am I saying? Undoubtedly, two bird lovers such as yourselves would take every precaution to prevent such a horrible thing from happening again. I'm sure we won't have any more problems."
The brother just responds with a wordless grunt, to which I just keep smiling and pretend like it didn't grate on my nerves. With that, the two siblings leave with their newly acquired seed satchel, stomping off toward the door. They might come back.
"Wooow," says Manhands, staring at me with wide eyes. "What'd you do to make them so mad?"
I study her face, not quite sure whether she's being sarcastic or not. "No idea!" I laugh, waving the confrontation off. I just know one of these days I'm going to snap.
"You should have seen the customers Bertie and I had to put up with last week. I had to fend 'em off with my giant spoon!"
"Oh my. That's terrible." And here we go again. Why can't we just stand here in silence? Is that so much to ask?
"It's so exhausting, trying to put customers in their place and provide for my family and be a parent and come up with new potions all at the same time," she rattles on. "All this hard work is sapping my creativity. I'm so busy and tired all the time these days. "
"Mm hmm." I don't care. Nobody cares. This is one of the reasons I don't even attempt to carry on an intelligent conversation with her anymore, because she always has to turn it into this subtle competition to see which of us is more miserable than the other. I'm expected to listen to her moan and complain, but if I mention something negative that happened to me, she won't show a shred of sympathy or barely even acknowledge what I say. She'll just turn the conversation back to her and try to top me.
I think she just likes to convince herself that she's the busiest, most bogged-down person here because it makes her feel more important. Well, get over yourself, honey. Everyone's busy. Everyone's tired. You're not special. You're not important. You're just annoying.
It's panning out to be yet another uneventful day, my only customers being the two numbskulls who wanted a refund earlier. By the time lunch hour rolls around, it occurs to me that I haven't eaten yet today. No wonder I feel so brain dead.
Before going to get food, I decide to stop by Peatrice's lonely corner of the bazaar to take care of that deposit I've been putting off. She's just leaning against the front desk as usual, twirling a loose strand of hair around her ear. She must occupy the least mentally stimulating job of us all, but at least back here she's somewhat removed from all the needless drama. It must be nice to be out of the loop.
When I'm almost halfway there, her bored gaze strays up from her desk and meets mine. I stop dead, suddenly feeling very uneasy at the idea of going over there. It must be the money. I just can't bear to let go of any more of it, especially after doing such poor business these past few days. Ugh. Yeah, forget it. I'll do it some other time.
I veer right and hurry off towards the café, feeling like a heavy weight has been lifted off of my chest. A few odd stares from passerby remind me to walk like a normal person and I force myself to slow my steps, throwing a quick glance back toward the Item Check. That must have looked awkward, me just halting in the middle of the bazaar and rushing off in the other direction like that. Oh, what do I care? She probably thought nothing of it.
I shake my head to myself, feeling like an idiot for fretting over something so silly. Why do I care so much about what she thinks of me? It's not as if I like her...or anything.
No, of course not. I don't like anybody.
It's that hour when it's too late for breakfast and too early for lunch, so there's no line at the café. And no Croo in sight. Thank the heavens. Fortunately, the food they serve here at the Bazaar is pretty quality, if you don't mind eating pumpkin all the time. But the service? Poor. Inadequate. Brimming with incompetence. During busy hours I usually just hit the to-go line and grab some pumpkin stew since its pre-made and I don't have to wait for it. Unless of course, the current cook on duty is blatantly ignoring me while they fill the elaborate order of some jobless chump.
The only cook on duty today is bent over the sink scrubbing dishes, her back to me. It's Piper — brunette, nice hips, kind of a butterface. She wears a yellow tube hat on her head to keep her hair from falling into her food, thankfully. But that's probably the only thing good about her.
I clear my throat, alerting her to my presence. She turns partway around, takes a quick look at me, then goes back to washing dishes, scrubbing a little faster. Just a little. How considerate of her. I don't know what to think about Piper sometimes. She can be so aloof and heavy handed in her treatment of customers, and of course it takes her forever to make anything. Not exactly ideal when I have a bunch of illiterate customers glaring at me impatiently from across the bazaar. Kind of like how I'm glaring at her right now.
I look over my shoulder at my shop. There's nobody waiting over there right now, but pretty soon we're going to have a chain reaction. I know you know I'm here, honey. You can't pretend to ignore me any longer. Why is she even doing dishes when she should be cooking? She ought to give the village idiot a job. It's not like he's doing anything. He's just sitting back there popping pumpkin seeds like there's no tomorrow. Doing absolutely nothing to contribute to the society that sustains him. For crying out loud, it doesn't take that long to wash a plate! I'm on a tight schedule. I require urgency. What doesn't she understand about that? I still my fingers, which I just realized have been drumming against the counter for the past few seconds. I refuse to become a finger tapper, no matter how impatient I am.
Finally, Piper flicks some water off the ends of her fingers and dries her hands on a dish rag, coming over here. "What can I get for you?"
Oh, you're sorry for the wait? That's okay! "I'd like to order three large pancakes."
"Pumpkin pancakes?" she gives me an odd look, as if I must be from another planet. "That's all I made today."
Go figure. "Sure, three pumpkin pancakes."
She glances past me, presumably at the clock on the far wall. "Oh. We don't serve breakfast past eleven."
Then you're useless to me. "So I should just come back for lunch?"
"I'm taking off early today, so no..."
Silence.
"Alright then. Guess I'll be seeing you." I turn to leave, but then the clock catches my eye. It's not even eleven yet. It's ten till. I spin back around. "Ah, pardon me, Piper, but it's not actually eleven yet. If you wouldn't mind—"
"That clock is slow."
For Goddess sakes, I want to give you my money, woman.
"I still have baked goods left. I can sell you some of those," she suggests. And why didn't she say that to begin with.
"Alright." I quickly peruse the spread of pastries on the back table. "I'll just have two banana muffins then."
"I don't have banana. Just pumpkin."
"You don't? What happened to—"
"You're the only one who likes banana."
Sheesh. Could she make it any more obvious that she just can't wait to get rid of me? "Two pumpkin then."
Without another word, she moves to the back table to wrap up my food. Well, that was needlessly complicated. Once she returns, I hand over a couple rupees in exchange for the orange-tinted muffins and sit down at a secluded table to stuff my face with my belated breakfast. Oh sure, pumpkin's in high demand because everybody loves pumpkin. I loved it too, the first twenty thousand times.
After I'm done eating, I toss away the muffin wrappers and make my way back to my stall. On my way there, my ears pick up that loud, gruff, wheezy laugh that can only belong to Manhands. She has such an abrasive laugh. When I round the corner, I see she's chatting it up with the departing Piper, the latter now accompanied by her illegitimate child, who looks like he hasn't bathed in weeks. The two are pretty chummy with each other, occasionally stopping to shoot the breeze and exchange boring stories about their hideous children. Birds of a feather flock together, I suppose. I return to my humble post, thankful that Manhands has found somebody else to offload her gossip onto for the time being.
"So Piper, did you hear there's a ghost haunting the Knight Academy restroom?!"
"No! What's going on?"
Again with the toilet ghost? Didn't she just have this same conversation with me? Three times? One thing I have never been able to understand is how she can have the same exact conversation, word for word, with ten different people. Multiple times per person. Over, and over, and over again. I'm starting to think she has short term memory loss. And honestly, considering the stuff she's inhaling over there, I wouldn't be surprised.
"Mom! Can I go to the other shop? Can I go to that shop? Can I go to that shop?!" Piper's son bugs her, rudely interrupting her while she's talking. She continues to chat with Manhands, seemingly immune to his nuisance. Sheesh, if I ever did that as a kid, I got yelled at.
"Mom, can I go to that shop over there?" the kid asks again, pointing in my direction. He couldn't mean possibly mean...my shop.
Sure enough, the little boy pries his mother's fingers away and comes skipping over here, much to my discontentment. As if I need any more dirt in my life. Did I really deem the potion shop baby the ugliest child in town? Because this kid might just give her a run for her money. He looks more simian than hylian, with a bumpy, onion-shaped head and lanky arms that stretch down to his knees. His unkempt brown hair, piled high and sticking out in all directions, looks as though it might have a rodent living in it. And his face — with his broad grin, his wide-spaced teeth, and his runny, upturned nose — much resembles that of an evil jack-o-lantern.
The boy patters into my shop, pausing at the entrance to wipe his nose on his sleeve. Germs. I can practically feel them permeating the warm, stuffy air. Lucky for me, I've already fled to the back of the store, but now he's moving this way. He runs along the counter, picking up speed, and it's clear to see he's already honed in on his target—my expertly woven seed satchel. I cringe in horror as he stands up on tiptoes reaches for it, my eyes all too easily finding the dirt clumped beneath his untrimmed nails.
"Little boy, please don't touch that," I tell him, keeping my voice light and gentle. He just turns his head and looks at me, his fingers already clamped around the satchel. I fail to maintain my friendly smile. Don't make me repeat myself, you little germ bag.
Abruptly, he puts the satchel back down and slinks further away from me, looking a little fearful. I guess he got the memo.
"So, how's the baby doing?" Piper's voice carries over here, once the haunted bathroom subject has exhausted itself. "Have you named her yet?"
"Nope, not yet! But we've narrowed it down to a few choices," says Manhands. Seriously? They still haven't named the thing yet?
Piper laughs, "Well, I'm excited to hear what name you choose." She looks over to where Bertie is slowly churning his cauldron, looking like he might topple forward and fall in any minute. "Wow. Bertie really has his hands full over there."
"Yup, my hubby's a real trooper! He's always happy to keep the baby entertained, though. Isn't that right, sweetie?" Manhands leans in Bertie's direction and gives him a wink. He returns the sentiment with a wimpy smile, albeit a delayed one.
"Aww, you have such a good husband," Piper sighs. "Wish I could say the same. I'd be putting my man to work too, if I had one."
"Heheheh! Well, we figured since I carried the baby around for nine months, now it's Bertie's turn to carry her for nine months! We'll switch back once his turn is up."
Sure, if Bertie doesn't keel over dead before then. Now that I think about it, there are a lot of single parent families in Skyloft. And orphans. We must all be dying at young ages from all the inbreeding. Yes, that must be it. There are only so many options on this hunk of rock we all live on. For some reason, my eyes wander to the Item Check. I note her dark-blonde hair and narrow features. Gods. Peatrice could be my second cousin and I might not even know it.
"Mom! Mom!" the little boy screeches, his high, nasally voice ringing in my ears. He darts out of my shop and scampers back to his mother, leaving behind a little trail of dried mud. Or possibly rat droppings. Wonderful.
"Mom! Can we get some deku seeds?!" he grins up at her hopefully, tremoring with anticipation. She ignores him. "Moooom!" he whines when she doesn't respond, yanking on her arm.
"Just a minute, Gully," Piper snaps. Gully? Even his name is annoying. Gully actually listens and shuts his little trap, but doesn't cease pestering his mother in nonverbal ways, hanging off her arm and stomping his feet on the floor. It's painful to watch. I don't know how she can stand it. He's like a little fly in your face that you desperately want to swat.
After a minute or so, Piper ends her conversation with Manhands and allows her son to lead her toward my stall. You have got to be kidding me. She's actually giving him what he wants after that? Wait—my smile springs onto my face—that's a good thing.
"Good afternoon, Piper!" I bound forward to meet her, beaming. "Were you interested in purchasing a fine satchel of slingshot ammo for your son?"
"We don't need the fancy bag, we just need some of those rocks."
"They're deku seeds, mom!" Gully pipes up, before I can chime in and politely correct her.
"Deku seeds then," says Piper. "How much are they?"
"The seeds by themselves are sold in bundles of ten, for twenty rupees," I say.
Her unremarkable features set in a stern scowl, an expression that is not flattering in the least. Ah yes, that face always seems to turn up when customers hear my prices. Their eyebrows scrunch together. Their friendly smiles—if they had one to begin with—vanish into thin air, replaced by disapproving frowns. They all make that same damn face. Either that or they hang their mouths open like doofuses and pretend to look dumfounded.
"Are you kidding me? That's half a day's salary right there," Piper says. Unsurprisingly. "Well, you haggle, right? Can you knock the price down a bit?"
"I certainly can! All of our prices are negotiable," I say, suppressing a twinge of annoyance. She has a lot of nerve after brushing me off earlier. "What do you say I lower the price to seventeen rupees? Does that sound fair?"
She contemplates for a moment, looking doubtful. "I don't know. I still think that's a little much for me."
"But mom! That's not fair! You promised!" Gully whines, running up to her and bunching her skirt in his hands. Spoiled brat.
Piper sighs, gently prying his filthy fingers off her skirt. "Can't you go any lower than that?"
"Perhaps..." Of course, sometimes it's better to sell something for a few rupees under price than to not sell it at all. But I still have to use my discretion to make sure my customers don't take advantage of me. Half the time they pull this crap they can afford it just fine and this haggling business is just a ploy to rip me off, and I will not be ripped off twice in one day.
"How about for a diminished price of fifteen rupees?" I offer. "Do we have a deal?"
"Fifteen rupees for a couple of deku seeds? Your prices are unheard of. I mean, they're just seeds! They should be free."
I refrain from bashing my head into the counter. No. Because then what would be the point of me offering them? "Well, deku babas aren't exactly common, dead ones even less so. We wouldn't go to such painstaking lengths to harvest their seeds if they weren't a valued projectile among slingshot enthusiasts." I mask my contempt with a lighthearted chuckle. Pure ignorance. "Out of curiosity, what does your son need slingshot ammo for anyway?"
"To get to Beedle's shop!" Gully blurts out. Oh. Well isn't that just delightful.
"I'm gonna hit his bell and climb the rope to get to the top!" he squeals, flapping his arms like some kind of deranged bat. "I'm gonna climb up there and buy a net from him!"
"Not at this rate, you're not," says Piper, giving me the evil eye. "Can't you make an exception just this once?" she asks, with a demanding edge that makes me not want to. She must sense this, because she eases up a little bit. She glances at Gully warily. "Please?"
"I'm very sorry, Piper, but I can't give you these for free because then I would have to do the same for everybody." And I would hardly make any money. "I'm afraid I can't part with these for any less than fifteen rupees."
A very unpleasant moaning noise rises up in Gully's throat. "C'mon, mom, just buy them! Beedle might run out of nets soon!" he whines painfully loud, getting visibly worked up. Several heads turn in our direction. I do believe my shop has just become the main attraction of the bazaar. For all the wrong reasons.
"Would you please just lower the price a bit more?" Piper pleads. There's something resembling desperation in her eyes. She throws another worrisome glance at Gully, who has become very antsy, and says quietly, "you don't know what it's like, being a single mother. It's not easy keeping him happy on a cook's wage."
I shake my head, my resolve hardening. I've been guilt tripped far too many times for it to have an effect on me anymore. This woman will not get the better of me with this scheme of hers. "Fifteen rupees. That's my final offer."
Gully looks to Piper, watching her with baited breath. She frowns decidedly. "I can't. I just can't."
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Gully howls at the top of his lungs, bursting into tears. His snot is dripping into his mouth.
Piper's features contort with rage. "Now look what you've done!" she screams in my face. "Come on, Gully, we're leaving!"
She snatches her distraught son by the wrist and flounces off. He struggles to break free of her grasp as she drags him toward the exit, one arm still outstretched toward my shop. He howls like a wild animal, his face beet red and streaked with a disgusting mixture of tears and snot.
For a few seconds I just stand there, too shocked to even feel grossed out by the wet glob of spit she sprayed onto my face. Look what...I've done? What, because I refused to give away my wares for free? I'm not a charity! Anger surges through my head like hot metal, momentarily blurring my vision. I grip the counter for support, trembling.
"You know we are living in a society!"
I pause, surprised at myself. The words just boiled over before I could stop them. In that moment, dozens of eyes lock onto me. I'm perpetuating a scene. I'm perpetuating a scene but I don't care.
"You're supposed to act in a civilized way!" I yell after the mother and child, my voice cracking.
Without turning around, Piper raises her free hand and flips me the bird on her way out. I gape in disbelief, wanting nothing more than to rip into her. But now I'm very conscious of all the curious stares I'm getting. Waiting to see my reaction. I take a shuddering breath and choke down some expletives before I can say anything I'll regret, avoiding all eyes. Money. Rupees. Just stay calm for the sake of not losing rupees.
Once the moment has passed and all the nosy bystanders have gone on their way, I snatch up the seed satchel and start strangling it, the nearest thing to wringing somebody's neck. Savages. Both of them. How dare she insult me that way in public. If we were anywhere but here, I would have...I would...
I let out an huge sigh, the end of that thought dying along with it. Whatever fueled that outburst has been expended and left me emotionally drained. Good grief. I can't believe I let her push me that far. It's not like I haven't had to deal with irrational customers countless times, but for some reason I'm never any less angry each time this happens. It just gets worse and worse.
I flex my fingers, squeezing the satchel a little harder. Deku seeds. It's always the deku seeds. That's it. After I sell the rest of my stock, I'm never getting them again. Especially now that I know people are using them to get to Beedle's Air Shop. These worthless little seeds are just feeding my competitor. And besides, I'm sick of digging through rotting deku baba pods like some sort of scavenger.
I get the feeling there is still a pair of eyes on me. It's Manhands. She's still gawking at me from across the room, even though the scene is long over. Indiscreetly, she sidles over to Bertie and whispers in his ear, throwing a not-so-secretive glance in my direction. Since she's so inept at lowering her voice, I hear every word.
"Rupin needs to chill out."
...
Chill. Out.
'Chill out?' Chill out?! I'm the one who needs to chill out?! Did she not see what just happened? Was she sleeping?!
What is wrong with this world we live in? Why is it that when someone behaves in an insolent manner, the person who calls them out is the one at fault? Why are people never held accountable for their actions any more? Why is it that?
The customer is always right, they always say. The customer is always right. Always right. Piper was wrong.
Is that a contradiction? No. Because she's not my customer anymore.
I fling the crumpled-up satchel into the storeroom and make a beeline for the exit. I need another break.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
A/N: I felt like this story needed just one chapter with some really negative customer experiences, so this is it. Orielle and Parrow's scene was a challenge to write because I wanted them to be angry, but I didn't want to them to come off as totally irrational or OOC. Especially since people seem to generally like those two. But seeing as Piper has next to no characterization to begin with, I felt I could...shall we say, take some more creative liberties with her. Better yet, the stuff in this chapter was loosely based on some of my real customer service stories from when I worked the front desk at a public pool last summer. Because when bad things happen to you, just think of it as good writing material! I'm pretty sure the day I had a mom furiously blame me for her kid's meltdown was the day I came up with the idea for this story, so it only seemed right to pay a little homage to that, heh. Basically, the kid flipped out because mom was too cheap to pay the admission fee. AFTER I was nice and offered her our evening discount 45 minutes before I was supposed to. Granted, the rates were pricy on weekends, but I'd already exercised what little control I had over that. When people scream at me for things that are out of my hands I just feel even less compelled to help them, lol.
Anyway, it is great to be back! After four months. Yeah, I know, that's so terrible. I'm sorry. I'm aware there's this pattern of authors updating less and less until they eventually give up and quit, but look, that is not going to happen to this one. I feel strongly about it and there's no way in heck I'd abandon it, at least not permanently. Along those lines, I would also like to say thank you for not abandoning this story, and an extra special thank you to everybody who has shown their support by fav'ing, following, recommending, and/or reviewing. The main reason I started writing this was because I wanted to make people laugh (no, not as an outlet for all my petty customer service angst), so it means a lot when you guys let me know you're out there paying attention. It's always cool to see when something I thought wasn't all that funny got a laugh out of somebody, or people trying to step back from Rupin's cloud of hatred and form their own opinions of the characters. Thank you so much for your continued patronage. :)