// April 16th, 2004 // 2 Comments » // Tales
So I go to the local Sam’s club today to grab a 32-pack of bottled Poland Spring for a party we’re having Monday (Boston Marathon-Monday). While I’m waiting in line to check-out, I notice above each counter is a sign:
GET MY $5 IF I DON’T THANK YOU BY NAME OR ASK YOU TO PAY WITH A SAM’S CREDIT CARD
So I start to wonder, “what kind of dick would actually say something if they weren’t thanked by name?” Then it occured to me: “Wait a minute — I’m that kind of dick!”
It’s my turn in line, and the cashier looks half-asleep as she scans my club card and the pack of water. She doesn’t ask me to pay with any special card. I proceed to pay with my regular Visa card, and she hands me my receipt.
“Thank you, sir.”
(Awkward pause as an evil grin creeps on my face)
“So, um, do you hand me five bucks now for not saying my name?”
She looks defeated. “Oh, I said thank you ‘sir’.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Oh, well go ahead over to the desk over there and tell them.”
Did I bother to go over and persue the issue? Hell yeah. Although I think I was the only one ever to have the balls to call them on it, since they had to call a manager over to confirm the $5 deal being in effect (they all looked at me like I was out of my mind thinking they owed me $5 for someone not saying my name), and the manager initially thought I was crazy for thinking it was $5 and not $1.
After all that confusion and then trying to figure out where to take the money from, they just gave up, opened up a register and handed me a nice, crisp sawbuck.
Was it all worth looking like an ass to the entire Sam’s team? Ask me if I care while I down this Starbucks Venti Mocha it bought.