Sir. I don't know how else to explain this.

I think it is a side effect of our self-indulgent, instant gratification society that everyone thinks they are special.

I am completely unique unto myself; I matter more than anyone else simply because I am me. Rules don't apply to special me, you'll see as soon as I explain to you who I am. You'll understand I'm special and I'll get my way.

I deal with people suffering under this illusion every day. I remember dealing with a very severe case of "I'm Special."

The foundation of this memory is the fact that DSG has a lot of policies that are either obviously common sense, or are explained plainly and frequently.

We have some policies I have deemed full on "Idiot Traps." If you have below average intelligence, you will become hopeless trapped in the iron strong thralls of these policies that I assure you will not yield simply because you are an idiot. Policies such as, you can’t return cleats after you’ve played ten games in them. A tent you tore a hole in isn’t ‘broken.’ If we sell you a candy bar, you can’t get your money back with just the wrapper because it “didn’t taste good.”

 Normally I don't mind the Idiot Traps. It is not my fault people fall into sticky predicaments because they don't pay attention or have any common sense. But more often than not I am the CSS who has the misfortune to have to explain to the idiots in question about the dilemma. And I don't like that. Though it does make for amusing story fodder afterwards...

We sell a lot of very expensive baseball bats. At least they seem costly to me, running on average between $200 and $500. I'm sure that's not professional grade but I'm getting away from the point.

These expensive bats are sold with a plastic 'skin' sealed all around them. This is a manufacturer's security measure to ensure the integrity of the bat. It is really obviously done; the plastic is covered in stickers and sealed tight along the entire length. Whenever a customer buys a bat, every cashier does the same thing.

We take the bat in hand and look right into the eyes of the customer and say, "Once the plastic wrapping comes off the bat, it is not returnable under any circumstances. This is a policy agreement between DSG and the bat manufacturer. For safety reasons, if the plastic is removed, even five minutes after purchase- this bat cannot be returned."

The customer then usually nods or gives me an eye roll like I've said something unbelievably obvious and I am a great insult to their intelligence. But we have to issue the verbal warning (even though the rule is stated all over the plastic wrap in bold black and yellow stickers) because people are so dumb.

One weekend morning when the store was actually calm, a man walked in the front holding an orange and blue aluminum bat. An orange and blue naked bat; it had no plastic covering.
The sight of that bat filled me with annoyance. I knew what the customer was about to try and pull.

The man heads for my register and drops the bat with a clang on my counter.

"I need to return this," he says bluntly.

I pick up the bat and roll it between my palms. It doesn't appear used or damaged, and it doesn't matter anyway. I set the bat down gently.

"Sir, the plastic encasement around the bat has been removed. This bat is not returnable."

He stared at me like I'd just sprouted antlers and started babbling in Greek. I know what he is thinking. He's about to try and tell me how special he is and why the rule shouldn't apply to him.

"I'm a coach for Frisco, its okay."

No sir.

You being a coach for Frisco does not render you exempt from this policy. He stands there all smug and smirky and I'm immediately much more irritated than I was just a minute ago.
I give my head a small shake.

"But the plastic on the bat has been removed. I can't take this bat back."

The coach from Frisco frowns at me. Clearly I didn't understand him when he tried to tell me how special he was. He'll try again.

"Me and my coach buddies are in here all the time and we spend a lot of money here, especially on bats. You can honor my business and take this bat back."

He folds his arms and glares at me, daring me to counter his foolproof argument.

The 'I spend a lot of money here' argument is not new to me.

It gets whipped out and tossed in my face every now and then by the most egotistical customers who think their occasionally $500 transactions truly matter to this massive corporation spread out across the country.

I lean forward and put my hands on the counter and look full into his fat face. I’m sure he had a great many muscles at some point, but he had the telltale shape of a man gone to seed. I took personal disgust in his large round belly resting on my register counter.

"You took the plastic wrapping off. This bat is not returnable." I nudged the bat with one finger and it rolled pitifully towards the coach.

Oh, he is mad now. His fat overly tan face has a distinct tinge of red to it.

He's going to pull what he thinks is the ultimate trump card...

"I want to speak to a manager."

Inside, I am laughing. Customers seem to think we lowly cashiers must live in dread fear of managers. Cashiers are renegades who do whatever they want and the poor customer who can't reason with them must call in the manager in shining armor to save the day. I know the truth. Managers are our friends, our back-up. Trust me mister silly customer. Your ‘trump card’ isn’t going to say anything different.

My manager is wearing a bright blue polo and he comes ambling over as soon as I radio him.

He gets to the counter and before he can even utter a greeting the grumpy coach launches into a tirade about how he absolutely needs to return this bat, and he just bought it last week -though he can't seem to find the receipt, hmm- and this ignorant cashier won't help him.

My manager listens to the rant (that's why they get paid the big bucks) then glances casually down at the source of this whole predicament.

"Sir. You took the plastic off. We can't take this bat back."

I think that was the point where the coach's brain seemed to lock up. He didn't appear to comprehend that he was not special enough to get his way.

"But I need to return it," he muttered as he begrudgingly picked the bat up.

My manager sighed. "There is absolutely nothing we can do if the plastic has been taken off. That is an ironclad policy."

"I come in all the time..." the coach grumbled as he began to slouch away. My manager gives me a little pat on the shoulder and we both shake our heads. 


Some people just don’t listen.