Honour

Clara felt her ears burn. Her eyebrows knotted. Her jaw clamped. Her fingers threatened to snap in half the body of the cheap blue biro that was in her sweaty hands.

“... A cardigan is clearly a top,” leered the man. “They’re not pants, are they?”

“Yes, but they are not part of the deal,” Clara said, as calmly as she could.

“Well, that’s obviously misleading! This is false advertising,” said the woman dramatically.

“You need to honour this deal with the cardigan.”

Clara surveyed her antagonists, her mind sighing and wondering if the fuss was even worth it. They were both overbearing, self-important individuals who were all too accustomed to having someone shove their throats with a silver spoon. They were spoilt brats who have grown up thinking they can get whatever they want just by kicking up a fuss. They were, simply, utter arse holes.

He was the type who covered his steroid-charged biceps with stupid tattoos, probably to overcompensate for the lack of width and length his flaccid penis possessed. He looked like a gorilla wearing a white tank top. From the embellished trucker hat on his giant head, down to his scummy grey thongs on his fat hairy feet, everything about him screamed “big skull, tiny brain”. She was the type who always had a “thing” for over-bulky men with tiny wangs and usually (but not always) enjoyed a fuck or two with the man’s best friend. Dark hair and orange fake tan, her voice was nasally and she always over emphasised her “s” and “th” sounds. Clara wanted to throw the store’s calculator at their faces, and maybe even throw in a stanley knife or two. Or jab her biro into their eyes.

Whatever was easiest and most painful.

“Other customers have never complained that they were misled by these signs. I am very sorry that you think that they are misleading, but I can’t sell this cardigan and this singlet for thirty dollars. The cardigan itself is already thirty,” said Clara.

“Are you calling us stupid?” growled the man.

“No, not at all. I’m just saying that I’ve never had other customers complain about this before,” said Clara.

“I want you to call centre management right now. We are not going to leave until centre management removes these misleading signs. This is absolutely ridiculous. We are in the right. You really should be honouring this deal,” said the woman, glaring at Clara.

Clara sighed. With dread, she picked up the phone and dialed the number. Anger pulsed through her body in big doses. Her hands were trembling. The couple looked at each other smugly, clearly impressed that they’ve terrified Clara to a submissive, trembling mess. The man placed his tattooed arm tightly around the woman’s waist and kissed her orange face, while her heavily-lined eyes glowed proudly, affectionately rubbing the man’s strategically-carved stubble.

Clara wasn’t going to let them win.

“Security, Roger speaking. What’s the problem?”


*This is my attempt to write a short story. It is clearly inspired by recent events involving annoying people I've met through my time in retail. The ending is totally lame, and it never happened. I guess this is what people call "based on real events". I hope it was ok.