Alleged rock thief confesses to hating giant retail giant

It went down like this:

The family is out and about on a lovely spring day when we decide that, hey, today would be a really good day to get some replacement pea rock for the back yard, a little fertilizer, a little mulch ... you know the drill.

So, against my better judgment, I go to the giant retailer in town which will remain nameless because I'm quite sure my supervisor doesn't want me naming an actual business in the context of embarrassing one of its customers. Why did I go there? Sometimes, you just want to pay as little as possible, regardless of what you think of the place. So ...

At this particular retailer, when it comes to stuff like rock and mulch, it's all sitting outside in the parking lot, and one must pay for one's stuff before one can put said stuff in one's car. So I do that. Pre-pay for 10 bags of "pea pebble." But when I get out there and more closely examine the rock, it's really not what I wanted. So, having loaded NOTHING into the trunk of my Honda Accord, I head right back into the convenient, garden-area kiosk they have which makes it really, really easy for you to give them your money.

Guess what? Turns out that, while they'd love to take your money at that kiosk, they won't actually give back the money you just gave them should you choose -- receipt in  hand, two minutes after the actual purchase -- to return it (and remember, I never actually *had* it.) Instead, I was forced to head into the store proper where, of course, there was a LONG line of people waiting to get their money back for something, too.

At this point, I've chalked it up to a giant retailer just being a giant retailer. I understand that, maybe for accounting purposes, a giant retailer might need to centralize all its return activity to one part of the store. Lord knows how insane things might get if any old giant retailer employee was given free rein to treat customers fairly, but I digress.

Finally, 15 minutes after getting into that line, it was my turn. I explain. I never actually picked anything up, I tell her, so I just need a quick refund and I'll be on  my way and she can move on the next guy in line who has been waiting just as long as I have.

She picks up the phone. Calls the garden kiosk. This is what she said, turning slightly to her right, phone on her left ear, voice slightly hushed: "Yeah, um, did anybody just pick up 10 bags of pea bebble?" My blood begins to boil. Is this really happening? Is she indirectly suggesting that I might have stolen a few bags of rocks? She listens to the guy on the other end, then says, "Well I just need you go to check."

P a u s e ...

"He says it wasn't the right kind, but I just need to make sure no one's picked any up." By now, I'm as angry as a hungry Mankatoan at an empty buffet, and my hands are clenched in fists of rage (to quote the great Don McLean song.)

She hangs up, unsure of what to do. A supervisor meanders over. "What's up?" the supervisor says. The woman explains how this customer wants a refund, but that she has no way of knowing that I'm not one of those people who actually took the rock, then came into the building to scam a return.

The supervisor looks at her calmly and says, "It's fine."

The clerk looks at me and says, "Just needed to make sure!"

She hands me my receipt, which shows the price of 10 bags of stupid rock credited back to my Visa. I sign it and -- I'm not real proud of this next part -- slam the pen down on the counter in my own patented form of passive aggressiveness. The pen skitters across the counter. I say nothing. Just glare.

As I'm storming away, she tosses a facetious "Have a nice day!" at me.

And I will never, ever, ever shop at that giant retailer again.