No Refunds
I worked at the shoe store Fayva, and we took back everything, no matter what. A stupid policy, but then again, Fayva isn’t in business anymore. One day, a woman walks in during Communion season, returning a pair of boys’ dress shoes she bought three days earlier.
The kid must have played football in them after the ceremony—they were covered in mud, grease, and scuff marks. This was the ONE person I refused to refund my entire time there. She went crazy on me. Yelling, screaming, demanding a manager.
So, my manager comes up behind me, and I just know he’s going to give this woman her money, and I know she’s going to smirk at me as she exits the store. I actually braced for it. Something even better happened.
Instead, my manager Mike walks up, takes one look at the shoes, and tells the woman “Nope.” She goes bananas on him now, telling him, “My son wore these shoes ONCE, to his communion, and they fell apart like this?”
To which Mike calmly says: “Ma’am, it looks like your son wore these shoes to the Norman invasion.”