Honest Headaches

Bonnie and I needed Halloween props and candy for an upcoming Trunk or Treat event at our church. We got a lead from a friend that a local box store had just what we needed. She forgot to tell us, though, that our money would be no good there.

We found candy-scented markers, Play-Doh, bottles of bubbles, glow sticks.  And what kid can resist slime? We tossed three giant bags of fun-size candies into our cart as well. Wow, $30 each, but at least the shelf labels promised a two-dollar instant refund per bag at the checkout.

Two bags would probably have done it. However, I had a flashback of the days of knocking on doors of homes that obviously had run out of candy. One man threw a pack of saltines into my bag to make up for it. I hope I didn’t cry, but that’s a possibility. (These days I love saltines, so now I realize this man was making a sacrifice.) The beggars this Halloween would be out of luck if I ran out of candy. I’m not giving up my crackers. 

We got to the check out. I needed to see the cashier take two dollars off from each bag.  I eagle-eyed the register. I wanted some money back. Fun-size candy is so small it has more wrapper than candy. Back in my begging days, no one would’ve passed out these tiny things, even if they ran out of full-size bars. It would still have been better than crackers, though. I guess.

The three bags rang up with no instant two dollars off showing on the screen. I asked the cashier about it before she continued with the other items. She deducted $2 manually times three as I watched, then returned to the unchecked items. The final total for all our stuff was high, but at least we got our six-dollar discount.

Or maybe not. As we walked away and looked at the receipt, we saw that six dollars was actually taken off a second time, this time automatically. We owed the store six dollars. I caught the cashier between customers and she said everything was OK; the store wouldn’t mind. I looked toward the service desk 100 feet away. Her body language, though, seemed to say, “Let it go.”

That’s what I told Bonnie as we walked towards the door. But I figured the greeter might ask us if we were satisfied with our shopping experience.  I would have to tell him not totally, but it would be hard to explain why. I swung the cart 180° and headed to the service desk, not looking at the cashier as we passed her.

I explained to the young lady that we owed the store six dollars. She seemed surprised to hear that and said she didn’t know how to ring it up. After a confusing conversation, she began to rub her forehead while the line behind me grew. I wanted to help relieve her headache, so I offered a suggestion.

I remembered the cool string of orange lights that were on sale for seven dollars. We had purchased one pack already, but I told the girl I’d go buy another one and she could charge us $13. Problem solved by the self-appointed store manager.

I went and grabbed the lights and returned to the service desk. I briefly condensed the story again to the poor lady. It looked like her migraine was starting back up. She quickly hit some keys and told me she was ready for my charge card. I thanked her for helping me square things up.

As I walked away, I looked at my new receipt. Was I ever surprised. I was only charged $5.83. That for a set of seven-dollar lights plus tax. Oh yeah, and an IOU for six dollars.  Great! Now, instead of owing the store six dollars, it was more like eight.

In the big picture, eight dollars is small change to the store. Kind of like a fun-size candy bar compared to full-size. But my dad taught me honesty is the best policy. Besides, one time this same chain returned all my money for a bag of items I purchased but left in that spinning-carousel-bag thingy.

How could it be so hard to return this money, I thought as I began rubbing my forehead. I explained the situation to Bonnie who was near the exit and definitely ready to go home. It had been a long day of shopping at this and other stores. She just wanted me to make up my mind on what to do next. 

I looked back at the service desk and the line was longer than before. The nice lady looked even more frazzled. I decided it was time to go home. I would find a way to make this right the next time we came back to the store—and I would be sure to bring enough ibuprofen for myself and whoever else might need it.