I used to manage a luxury jewelry store. The kind with just a few items on display at any given time and most items were more than an average person’s yearly salary.
One of the regulars was a woman who just oozed bitch out of every pore. She would remind us, constantly, that she was “Ms Saskatchewan, 197X” which is a title that only a farmer and their sow should be proud of. It was also 30-ish years later.
My staff would scatter when we saw her coming, so I often was stuck helping her. On this particular day, she wanted a new strand of pearls.
We go through the showcase, and she puts on a strand of Tahitian pearls priced at $38,500. She hems and haws with her daughter, nods, and then... walks out of the store.
It took me a minute for my brain to register WTF.
I dashed down the mall after her, and when I caught up, said, “Mrs. 197X, you didn’t pay for those.”
I felt like Medusa was turning me to stone with the look she gave me.
197X: “Just put it on my credit card. You’re embarrassing me.”
Me: “We don’t keep card numbers on file, it’s a security concern. It will only take a minute.”
She turned as if to walk off, and then undid the clasp, slid the pearls into her hand and FLUNG them down the busy mall.
I was too busy scrambling after the pearls to hear if she said anything else, but she stopped coming to the store after that.