While I am big on buying tons of cloths I don't need, I am not big on returning said items when they are damaged, the wrong size or simply have trouble getting along with the other useless pieces hanging in my closet.

So when I put on a new pair of slacks I had recently purchased, I was annoyed to find the fucking thing had a broken zipper, I tossed it my should handle but probably never will pile.

Unfortunately, it occurred to me that I purchased a blouse I really liked to go with said slacks and this could end up a bad purchase times two. I rummaged through my wallet hoping that I did not go through it lately and throw out all the lose useless pieces of paper the clerks always hand me along with my new bag of happy.

SCORE! I found it between the unpaid parking ticket from December and a thrice folded fifty dollar bill.

Definitely some Karma working for me there.

I shoved the balled up slacks into a plastic grocery bag, threw in the receipt and tossed it carelessly in the back seat with full intention of going to the mall that very night for the exchange.

Three weeks later, the guy who detailed my car discovered it under the front seat.

I mentally calculated if I had passed the dreaded 30 day exchange window while reciting thirty days has September, April, June......and whatever. But I knew it wasn't January so I added that extra day and discovered I was just under the wire.

Since I do not normally return shit, I had no idea what the procedure was and grabbed the first clerk that happened by and asked.

"Any register," she snapped grudgingly.

Alrighty then. I went to the ladies department and, always the helpful little shopper, I found the slacks and headed to the counter for the exchange.

Which is when I heard the shouting.

To not offend your sensibilities, I will say that this angry young woman was dismayed to be informed that her credit card was lacking the financial flexibility to accommodate her lofty purchase plans for the day.

The poor clerk looked horrified as this woman spat out some obscenities that even I had not yet heard of. (But did make mental notes of them to pull out at the next available opportunity.)

The employee got on the phone and paged some number overhead that I assume translated into..

Crazy ass bitch register 2.

The manager on duty, a portly gentleman with thick glasses appeared almost instantaneously and asked what he could do to help.

"Nothing! Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you...fuck you all!!" she spat and stormed off.

What. The. Fuck! One of those fuck yous were in my direction.

Now I know why I don't return shit. It is a jungle out there.