As I am attempting to buy a pair of adorable boots at the cash register of a 3-6-9 shoe store (where all of the prices are either 3, 6 or 9 euros) - I just fought them out of some other lady's hands and snuck into where they were hiding the others to get my size:
"Oh, sorry, I can't sell those to you."
"Uhm...why not?"
"I don't know the price."
To which I stare at her blankly and blink at her for a moment before I answer:
"Well, who does?"
"You can come back in the afternoon and get them then."
We go round and round for a while and I even talk to the boss, who doesn't know the price either. I don't really understand why they don't actually know the price, or why they can't just call someone who does. So I ask to put my name on them at least and put them behind the counter, which, of course, they can't do either.
I wanted to yell at them that I was the customer, I had my money and I would give it to someone else, that I didn't want to come back later, that I was sick and I wanted these boots now so I could go home and sleep and that they were being really stupid because they weren't going to get my money there anymore. But, then I remembered, I was in Spain, and they wouldn't care.
Oh, Spain. These are the days I miss the American preoccupation with doing whatever it takes to take your money.
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