Dear Older Guy Who Works Here,

I'm the guy who came in this Thanksgiving to pick up a bottle of 15-year-old Madeira. You're the guy who was clicking away at his computer behind the counter, and grumbled at me like a jerk when I asked nicely for the bottle.

First you looked me over, and I guess since I didn't look wealthy enough to you, or maybe because I wasn't hot enough for you, you blew me off. Then when I told you I was there to pick up the Madeira (which I had called to confirm you had), you pulled out some other bottle.  "I don't think that's it," I said. But you told me that the label I had asked about didn't make a 15-year.  You tried to give me another bottle instead. I told you, "No, I even called about the 15-year specifically."  You said, no, they don't make a 15-year. Not knowing much about Madeira, I felt stupid.

Fortunately, the nice girl who was also working in the store corrected your grumpy foolishness. She gave me the bottle I'd called about (hey, it existed, what do you know), and that was that. The other guy working there -- besides you -- was also really nice.

You sir, however, are a dick. I don't understand what it is with you folks who don't understand what you're selling. Worse, you don't understand the meaning of "customer service" or even just "pleasant person to deal with." Go to frigging McDonald's and learn a thing or two.

End rant. If I ever return to your store, please don't make me feel like an idiot again.

Signed,

Me.