"Why?"
"I'm reporting you."
Derrick gave a tired laugh. "To who?"
"Your manager."
"I don't have a manager here."
"Everyone has a manager."
"Mine is across town."
She interpreted the answer as sarcasm and began recording. Derrick could see his own image on her screen: work shirt, cart, fan box, irritated face. He wondered what caption she would eventually place over the video. Lazy employee refuses customer? Rude worker walks away? The possibility annoyed him, but he did not reach for her phone or demand she stop. He simply stepped back.
"Record whatever you want," he said. "Just don't block me."
She moved her cart sideways anyway, narrowing the aisle.
That action changed the atmosphere. The contractor lowered the box he had been examining. The woman with the cabinet handles stopped pretending not to watch. Derrick looked at the available space and decided squeezing past would create exactly the physical contact the situation did not need.
"Please move your cart."
"Not until you tell me your name."
"No."
Her eyebrows lifted. "Then I'll have you fired before you get home tonight."
The contractor finally spoke.
"Lady, he told you he doesn't work here."
She turned on him. "This doesn't concern you."
"You made it concern the whole aisle."
That was when she shouted for a manager. Her voice echoed far beyond electrical, sharp enough that several heads appeared at the ends of neighboring aisles. Derrick exhaled and looked toward the ceiling as if patience might be stored somewhere above the fluorescent lights.
He did not know whether to be relieved or annoyed. A manager would end the misunderstanding, but the woman had already turned a five-second mistake into a spectacle. And now, because she had demanded authority, authority was coming.
A young Ridgeway employee in a blue vest appeared first.
She could not have been more than twenty-two. Her name badge read MAYA. She carried a handheld scanner and wore the cautious expression of someone approaching a situation she already suspected was unreasonable.
"Can I help?"
The blonde woman swung toward her.
"Yes. Finally. Your employee has refused to help me, has been rude, and is now trying to walk away before I can report him."
Maya looked at Derrick.
Then she looked at his shirt.
Then back at the woman.
"Which employee?"
"Him."
She pointed so sharply that her bracelet slid down her wrist.
Maya's eyebrows rose.
"He doesn't work here."
The woman's face went still.
Derrick said nothing.
This was the clean exit. Everyone in the aisle seemed to know it.
The woman could laugh at the mistake, apologize, and ask Maya for assistance.
Instead, she narrowed her eyes.
"How would you know?"
Maya looked almost confused by the question.
"Because I work here."
"You don't know every person in this building."
"I know our uniform."
"He could be maintenance."
"Our maintenance contractors wear vendor badges."
"Maybe he took it off."
Maya inhaled slowly.
"Ma'am, he is a customer."
"He's standing around in work clothes."
Derrick finally spoke.
"Because I came here after work."
The woman ignored him.
"I still want the manager."
Maya nodded.
"I can call one. But you need to move your cart so customers can pass."
"Not until he gives me his name."
"He doesn't have to give you his name."
"Then get security."
Maya's expression changed slightly.
"Why?"
"Because he has been aggressive."
Derrick looked at her.
"I asked you to move your cart."
"You see? There. That tone."
Maya pressed the button on her radio.
"Manager to electrical, aisle sixteen. And could security come by too?"
The woman smiled at Derrick as if she had just won something.
"Now we'll settle this."
"I hope so," Derrick said.
While they waited, the audience grew.
The couple near the aisle end stayed. A middle-aged man with a box of faucet parts stopped nearby. A woman pushing a stroller slowed enough to understand the argument before moving on. Another customer held his phone low, clearly recording.
Derrick hated being the center of it.
He did not enjoy confrontation. He was not waiting for some dramatic revelation. He wanted a bathroom fan.
His phone buzzed.
A text from his wife appeared.
Did you find the fan or move into the store?
He typed back:
Long story.
The blonde woman saw him typing.
"Are you texting your supervisor?"
Derrick looked up.
"My wife."
"Of course."
He almost asked what that meant, then decided he did not care.
A man in a blue button-down shirt under a Ridgeway vest entered the aisle with a security associate beside him. He was in his mid-forties, with short dark hair, reading glasses, and a name badge that read MARTIN DALE - STORE MANAGER.
He took in the blocked aisle, the crowd, the carts, Derrick, Maya, and the woman with the phone.
"What's going on?"
The woman transformed instantly.
Her angry expression softened into strained dignity.
"Thank goodness. I have been trying to get competent help for nearly forty minutes."
Derrick checked the time on his phone. It had been twelve.
She continued before anyone else could speak.
"That man is one of your employees. I asked him politely for help lifting merchandise. He refused, mocked me, became threatening, and tried to intimidate me into leaving. Then this girl came over and decided to cover for him."
Maya looked at the manager.
"He's not an employee."
The woman snapped, "Let him speak for himself."
Martin looked at Derrick's shirt.
"Sir, are you shopping with us today?"
"Yes. I came in for an exhaust fan."
"Do you work for Ridgeway in any capacity?"
"No."
Martin nodded once.
"All right."
The young employee in the blue vest approached carefully, scanner still in hand. She looked first at the woman, then at Derrick, then at the cart positioned across the aisle.
"Hi. What's going on?"
The woman answered before Derrick could.
"This employee has refused to help me, walked away while I was speaking, and now he's being disrespectful. I want his supervisor."
The employee blinked and looked directly at Derrick's shirt.
"He doesn't work here."
The correction was so immediate that Derrick almost laughed.
The woman pointed at him. "He obviously does. Look at him."
The employee glanced again, perhaps wondering whether there was something she had missed.
"Ma'am, our employees wear blue vests like mine."
"Maybe he's maintenance."
Derrick tapped the embroidered patch on his chest. "For an apartment complex."
The employee read it aloud. "Westridge Apartments."
The woman frowned as if the words had been added specifically to embarrass her.
"Then why is he walking around with tools?"
Derrick looked down at the tape measure clipped to his belt. "Because I forgot to take it off after work."
The employee's expression softened into the kind of restrained amusement service workers develop when they cannot laugh openly.
"Is there something I can help you find?" she asked the woman.
That should have ended it. The woman could have asked for the ceiling fans, accepted the employee's help, and gone home with nothing worse than a bruised ego.
Instead she doubled down.
"I want the manager because he has been hostile."
"He's a customer."
"Customers can still be removed."
Derrick shook his head. "I haven't done anything."
"You refused me."
"That isn't misconduct."
The employee shifted her weight. Derrick could tell she was trying to keep the conversation procedural.
"Ma'am, if you need help with a product, I can help you. If you have a concern about another customer, I can call my manager. But he is not an employee and I cannot discipline him for not assisting you."
The woman stared at her.
"So you're protecting him?"
"I'm explaining what happened."
The contractor at the end of the aisle quietly said, "Finally."
The woman's head snapped toward him again. More shoppers had gathered now, not in a crowd exactly, but close enough that the argument had an audience. Derrick hated that part most. He had not asked anyone to take his side. He just wanted the facts to become boring enough for everyone to move on.
The young employee touched the radio clipped to her vest and requested a manager.
"He'll be here in a moment," she said.
The woman folded her arms as though she had won.
Derrick looked at the employee. "Can I just leave?"
"Of course."
But the woman's cart still blocked the easiest path, and when Derrick moved toward the opening on the other side, she stepped with him.
The employee's eyes widened.
"Ma'am, please don't block him."
"I'm waiting for the manager."
"You can wait without preventing another customer from leaving."
That was the first time Derrick saw the employee stop treating the situation as a misunderstanding and start treating it as a conduct problem.
The woman lifted both hands.
"You can't just take his word for it."
Martin looked back at her.