Jack gathered his confidence and entered the Renaissance Shirt Store for the second time that day. He'd already been in once to place an order, and on that visit he'd seen several of his own shirts sitting in a pile. It'd been bothering him that the store was profiting off of his stolen garments and he was determined to assert his ownership rights. The clerk nodded to him in recognition as Jack approached his stolen shirts near the window.
"How much are these shirts?" he asked.
"Five dollars," replied the clerk.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh, and would it help if I said I knew where they came from?"
The clerk's face assumed the rigid stare that so many retailers display when sensing the onslaught of a belligerent customer.
"These are mine," said Jack with conviction.
"Hmmm," said the clerk.
"Someone must've mistakenly brought in a load of my laundry," Jack said, lacing his speech with the slightest bit of sarcasm. "This one, here," he continued, holding up a blue t-shirt with the words "Bye Bye Birdie" printed on the front, "I just got done playing this show a few months ago."
"I'm sorry, sir, I can't - "
"And this one, I played this show, like, five or six years ago," Jack said, pointing to one that read "Guys and Dolls." He held the shirt up to show the clerk. "There's no way these aren't mine. You can't give them back to me?"
"I'm sorry, no," replied the clerk.
"What if there was one with my name, or nickname, on the back?"
"No."
"So, you're really not gonna give these back to me? My shirts?"
"No, sorry, I can't," said the clerk from behind his rigid facade.
Jack sighed as he turned around and made for the exit. "Hmm, well, that's really the best you can do?"
"I can offer $1 off," said the manager apologetically.
"Not good enough," said Jack forcefully. Then, to soften the blow, he added, "I'll be back to pick up the ones I ordered."
