"Worst Customer Ever": A Retrospective

Hi everyone. As you know, it's drawing closer to memorial day, the time where we remember those who have been important to us. I figure this is as good a time as any to remember my personal "worst customer ever". So far, anyway. While I wouldn't consider her to be important to my life, persay, she certainly helped me become even more disillusioned with the state of our society. Read on.

It's late in the evening on a winter night, sometime this past January. I'm the only cashier (surprise, right?) and I'm standing at my register trying to look busy when this woman approaches me.
"Hi, how are you?" I ask, trying to be friendly. Why I still continue to try is beyond me.
At this point I notice that her purchase consists of three articles of clothing, which she has artfully taken the time to fold into a cube. No, I am not exaggerating - no clue how she did it, but these clothes were artfully folded all together like some sort of demented clothing origami. I can already tell I'm not going to be a fan of her.
In return to my friendly greeting, all she does is bark, "Don't mess it up," and motions to her cube.
"I'll do my best ma'am, but I need to find the tags if you want to buy these," I say as politely as I can muster. I'm met with another stony glare.

Somehow, I manage to painstakingly gain access to the tags without destroying her masterpiece. I think this warrants a thank-you, but all I get is some bitching about the prices.
"That was supposed to be 10-something," she snaps, grabbing my register screen and pulling it toward her.
"It is," I explained, "but it's 11 with the tax."
"No, it's supposed to be 10. I did the math," she argues, as if her obviously superior brainpower makes her some sort of divine being.
"In the state of Indiana," I say, trying my hardest not to raise my voice, "we have a 7% sales tax that applies to most purchases..."
"MA'AM," she interrupts. "MA'AM. NO. Stop talking!"

At this point I'm so angry I'm having trouble keeping my mouth shut. I take her cube and start putting it into a medium-sized bag, which, due to the compact nature of her origami, would fit perfectly.
As I do this, she grabs my arm and snaps, "NO. Don't be stupid. Put it in a big bag."
"Excuse me?" I say, rounding on her. I could say something nasty, but decide that silence and some well-placed destruction would be a much better weapon.
I lay the cube on the counter, tear it apart as much as I can, and throw it sloppily into the biggest bag I can find. She gawks at me, open-mouthed, as if she has just watched me brutally murder a busload of babies, puppies, and grandmothers all in one fell swoop. That's right, bitch. I messed up your cube.

As her receipt and coupons print, she starts tapping her foot impatiently. "Oh my God, HURRY UP!" she screams. I give her a concerned look resembling one might give to someone in a straitjacket, and begin moving as slowly as I can muster.
When her coupons print, there are about 20 of them, and I start slowly tearing them apart and putting them in a neat pile for her.
"GIVE THEM TO ME NOW!" she shrieks, and you can almost see the smoke coming out of her ears.
"Don't you want them torn apart and neat? I'm trying to help you," I say, at the end of my rope.
"I don't want them torn apart, JUST GIVE THEM TO ME!" she roars.
"With pleasure," I say, and throw the massive, unorganized pile of coupons at her face.

I suppose I should be used to people being this rude to me, but this bitch was just appalling. However, this town has been voted one of the rudest cities in America, and for good reason. Perhaps I was a bit out of line, since "the customer is always right", but she should've considered the well-being of her clothing cube before she called me stupid.