Fuck you and your cigarettes you old dried up bitch, your husband should have made sure they were the right ones before you left the store.
I didn't sell you shit, I didn't see shit, I wasn't even there, you didn't have a receipt, we don't do returns on tobacco, and you waited two days before coming back so it obviously wasn't that urgent.
I have a fucking job to do, I can't afford to lose my meager wages because I caved in. Report me, I don't give a FLYING fuck, nobody's on your side, I did what the company says, I did what my boss says, don't talk to me like it's my fault you and your husband are too stupid to tell the difference between Marlboro NXT shorts and Marlboro Black 100s when the name is RIGHT THERE ON THE FUCKING CARTON. Nothing is going to happen to me. It's all there, black and white, clear as crystal. You lose.
And no, a fucking transaction on your Capital One app is not proof that you bought the cigarettes at my store. Go get cancer away from me. Eat shit.