The following Monday, I decided to visit the supermarket again, determined to find out more. As I entered, a young woman in a crisp uniform greeted me. “Welcome back,” she said, her smile almost too practiced. I nodded, trying to act normal. “Thanks,” I replied, pushing my cart forward. I planned to speak to the manager, hoping to get some real answers.
When I reached the customer service desk, I asked for the manager. A few minutes later, a man in his mid-thirties approached, his name tag reading “Tom.” He had a polite but distant demeanor. “How can I help you today?” he asked.
I took a deep breath. “I came across a document with personal information, including mine, on it. I’d like to understand why that information is being kept.” Tom’s expression didn’t change, but I noticed the slight clench of his jaw.
“I assure you, our customer data is handled with the utmost care,” he said. “If there was a mistake, we will look into it. Please leave your contact information, and we’ll get back to you.” His words were smooth, but his eyes didn’t meet mine.
“I’d prefer to speak to someone who can provide me with more details,” I insisted. Tom remained composed, but the way he gently guided me to the side of the counter felt dismissive. “I’m afraid that’s all I can offer at the moment. We take these matters seriously and will follow up accordingly.” I left feeling no closer to the truth.
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