I just wanted to grab a quick bite after running a few errands. It had been one of those days where nothing quite went right, and I was looking forward to just sitting down for a minute. The air inside the restaurant was thick with the smell of hot oil and something sweet, like cinnamon. I found a table by the window that hadn’t been wiped clean yet, but I didn’t care much; I just needed to rest my feet. My jacket felt a bit heavy, so I draped it over the back of the chair before I sat down.
I was halfway through my drink, minding my own business, when this woman walked up to my table. She had a kind of intense stare, like she was on a mission. I just looked at her, sipping my soda, not really sure what she wanted. She didn’t say anything right away, just stood there, hands on her hips, looking me up and down. My muscles started to feel tight.
“You,” she finally said, her voice a little sharp. “Where are the extra pickles? My kid’s burger has like, two pickles. That’s not extra.”
I blinked. I looked around, then back at her. “I don’t actually work here,” I told her. My voice was calm, I thought. I figured that would be the end of it. Just a misunderstanding. Happens all the time, right?
But she just scoffed. “Oh, please. Don’t try that with me. I saw you back there, talking to the manager. You just finished your break, didn’t you? Now, are you going to get me some pickles or do I have to ask someone who actually wants to do their job?”
My jaw tightened a little. “No, really. I’m a customer, just like you. I was talking to the manager because there was an issue with my order. My name isn’t on the schedule. I don’t even know where they keep the pickles.”
She folded her arms and leaned in a little, like she was telling me a secret, but her voice stayed loud. “Look, I don’t have time for this. My child is getting fussy, and I need those pickles. Just tell me where they are, or better yet, go get them. It’s not that hard.”
I tried to explain again, thinking maybe she didn’t hear me properly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I really don’t work here. I’m just trying to eat my lunch.” I pointed vaguely at my half-eaten fries. I was really starting to get a headache from the whole situation. It was getting loud in there, too, and her voice just cut through everything.
She threw her hands up. “Unbelievable! You’re just going to stand there and tell me you can’t help a paying customer? What kind of service is this? Is this how they train you? To lie and then refuse service?”
I started to feel hot all over, a flush creeping up my neck. I just wanted to leave. I pushed my chair back, making a little scraping sound on the tiled floor. Maybe if I just walked away, she’d realize I wasn’t going to help and find an actual employee. I grabbed my outer layer and slung it over my shoulder. My plan was to walk towards the exit.
But as soon as I started to move, she moved too, stepping in front of me. She put her hand on my arm, not hard, but enough to block my path. Her grip was surprisingly firm. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not just going to walk away from me. I need those pickles! Are you going to tell me where the packets are or are you going to grab a handful from the back for me?”
I pulled my arm back, feeling a jolt of anger. “Get your hand off me! I told you, I don’t work here! Leave me alone!” My voice came out sharper than I intended, and a few people at nearby tables looked over. My temples began to throb.
Her face hardened. “Excuse me? You dare to raise your voice at me? This is unacceptable! You’re going to help me, or I’m going to make sure you don’t have a job here by the end of the day. I know the manager. I’ll make sure you get fired for this attitude and for refusing to help!” She puffed herself up, like she was trying to look bigger.
I tried to step around her, but she moved with me, mirroring my steps. It felt like a bizarre dance. My heart was pounding now. I could feel my frustration bubbling up, and it was getting harder to think clearly. I just wanted to be out of the building. I thought about yelling for an actual employee to intervene, but I didn’t want to cause more of a scene.
“I don’t care who you know,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, despite the heat rising in my chest. “You can’t fire me from a job I don’t have. Now get out of my way.” I tried to push past her again, but she was surprisingly stubborn, still blocking me from the main aisle leading to the door.
“Oh, you’re going to be sorry!” she practically shrieked. “You’ll regret this, you insubordinate… employee!”
Just then, a man, who had been sitting at a booth a little ways off, stood up. He walked over quickly. He didn’t say anything right away, just put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Sweetheart,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Let’s go. We can ask someone else. They’re busy.”
She hesitated for a second, her gaze still locked on me, a vein in her forehead pulsing. But then she looked at the man, her shoulders slumping just a little. “But he wouldn’t help me!” she whined, pointing a finger at me.
The man just nodded, still calm. “I know, I saw. Come on. Let’s just get the pickles ourselves, or maybe the kid doesn’t need them this time. It’s fine. We have to go anyway.” He started to steer her away, gently but with purpose, towards the counter where people were ordering. She grumbled something under her breath about “bad service” but let him guide her. I watched them go, feeling a huge wave of relief wash over me, making my knees feel a little weak.
