So, I was just minding my own bisness at the grocery store, you know, the one with the really good bakery section. I was trying to decide between the sourdough and the ciabatta, a real tough choice, I know. I had my little reusable bag all ready, and I was humming this tune that was stuck in my head. It was a nice, calm Tuesday afternoon, or so I thought. Then, he showed up. This guy, he looked to be in his early twenties, all dressed up like he was going to a fancy party, not the produce aisle. He had this smirky grin on his face like he knew something I didn’t, and frankly, it was kinda annoying. He was with his wife, I guess. She looked kinda tired, like she’d heard it all before. She was holding his arm, but it looked more like she was trying to keep him from floating away on his own ego. They were heading straight for the checkout, and I figured I’d just let them go ahead. I’m not one for confrontation, really. I just wanna get my bread and go home and bake something. I’ve been working on my sourdough starter for like, six months now, so I’m pretty invested in the whole bread thing. It’s a whole science, really, keeping it at the right temperature and feeding it just right. It’s not something you can rush, and it takes a lot of patience. I guess not everyone gets that.
Anyway, this guy, the entitled one, he comes up to the cashier. She was a sweet older lady, looked like she’d probably seen it all in her years working retail. She was scanning his items, which were a bunch of energy drinks and those fancy imported chips you can never find on sale. Suddenly, he starts getting all huffy. He pulls out his phone and starts tapping away furiously. I could see the cashier starting to look a little nervous. She’s got this little frown on her face, and she keeps glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. Her nametag said ‘Mildred,’ and I felt a pang of sympathy for her. Mildred deserved a peaceful afternoon, not this.
The entitled guy, he finishes with his phone and slams it down on the counter, right next to Mildred’s hand. She jumps a little. He then looks at Mildred and says, in this loud, booming voice that made me stop debating bread choices, that his total is too high. He says he’s got a coupon, a special one, and that it should cover everything. Mildred, bless her heart, she says she’s sorry but that coupon doesn’t look like it’s for this store. The guy, he laughs. A really obnoxious laugh, like a hyena that just won the lottery. He then says that it is for this store, and that Mildred is just trying to cheat him. He gestures wildly with his hands, and I can see his wife is starting to look really embarrassed. She’s fiddling with her purse and looking at the floor. She’s got a nice watch on, a gold one, but it’s got a little scratch on the face. I noticed stuff like that, little details.
The guy keeps going, getting louder and louder. He’s saying that he’s a regular here, which I highly doubt, and that he deserves better service. He’s talking about how he’s got important places to be and that Mildred is wasting his precious time. Mildred, she’s trying to stay calm, but you can see the color draining from her face. She suggests calling a manager, and the guy just scoffs. He says he doesn’t have time for managers, and that Mildred needs to just honor the coupon or he’s going to make a scene. He leans in closer to Mildred, and his wife finally pulls on his arm, trying to get him to back off. He shakes her off like she’s a fly.
At this point, a few other people in line behind me are starting to look over. You can feel the tension in the air. It’s like a storm cloud gathering. I’m standing there, holding my sourdough and ciabatta options in my hands, trying to make a decision while this whole circus is going on. My brain is going a million miles a minute, trying to figure out the best way to handle this without making it worse. I’ve always been good at math, and I can see the coupon is for like, 10% off, and his bill is probably over $70. So, it wouldn’t even cover half of it. He’s really being ridiculous. I feel this weird urge to explain the math to him, but I know that would just set him off more. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way before. Trying to reason with someone like that is like trying to teach a cat to knit.
He starts yelling about how he’s going to report Mildred and the store for discrimination. Mildred, she’s looking like she might cry. Her hands are trembling a bit as she tries to put his groceries back in the cart. The wife, she’s finally had enough. She grabs his arm and starts pulling him away, muttering something under her breath that I can’t quite hear, but it sounds like an apology. He’s still shouting though, over her shoulder, telling Mildred that this isn’t over.
Just as I think the ordeal is over, a woman from a few people back in line, a woman with bright pink streaks in her hair, pipes up. She’s holding a basket full of organic kale and some fancy cheese. She says something like, ‘Hey buddy, you know that coupon is for the pharmacy section, right? I used one yesterday.’ The entitled guy stops dead in his tracks. He looks at the pink-haired woman, then back at his coupon, then at Mildred. His face turns this deep shade of red, like a boiled lobster. His wife, she looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole. He mutters something, snatches his groceries, and storms out of the store without paying. His wife hurries after him, looking mortified. Mildred, she leans against the counter for a second, takes a deep breath, and then turns to me with a weak smile. She says, ‘Next, please.’
I finally decide on the sourdough. I tell Mildred to have a good rest of her day, and she gives me this grateful look. As I walk to my car, I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever see that guy again. I hope not. It’s the thought of running into him, or someone like him, that makes me want to just stay home with my starter. It’s a lot less stressful. But then, I think about the smell of fresh bread, and I know I’ll be back. I just hope next time, the biggest drama I have to deal with is choosing between ciabatta and sourdough.
