The grocery store was busy today. Many people were doing shopping for the weekend. I was working at the front, scanning items for customers. My job is to be quick and friendly, but also to make sure everything is correct. I like my job because I get to see many different kinds of people. Today, I see a young man, maybe 23 years old, with very short hair and a lot of jewelry. He wears a bright yellow shirt and expensive-looking pants. He has a small child with him, a boy maybe 4 years old, who is running around everywhere, not listening to his father.
The young man, let’s call him “Mr. Fancy Shirt,” comes to my line. He has only a few things: a bottle of expensive water, a bag of chips, and a large chocolate bar. The boy is still running, now near the candy display, touching everything. Mr. Fancy Shirt does not seem to care. He puts his items on the belt.
“Hello,” I say, smiling. “Did you find everything okay today?”
He just looks at me, not smiling. “Yes.” His voice is loud, like he is talking to many people, not just me.
I scan his water. 2.50. Then the chips. 3.75. Then the chocolate bar. 4.00. I tell him the total. “That will be 10.25, please.”
He takes out his wallet. It looks very thick. He pulls out a credit card, a black one, very shiny. He hands it to me. I take it and swipe it. The machine beeps. “Declined,” it says.
Mr. Fancy Shirt frowns. He looks at the machine like it is stupid. “No. That is impossible. This card is very good. Try again.”
I try again. Swipe. “Declined.”
He sighs loudly. “This machine is broken. You need to fix it. I have important places to be. I cannot wait here.”
I look at his card. It has his name on it. It is a very famous bank’s card, the kind only very rich people have. But maybe he is not so rich. “Sir, the machine is working fine. It just says the card is declined.”
He laughs, a short, sharp sound. “Declined? My card is never declined. You must have done something wrong. Maybe you did not scan it right.”
The boy runs back to him, holding a bright red lollipop. “Daddy, look!”
Mr. Fancy Shirt grabs the boy’s hand roughly. “Be quiet! You are bothering people.” He turns back to me. “I will not pay with another card. This one is perfect. You must make this one work. I am a very important customer.”
I try to stay calm. “Sir, I cannot make a declined card work. Maybe you have another form of payment? Cash? Another card?”
He throws his hands up. “This is ridiculous! I am not carrying cash. And my other cards are at home. Why would I need them? My main card always works.” He looks around, as if expecting everyone to agree with him. Some people are watching, but they quickly look away.
The boy starts to cry. “I want my candy!”
“Not now!” Mr. Fancy Shirt shouts. He turns back to me, his face red. “I will not be treated like this. I have places to go. I need this chocolate now. You will give it to me, and I will pay you later. Or maybe I don’t pay at all. This is your fault.”
This is when my stomach starts to feel tight. I do not like being yelled at, especially in front of so many people. And I know the rules. I cannot give him the items if the payment is not good. “Sir, I am sorry, but I cannot give you the items without good payment.”
He leans over the counter, his face close to mine. I can smell his strong cologne. “You are telling me no? Do you know who I am?”
I do not. And even if I did, it would not change the store’s policy. “Sir, I am just doing my job. If you want to speak to a manager, I can call them.”
He scoffs. “A manager? Why would I speak to a manager? You are the one who cannot do your job. This is a waste of my time.”
The boy is now screaming, holding onto Mr. Fancy Shirt’s leg. “Candy! Want candy!”
Mr. Fancy Shirt shakes his leg. “Stop it! You are embarrassing me!” He looks back at me, his eyes narrowed. “Fine. You want to play games? I will call my lawyer. This is discrimination. You are treating me badly because I look successful.”
I am not sure what to say to that. I just stand there, holding his declined card. My heart is beating fast. I wish I could just give him the chocolate, but I cannot.
Then, something happens. The little boy, still crying, pulls away from his father. He runs back towards the candy display, but this time, he trips. He falls down hard. The lollipop flies out of his hand and rolls under a shelf. The boy lets out a huge wail.
Mr. Fancy Shirt, for a moment, forgets about me. “Leo! What did you do?” He rushes to his son. The boy is crying and crying, his knee is scraped, and he has a big bump on his head.
People in the store are now looking. Mr. Fancy Shirt is kneeling, trying to comfort his son, but he is still angry. “Stop crying! You are making a scene!”
I see my chance. I pick up the fallen lollipop. It is a little dusty, but still looks okay. I walk over to Mr. Fancy Shirt.
He looks up at me, surprised. His face is still angry, but also worried about his son. “What do you want?”
I hold out the lollipop. “Here,” I say, my voice quiet. “Maybe this will help him feel better.”
He looks at the lollipop, then at his son, who is still sobbing. He takes the lollipop. His hand trembles a little. He gives it to Leo. Leo stops crying for a moment, looking at the lollipop.
Mr. Fancy Shirt stands up. He looks at me. He is not smiling, but the anger is gone. He looks tired. “You know,” he says, his voice much softer now, “maybe you are right. This card is not working. It is embarrassing. Leo, come on. We will go home and find another way to get treats.”
He picks up Leo. Leo, still sniffling, takes a lick of the lollipop. Mr. Fancy Shirt puts his declined card back in his wallet. He does not say anything else to me. He walks away, Leo holding his hand, the lollipop now in Leo’s mouth.
I watch them go. I feel a little shaky. I go back to my register. The next customer smiles at me. “That was something,” they say quietly. I nod. I do not want to think about Mr. Fancy Shirt again. But I know, deep down, that I will see him again. And maybe next time, he will have a working credit card. Or maybe he will just shout louder. I hope I am not working that day. I do not like people who think they are more important than everyone else. It makes me worry about what else they might think they can do without problems.
