The fluorescent lights of the enormous store hummed with an almost oppressive regularity. I was staring at a display of grout, trying to decide between almond and a slightly darker tan, when a voice cut through my concentration. It was a loud, demanding tone, surprisingly close.
“Excuse me! I’ve been waiting here for ages. Are you going to help me or just stare at the wall?”
I blinked, turning slowly. A person stood a few feet away, hands on their hips, a scowl firmly in place. My initial reaction was confusion; I wasn’t aware of having done anything to warrant such an address. I opened my mouth to explain that I was simply a shopper, but they cut me off.
“Don’t just stand there looking gormless. I need to find the correct size of PVC piping for a drainage project. You people are never around when you’re actually needed.”
A mild headache began to form behind my eyes. “Oh, I’m sorry,” I started, trying to keep my voice even, “but I don’t actually work here. I’m just a customer, like you.”
The scowl deepened, if such a thing were possible. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re right here in the plumbing aisle. You have to work here. Now, where is the three-inch piping?” They gestured vaguely down the aisle with an impatient sweep of their arm. It wasn’t just the words, but the sheer, unblinking conviction in their eyes that struck me. It was as if my words simply hadn’t registered.
“No, I truly don’t,” I insisted, a sigh escaping me that I hadn’t intended. “I’m looking for grout. I don’t know anything about plumbing supplies.”
“Well, you ought to,” they retorted, stepping closer. “It’s your job to know. Now, stop wasting my time and direct me to the correct aisle. I have a contractor waiting.”
My muscles began to tense. The sheer illogicality of the situation was starting to grate on me. “Sir/Madam,” I said, my voice now tighter, “I am not an employee of this establishment. I am wearing my own clothes, I do not have a nametag, and I certainly do not have an employee discount. I cannot help you.”
A snort of disdain. “Oh, I see how it is. You’re just being lazy. Trying to avoid work. This is exactly what’s wrong with customer service these days. I’ve never encountered such rudeness from an employee. I demand you show me the piping immediately.” Their voice had risen, attracting the attention of a couple of other shoppers further down the aisle. My cheeks felt warm with a sudden flush of irritation.
“I. Do. Not. Work. Here!” I articulated each word with exaggerated slowness, hoping it might finally penetrate. My jaw was beginning to ache from clenching.
“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me!” they shrieked, their face turning a shade of angry crimson. “I will have you fired! Do you hear me? Fired! Get me your manager right now! This is completely unacceptable behaviour! You are going to regret this!”
A hot wave washed over me, and my vision seemed to narrow at the edges. The sound of their voice, sharp and incessant, was like nails on a chalkboard, amplifying the building pressure in my head. I could feel my hands trembling slightly, an involuntary reaction to the simmering rage. The absurdity of being threatened with termination by a stranger, for a job I didn’t even have, was beyond comprehension. My throat felt constricted. Every fibre of my being screamed for this interaction to end.
They stepped even closer, their finger jabbing in the air just inches from my face. “You absolute disgrace! I am a paying customer, and you WILL help me! Now move it!”
Something inside me snapped. The world went red. Without thought, without planning, I reacted. My hand shot out, not to push them, but to silence that hateful, insistent voice. A sharp crack echoed in the aisle. The person stumbled backward, clutching their face, a look of shocked disbelief replacing their fury. Other shoppers gasped, some scrambling away. The immediate aftermath was a deafening silence, broken only by a low groan. My chest heaved, adrenaline surging through me. A wave of sick satisfaction, quickly followed by a cold dread, washed over me.
Within moments, security guards were rushing towards us from multiple directions, their expressions grim. A cacophony of voices erupted, shouting questions, demanding explanations. I stood there, motionless, my chest still heaving, the throbbing behind my eyes now a full-blown migraine. The blare of approaching sirens seemed to confirm the inevitable. Two uniformed officers were soon at my side, their hands firmly, but carefully, guiding me away from the scene. The last thing I saw was the person still on the floor, surrounded by a small crowd, pointing a shaking finger in my direction.
