Have a nice fucking day, dickhead. 

I want to so badly.  I weigh the pros and cons of mouthing off to this sexist, bigoted customer who’s been yelling at me for fifteen minutes about something completely out of my control.

Pros: I feel good for standing up to this pathetic excuse for a human.

Cons: I lose my job. I make a big scene. I lose the respect of a lot of people who thought of me as a nice, sweet, simple girl.

I can already hear all the talk that would go on if I caved.  “Did you hear?  She got fired after she yelled at a customer…Yeah, I heard it all.  It was awful!  I didn’t know she even knew half the words she was saying to this guy.”

I bag his items, knuckles white, my jaw clenched into a smile.  “I’m so sorry for all the trouble. Have a nice day.”  He grumbles back at me.

As he walks away, I rip my name badge off and storm outside for a break.  My face is red hot, but the fresh air helps calm me down.  I focus on my breathing.  Inhale, 2, 3, 4.  Exhale, 2, 3, 4.  I manage to escape this shit job for a few minutes, dreaming of working for no one but myself, of a career where I’m not powerless over the sleazy scumbags that come in to the store.

A man comes screaming out of the store, and I turn my head to see him.  “What the fuck do you mean I can’t see my kids! They’re my fucking kids!” 

It’s him.

He walks right past me as he continues to scream into his phone.  My break is already over, but I stay for an extra minute or two.  I can’t see his face anymore, but I can hear his voice trembling as he walks away.  “You can’t do this to me!  They’re my kids!”  He gets lost in the sea of cars, and I can’t see him anymore.

I take a few more deep breaths, and then head back inside.  Just as I step through the door, I hear an ear-piercing “God dammit!” come from the parking lot.

He had it coming.



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