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!”
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.