Today I was standing in line, waiting for a sandwich. The woman in front of me ordered a bagette with sliced fresh mozarella and made it very clear that she didn't want any vinegrette. The guy behind the counter had just started making her sandwich, and out of nowhere she flipped out.
"I thought I said no vinegrette!!! No. Vinegrette."
The guy looked up calmly, looked at the sandwich, looked up again and said "Ma'am, there is no vinegrette."
"Well, it's wet. I can see that the sandwich is wet. Maybe your hands are wet, then, or something. It's definately wet."
"Ma'am" he continued. "These tomatoes are juicy, and fresh mozarella is always wet. That's probably what you are seeing."
"No it's not!" she argued. "I can tell you that fresh mozarella is not wet like that! I know. I eat it practically every day. And it's not wet."
And here I made a decision to bite my tongue, hard. I wanted to tell the fat bitch that if her mozarella wasn't wet, then it sure as hell wasn't fresh, and so god only knows what she was eating but it wasn't fresh mozarella...however, whatever it was, eating it every day had gone straight to her ass. And then I wanted to ask her what else in her life was never wet. And finally I wanted to tell her that she should have recorded her conversation with the young man, so that in twenty years, when she is wondering why she is still alone, she will have an answer.
I worked my way through high school and college in service industries, and I know what it's like to have people shit on you irrationally. When you're being paid to take it, you take it. But now that I'm in the line, and not serving the line, I'm finally in a position to tell these people what I think of them. And sometimes I do; but sometimes, I'm not in the mood for a confrontation. Here is where it would be handy to have little printed business cards which read things like "You're an asshole" or "Stop being a self-important little cunt" or "It helps to act like a civilized human." It would be passive-aggression meets performance art. It would also be really emotionally satisfying.
I would love to have been just like "Excuse me," all smiles, and then slip that woman what looked like a business card. And then continue to look at her with a benign smile as she tried to make sense of the fact that someone had just handed her a printed card that said "Free Coupon to Call Someone Who Gives a Shit."
She'd snark something about it being "none of my business," and then I'd be able to calmly explain that it was indeed my business, as she could plainly see by the fact that I had the business cards to prove it.