I (18 NB) work as a Bakery Associate in a local, bougie market in a pretty wealthy side of town. We’re a company that prides ourselves in top tier customer service/product, and as a result we tend to have higher prices…and a very certain type of clientele.
It’s always older folks with sharp eyes and touchy hands, or younger hipster types looking for preservative free, gluten free, No GMO, yadda yadda yadda. I don’t come from much, and don’t HAVE much, surrounded by shit I can’t afford; and these people with their steep pockets and snobby attitudes really tend to get under my skin.
But, there’s an encounter that will always stick out among the generic gold munchers.
One night, as we were getting close to closing time, an older guy stood behind the bakery case waiting for me to take his order. He looked like your average rich white guy. Paunchy sagging beer belly, bulbous red nose, striking farmers tan, and those deep pocketed khaki cargo shorts that old guys always seemed to wear. I turned, in my starchy chef’s coat and thanked him for coming, promising to help him out in a second (while I boxed the previous customers items).
He ended up ordering a few cupcakes, and while my back was turned, he mumbled something about the pay. “I’m sorry?” I asked, looking over my shoulder with a forced smile; the very same that I always wore while on the job.
He waved a veiny hand, stepping forward to lean on the bakery case, looking down at me with watery hazel eyes. “I was hoping to pay down at the other registers, of you don’t mind.” He said, flashing an odd sort of smile. “Of course!” I agreed, for this wasn’t at all an unusual request. I turned to place a sticker on his box of cakes, and what happened next sent chills down my spine.
“You don’t care…you don’t FUCKING care-“ he snarled from behind me, with a growl that made me nauseous. I whipped around to face him with wide eyes, clearly startled by the shift in mood.
“What?” I asked, tone perhaps a bit harsh with offense, but honestly all I felt was shock.
The man held his stance at the counter, snarl melting into this sickly smile- as I slid the box across the metallic surface into his gnarly hands. “Nothing, nothing-“ he chuckled, reaching forward to catch my wrist, “Say-“ he started, oblivious to my obvious fear. “Why don’t we take off, Baby.”
I ended up giving the typical nervous-but-holding-it-together laugh, as I tried to tug from his grip, but to no avail. “Seriously-“ he said, leaning closer, “When do you get off?”
My red flags were certainly flared at this point, and I had finally managed to squirm out of his grip. “I don’t know.” I said firmly, setting my jaw into a tight lipped smile.
“You don’t know?” He asked, pouting like a child as I backed away. “Well, you guys close in an hour, yeah? I’ll just wait for you, outside.” He grinned, before turning away and heading towards the registers to pay. He smiled at me once more, from outside the building just a little while later, his face reflected in the sliding glass doors.
It was then, that I took the opportunity to run for security, my face blanched and my hands shaking. I was off in half an hour or so, and I typically walked home, so a conflict with this guy was certainly not ideal.
But… he was no where to be found. They saw him, talking to me on the security camera; and they saw him, wandering towards the registers after the encounter. But I never saw him again.
After that, I began taking an uber home.