Today at my new job, some bitch yelled out at me from across the store, "hey meat man!"
I stopped in my tracks. It was the worst way someone has addressed me since I got called a motherfucker and punched in the middle of a Minneapolis street (see a few months back for that one).
She was a short woman with glasses and a black, short, spiky haircut. Her dumb-looking daughter was next to her.
Spikes: Hey meat man!
Me: ... Yeah?
Where's the shrimp at?
Umm... did you check the cooler?
Yeah, the kind I like aren't there. Where's the smaller cocktail shrimp in a bag?
Well, we have them fresh in our counter behind the glass.
No, I want them in a bag. Can you check?
I moseyed on back behind the counter, into the back room. I faked my "check" and took a swig of my Sierra Mist. No way I'm doing this woman any favors.
I told her we were "out," and she stomped off. I hope something happened to her in the parking lot...