A Whole Continent Of Brotherly Disdain

An African dressed in a tribal dashiki comes in, speaking some form of African tribal language.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we only speak German and English.”

After he gives me an order in barely intelligible English, I quote the price. He becomes irate.

Customer: “Why is it so much?!”

I go through each item and state its price.

Customer: “Why didn’t you tell me the food costs a lot here? I am your African brother! Why do you treat me like this? We are brothers! You are a black man! Give me a fair price!”

Me: “I do not set or negotiate prices at this fast food restaurant.”

He eventually dug the money up and slapped it forcefully on the counter. After eating, he arose, and as he was heading for the door, he waved to me and said something in an African language. Extremely annoyed with the scene he’d made, I simply nodded. This made him irate again, and he began screaming in whatever language it was until some customers pushed him out of the door.

He continued to stand in the window, staring directly at me with his fists clenched and his eyes wide, breathing heavily. After a solid fifteen minutes, he finally left.