A Wristful Of Dollars

(It’s my first year of working on the cash register. A very tall and muscular man is one of my customers. The purchase goes smoothly.)

Me: “That will be $8.25.”

(The customer puts down a few bills on the counter. I’ve seen other customers do this as a way of handing me money, so I reach over to take the bills. Immediately, my customer grabs my wrist and yanks hard enough to pull me onto the counter. He looks me square in the eyes and speaks to me in the calmest, most condescending tone.)

Customer: “Now, listen to me. I’m still getting the rest of my change out. You don’t get to take it until I give you everything. Do you understand?”

(I was too stunned to speak. He let me go and I lowered myself back behind the register, while he got a quarter and handed me the money without another word. Because of this assault, I refuse to pick up money if it’s still on the counter for me to reach over and take, not just because I’m scared of it happening again, but because I now have an aching arm injury that makes it hard to reach.)