Don’t You Hate It When You Become One Of “Them”?

I am the idiot in this story. I’ve gone to a fast food restaurant late in the evening, well after the dinner rush. The place seems deserted except for the employees. I order a grilled chicken sandwich with no mayo and stand aside to wait for it. When a grilled chicken sandwich is placed on the counter, I spy some suspicious oily glops on the box. I open it and take the sandwich apart, and not gingerly. I really manhandle it. I pipe up.

Me: “Um… I ordered this with no mayo.”

Employee: “That’s not yours. That’s hers.”

He pointed behind me where, unbeknownst to me, a little old lady had silently crept up. I apologized and offered to pay. The employee said, “Nah,” but I felt like a huge idiot.