Entitlement, Thy Name Is The Upper Middle Class

(I work in a grocery store that caters mostly to the upper middle class. It’s a small, busy store, so it’s often crowded. I’m pulling a cart loaded with perishable product from our receiving area to the walk-in cooler and have to pass through a fairly narrow aisle. One of my coworkers — also with a cart of product — and another customer are behind me. A customer in the aisle is bent over next to his reusable bag, rearranging its contents. There’s just enough room for me to get through, but to be polite and warn him — and avoid a potential collision — I speak up.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir.”

(I start to pass him, and he shifts into my way so that neither I nor those behind me can get through. Then he looks me in the eye, and speaks in the snootiest tone I have ever heard.)

Customer: “I come first.”

(I had no idea how to respond, so I didn’t say anything. He took a few more seconds to pack up, and the moment he shifted back out of my way, I passed by and cleared the way for those behind me.)