I Am Real And So Are Your Drugs

(I am tending to a line of customers.)

Me: “Next, please.”

(The woman doesn’t move.)

Me: “Miss? You’re next.”

(She looks at me and grunts.)

Woman: “You don’t exist.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure I do.”

(She lets the rest of the line pass by until she is the only one left. I try everything in my power to prove I’m real to her, but she adamantly refuses to believe it, fully knowing I have just served about ten people right in front of her. My manager comes down eventually to ask me something and the woman interrupts.)

Woman: “WAIT! YOU’RE REAL?”

Manager: *bewildered* “Me?”

Woman: “Both of you.”

Manager: “Yes?”

Woman: *to me* “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

(My expression must have been murderous, as the woman actually took a step back, and my manager told me to take a break. When he came down after serving her, he told me she’d said that “weed and crack don’t mix well with me,” and then tried to give my manager a spliff to hand on to me to “calm me down.” My manager politely refused and called the police once she left. We don’t know if they caught up with her, and thankfully, I haven’t seen her since.)