Karan And The Chixploitation

(I work in a local supermarket deli/bakery combo that sells fried chicken. You can buy it by the piece or in an eight-pack for a fixed price. The eight pack, which is essentially a whole chicken cut up and fried, is by far the better deal since chicken piece prices vary; a breast can be a few bucks while a drumstick or a wing is a dollar, and so forth. A very well-dressed woman orders three chicken breasts, which actually works out to be almost exactly the price of the eight-piece.)

Me: “Ma’am, just to let you know, for another thirty cents, you can get the eight-piece meal.”

Customer: *wrinkling her nose* “I don’t want that. I only eat white meat.”

Me: “Okie-dokie. Just wanted to be sure you were aware.”

(I go to package up her order.)

Customer: “Well, wait. Why is it almost the same price? That’s not fair. I’m getting less.”

Me: “Individual pieces are priced differently. Chicken breasts cost the most because they are the largest and most popular. The full meal is often the better deal.”

Customer: “But that’s not fair. Are you getting this? This is exploitation. I wouldn’t eat the other pieces. I only eat white. Meat. I would just throw those out. That is disgusting. That is exploitation. Are you getting this?”

(Like a lot of retail jobs, or indeed any customer service job whatsoever, I am actually allowed a small amount of flexibility for certain things to make customers happy. However, as I’m sure anyone who has worked with customer service has also experienced, my willingness to do so shifts dramatically in proportion to how unpleasant the customer is. At this point, she’s nearly shouting, leaning across the counter to jab her finger in my face, and speaking in an extremely condescending tone. This job and what I get paid for it are not worth feeding into this woman’s horror-show attitude and her tenuous grasp on what actually qualifies as “exploitation.”)

Customer: “Do I need to get your manager? Is that how this is going to go?” 

Me: “Ma’am, you are welcome to talk to whomever you want, but our prices and policies are clearly posted.”

(She glares at me, spins around, and storms out of the store. My manager, who has been silently observing this as she works to take inventory nearby and waiting to see if I need her to step in, comes over.)

Manager: “God, how great must your life be when getting too much food is your biggest problem and causes a reaction like that?”