Should Have Eaten Fear For Breakfast

(An older male patron has started insisting that I (a young female) offer to buy him lunch earlier in the week. Every following day he would whisper a reminder in the form of a food order as he passed the reference desk.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir”

Patron: “Chicken salad… Chicken Salad.”

Me: *nods head, a little creeped out*

(A patron walks past a few hours later to leave.)

Patron: *intensely whispers* “Two hotdogs from Dairy Queen.”

(They say nothing else. Later, I turn to my coworker:)

Me: “Why is it always me?”

Coworker: “They smell the fear… or your lunch.”