Smells Like A You Problem

I am leaving my shift at a grocery store, apron on my arm, purse on the other shoulder, leg lifted to enter the driver’s side of my boyfriend’s truck. A customer approaches with a plastic bag in one hand and a pack of chicken thighs in the other.

She demands:

Customer: “Ma’am, smell this.”

I stare in shock for two seconds before saying:

Me: “No matter what is wrong with that chicken, you have to go into the store for a potential refund.”

And then I got into the truck and left, still in disbelief.