I work night shift stock at a grocery store and often finish my shift at around seven or eight in the morning; it’s usually a ten-hour shift, sometimes twelve. Given the time, I’ve become a regular at a coffee place on the way home, more often than not being served by the same, rather pretty, female barista, and we sometimes have small talk on slow mornings. Obviously, I’m under no illusions that she’s nice to me for any other reason than that I buy coffee. 

One morning, I’ve just gotten off a twelve-hour shift at work and am walking across the parking towards my car. By sheer coincidence, the same barista who often serves me is walking towards the grocery store, though her eyes are on her phone and she has earbuds in, so I decide not to greet her.

However, I see out of the corner of my eye as she clips her smartphone onto the holster on her hip. She apparently missed the proper clasp and her phone falls a few feet onto the pavement. She doesn’t seem to notice, so I double back, pick up her phone, and call out to get her attention.

Me: “Hey, [Barista].”

She turns around, recognizing me.

Me: “You dropped your—”

The barista lets out a frustrated grunt, cutting me off.

Barista: “Oh, godd*** it.” 

Me: *Blinking, confused* “Huh?”

Barista: “Look, I know we talk sometimes, but you know it’s just because I’m literally paid to be nice to you, right? I’m not going to be closer than the coffee girl.”

She goes on for what feels like quite a bit of time, not quite yelling, but firmly telling me that she’s not interested. I do try to interject when she takes a breath with the same four words: “You dropped your phone.” However, she’s not paying attention. Eventually, I just stop talking and hold up her phone — which has a neon-pink case — next to my face, waiting for her to notice.

After another minute or so:

Barista: “…so you really need to not jump to conclusions. Just because someone is polite and gives you a big smile—”

She finally notices her phone in my hand and reaches down to touch her phone holster.

Barista: “Wait. How did you get that?”

Me: “You dropped it about ten feet behind you.” 

Barista: *Pause* “Oh.” 

She took her phone, looked at the screen to make sure it was still locked, and then turned around to resume her trek to the store without so much as a thanks or apology. I was still a regular at the coffee shop, up until a certain global disease made my job even more hectic. The barista still often served me, never alluding to the incident in front of the grocery store, and I never brought it up, either. I just decided it wasn’t worth it.

This story is part of our Best Of November 2020 roundup!

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It is the start of the global health crisis, so people are panic buying. Our store is having difficulty, both with receiving items from our warehouses as well as with people purchasing larger quantities.

We are limiting chicken at the start of this crisis to two packs per customer, with the hope that more people will have the opportunity to buy meat, and to try to be fair. We have signs everywhere: at the front door, at customer service, on the meat case, and at the registers.

I am on register when a customer comes up with ten large multipacks.

Me: “Excuse me, sir, we are unfortunately limiting the amount of chicken to two per family. Would you please pick out the two that you’d like? I can have someone put the rest away.”

Customer: *Instantly argumentative* “There are no signs up saying that!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we have posted signs at multiple places, including the one in front of you.”

I gesture to the sign in capital red letters.

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager as this is ridiculous!”

I put my light for the manager on and put the chicken aside as I continue to ring up his purchase. He rants non-stop, and I am very apologetic.

Me: “I’m so sorry for the inconvenience; I understand your frustration.”

Customer: “You’re stupid and you need to shut up!”

I silently finish scanning what he has on the belt and am still waiting for my manager to come over. I apologize again for the wait and he sneers at me.

Customer: “I thought I told you to shut up. I have four kids; two packs of chicken ain’t gonna cut it. Tell me which one I’m not gonna feed tonight.”

Me: “May I suggest the one you like the least?”

The best part is that my manager walks up right then, sees the ten packs of chicken, and doesn’t even wait for him to say anything but says:

Manager: “Two packs. You get two; that’s it.” *Walks away*

The customer pointed to two packs while saying he was never coming back. Then, he paid and stormed out.

I work the lowest-paying job at my local grocery store, as I am too young to be a cashier; you have to be twenty-one or older.

Part of my job is to clean bathrooms. I block off the women’s restroom with our cleaning cart so I can clean it. A lady comes up and completely ignores the fact that I’m cleaning and shoves the cleaning cart out of the way of the door.

Me: “Oh, sorry, I’m cleaning this. I’ll just be a minute—”

The woman pushes past me into a stall. I give up and start to clean the mirrors before I mop the floor, since she’s technically in the way. She finishes in the stall and starts washing her hands. When she’s done, she FLICKS her very wet hands right in front of me. Water goes EVERYWHERE. All over the floor, all over the mirrors, and all over… me.

Me: “Excuse me?”

The woman just left, pushing the cart farther out of the way. I was stunned. I’ve started making sure no one can get through while I’m cleaning!

I’m an Indigenous person. My mother is white and my father is Indigenous, but I was raised fully understanding my First Nations history and on reserve, too. Because of this mixed heritage, people frequently have a hard time “determining” what I am. I have heard it all; Indian, Lebanese, Iranian, Polish, Japanese, Russian, Brazilian, Spanish, Greek, Mexican… almost anything but what I actually am. This type of interaction happens often. Let it also be noted that I think that I have “resting pleasant face” from far too many years in retail.

Stranger: “What are you?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean your parents.”

Me: “Yeah, Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean, what is your heritage?”

Me: “Canadian.”

Stranger: “No, I mean…”

Me: “Let me cut you off, ‘cause it goes all the way down.”

I’ve also, unfortunately, been subjected to people that are clearly trying to find a way to insult me and claim that I’m somehow undeserving of the job or opportunity I’ve got. They’ll fish in this same way but get increasingly angry at my inability to play into their game.

Honestly, maybe it’s because I am on the autism spectrum, but as disturbing as I find it, it is equally funny to watch them struggle to claim that I’m taking jobs away from “Real Canadians.”

My “favourite” person finally yelled at me, “Go back to where you came from!” I smiled and said, “You go back to where you came from, white boy. I’ve got a card that proves I was here before you.” People, don’t assume people of colour are not from wherever you are, both by recent history or heritage. All you do is show your own ignorance!

During lockdown, every item is limited to three per transaction to stop bulk purchases and ration out stock.

Customer: “How many two-litre bottles of coke can I have.”

Me: “Only three.”

Customer: “But there are four people in our house!”

One bottle has eight servings.