They Are Rotten To The Corps, Part 2

(My fiancé and I attend college in Florida. I’ve spent most of the past three years outside, and have tanned despite frequent applications of sunscreen. We’re driving to see my parents for their 35th anniversary, and stop to get food.)

Cashier: “We don’t serve immigrants here!”

(My fiancé is from Scotland, but hasn’t said anything. He turns to leave and is holding the door for me.)

Cashier: “Sir! You don’t have to leave; just that illegal chica.”

Fiancé: “First, I’m the immigrant. Second, my ‘chica’s’ shirt says ‘You Don’t Scare Me. My Dad’s A United States Marine.’ It’s pretty obvious she’s a citizen. Third, my money isn’t going to your paycheck.”

Cashier: “No citizen is THAT dark!”

Me: *snort* “Then why are you here?”

(Another customer has come up and bursts out laughing.)

Cashier: “What do you idiots find so funny?”

(The other customer approaches and points at the cashier’s skin.)

Other Customer: “Your tan is darker than hers!”

(The other customer then turns to me.)

Other Customer: “Is your dad a Marine?”

Me: “Yes, sir! He’s [rank and unit]. Yours, sir?”

(The other customer gives his rank, and turns to my fiancé.)

Other Customer: “You treat that young lady right.”