Top Shelf Kindness Meets Bottom Shelf Entitlement

I live just a few blocks from a grocery store, so I often text my family before leaving work to see if anyone needs anything. This particular day, my wife, son, and daughter sent back a small list, including olive oil. Easy enough. I grab a basket, get the other items, and head down the aisle where the olive oil is stocked.

On the very top shelf, I spot a large bottle at a ridiculously low price. I’m a little over six feet tall, so I stretch up and grab one. As soon as I drop it into my basket, I hear a very polite voice behind me.

Polite Grandma: “Excuse me, young man?”

It had been a long time since anyone had called me that, so I thought she was talking to someone else. But no, she’s a tiny little thing, not even five feet tall, smiling up at me.

Polite Grandma: “I saw you could reach that bottle. Could you see if there are any more up there?”

Me: “There’s one more. Would you like me to get it for you?”

Polite Grandma: “Yes, please.”

I hand her the bottle, she thanks me profusely, and I say it was no trouble. I figure it’s a nice way to end my day. But then things get weird. Out of nowhere, [Entitled Woman] appears.

Entitled Woman: “Get me one of those bottles.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Entitled Woman: “One of those large bottles of olive oil. Get one down for me.”

Me: “There aren’t any more.”

She immediately tries to grab the one out of my basket. I yank it back.

Me: “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Entitled Woman: “You should give me yours! You can just go in the back and look for more.”

For the record, I’m wearing khakis and a button-down shirt, nothing like the store employees. Just as I’m about to tell her where she can stick that request, one of the managers comes out of the back. We know each other in passing, just the usual “nod, smile, how’s your day” sort of thing.

Entitled Woman *Pouncing.* “Your employee swore at me and refused to give me the last big bottle of olive oil!”

The manager looks at me, then at my basket, then back at me, clearly confused.

Manager: “Ma’am, he doesn’t work here.”

Entitled Woman: “But he got a bottle down for someone else!”

Manager: “That was awfully nice of him.”

Entitled Woman: “Well, make him give me his bottle!”

The manager looks at me again, equally confused, and I just shrug. Finally, he sighs.

Manager: “Sir, you’re free to go. I’ll take care of this.”

I leave, while behind me she’s still screeching:

Entitled Woman: “But I wanted that big bottle of olive oil!”