When Press Comes To Shove

(I’m working at a dry cleaners. It’s nearly closing time, so my 6’5″, 250 lb. fiancé is waiting out of sight in the back for me to finish up. A last-minute customer arrives.)

Customer: *angrily* “Are my shirts done yet?!”

Me: “Yes, sir. Let me get those for you.”

(I get the shirts, which the customer has waited a long time to pick up—several weeks. They are therefore not perfectly pressed anymore. The customer inspects them and is clearly not happy.)

Customer: “This is terrible work! Look at this wrinkle!”

Me: “I’m sorry sir, but they were—”

(The customer shoves himself aggressively over the counter and starts yelling abusively in my face.)

Customer: “WHAT KIND OF CRAPPY DRY CLEANER ARE YOU ANYWAY!?”

(Suddenly, my fiancé, who has heard all this, whips out from the back of the store and jumps in front of the counter, between me and the abusive customer. He moves to within three inches of the customer’s face, and looks down at him menacingly.)

Fiancé: *softly, but in deep bass register* “DO. YOU. HAVE. A. PROBLEM?”

Customer: *cowers back* “No, no… everything’s fine…”

(The customer grabs his shirts and literally flees out the store.  I never saw him again.)

Me: *to fiance* “I love you.”