When You Don’t Fear Them, They Cannot Control You

(I work at a famous southern supermarket as a package clerk, which is a nice way of saying that I’m a bagger. I’m one month into my job. I am bagging for a register when I overhear a customer in another lane yelling at one of the cashiers over a misunderstanding on a compliment she gave to a friend of the customer’s. Since I have finished bagging my register, I move over to bag for the customer’s friend, as the complaining customer continues to berate and yell at the cashier from afar. Take note that the cashier has braided extensions colored pure red.)

Customer: “And don’t you talk about her d*** hair like that again! You, with your fake-a** weave! I ought to get your manager here and fire you for disrespecting a customer for the way she wears her hair!”

(The cashier picks up the intercom phone, calls the manager, and says a customer wants to speak to him. The customer says nothing, but smiles and continues to look at her silently as she finishes her friend’s order. The friend seems embarrassed. She’s just quiet the whole time this is going on, and promptly leaves the store, more than likely to avoid more embarrassment. The confidence in the cashier seems to anger the customer even more.)

Customer: “I don’t know why you’re smirking, you stupid b****. Your manager is coming, and I’m going to get him to fire your a**!”

Cashier: “I’m smiling because all of this is a misunderstanding and you are flying off the rails for no reason. I’m not afraid of you or your threats to get me fired.”

(The customer just looks angry and points a finger at her.)

Customer: “And that’s the d*** problem! YOU SHOULD BE AFRAID!”

(When the manager comes, the three of them discuss the situation and the customer promptly calls the cashier a liar about complimenting her friend’s hair. The customer eventually storms off, after the manager dismisses her claim; the cashier has never been known to insult customers and most customers generally like her. After she leaves, I shake my head and look to the cashier.)

Me: “What exactly did you say to her friend to make her fly off the handle and say that you need to be afraid of her?”

Cashier: “I said that I wished I could get my real hair to look like hers.”