¡Yo No Trabajo Aquí!

, , | Right | September 18, 2017

(I’m standing in line at a popular fast-food joint, in no way looking like a worker. I’m wearing capris, a t-shirt, and sneakers. I’m also fifteen, though I look like I’m twelve. Needless to say, I’m also standing on the side of the counter where the food is ordered, not where the workers are. A customer approaches me and begins to rattle off a long, complex order.)

Customer: “Did you get all that?”

Me: *doesn’t realize she was speaking to me* “Uh… no?”

Customer: “DIDN’T YOU PAY ATTENTION?! I’M TALKING TO YOUR MANAGER FOR TERRIBLE CUSTOMER SERVICE!”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Customer: *pause* “…get me your supervisor.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand; I’m a customer, not a worker.”

Customer: “I need to talk to your manager. If they hire Mexican children, they should at least speak English!”

Me: “I don’t think you understand English. I. Don’t. Work. Here.” *at this point, I’ve given up being polite*

Customer: “Oh… I’m sorry.”

Me: “It’s cool.”

Customer: “So… can I get a burger?”

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