You… Are… An… A**hole…

, , , | Right | January 10, 2020

(I have been standing in line at the post office for just over an hour, waiting to get a parcel posted. The post office cashier is Indian; she speaks English very well but has a slight accent. Two teenage girls are standing at the front of the queue, gossiping away.)

Cashier: *to the teen girls* “Hello, can I help you today?”

Girl #1: *scoffing* “Why else would I be here?”

Girl #2: *whispering to [Girl #1], loudly enough for everyone to hear* “I can barely understand her. Why do they even hire their kind, anyway?”

Cashier: *visibly upset, but continues to try to do her job* “What would you like to send today?”

Girl #1: *speaking loudly and slowly to the cashier* “I… need… this… box… to… go… to… dis… place. You… read… no?”

Cashier: *trying to ignore their rudeness* “Please place it on the scale.”

Girl #2: “No… you… take… box… you… curry… eater.”

(This exchange goes on for a while, with the cashier asking them to put the parcel on the scale and them refusing point-blank, talking to her in the insulting slow tone. I have finally had enough. Stepping forward, I mimic the girls’ tone of voice.)

Me: “No… she… wants… you… to… put… box… on… metal… thing.”

Girl #1: “Why are you talking to us like that, b****?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, just from the way you were talking, I thought you might be a bit slow.”

Girl #2: “No, the cashier is the stupid one!” *stomping her feet like a child*

Me: *patronisingly* “Yes, yes, okay, sweetie. Put your box on the scale now.” *she puts it on the scale with me watching over* “Aww, who’s a big girl? Now pay the nice lady, apologize, and walk out.”

(The girls do as I say, beet red at being confronted, and finally, they leave.)

Cashier: “Thank you. They always come in here to harass me.”

(Apparently, they never returned to harass the woman again.)

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