You Can’t Zing At His Level

(Some customers approach my counter who are obviously tourists from another part of the country; the name of their area is written on pretty much every article of clothing they are wearing.)

Me: “Hi, how are you all doing today?”

Customer: “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?!”

Me: “How are you doing today?”

(She gives me a disgusted look as though I’ve just done the most offensive thing imaginable, then rolls her eyes and speaks to me like I’m a toddler.)

Customer: “Okay, like, first of all, you need to understand something very important here. We’re the good people, who come from the good part of the country, where they have the good stores, that sell the good products, which—” *condescending chuckle* “—YOUR KIND wouldn’t know a thing about. So, don’t act like you can engage us on our level.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Ma’am, I’m afraid my workplace does not possess the industrial drilling equipment necessary to reach your level.”

(She doesn’t even flinch, but turns to the gentleman with her.)

Customer: “This is why we should have gone to [Big City in the state they apparently came from], instead.”

(They walk away.)

Supervisor: “You all hear that? Today, our buffalo wings are only the second zingiest thing here!”