So there I was, standing in a queue waiting to be served, eyeing up the cupcakes and crispies, when the man with the pram kindly moved aside so that I could reach for a chicken sandwich for the Farmer. I thanked kind-daddy only to be faced with disappointment when I realised there were no chicken sarnies in sight. "Oh well," I thought, "I'll just have to ask them to make me one up." Two stressed out assistants ran back and forth, snapping at customers, "is there anything else?" and "can I help anyone?" when eventually it was my turn.
Seemingly-nice-lady asked me, "can I help you?" "yes please," I answered, noticing kind daddy having already been served by seemingly-not-so-nice lady. "Could you make me a chicken sandwich up please, there doesn't appear to be any on the shelf." It wasn't a question. It was a request. I was the customer.
Not-so-nice-lady, who incidentally was serving someone else, looked at me and snapped, "that's because we're busy." "Excuse me?" I replied. She did not answer. I don't like confrontation. Never have. I can't handle it. And when one is faced with a rude shop assistant in the middle of a packed bakery, one turned around to face the other customers who were quite happily minding their own business, looking everywhere apart from at me. Is it the customer's fault that the shop was short-staffed? Is it the customer's fault that the rude and discourteous shop assistant might have been having a bad day? Is it the customer's fault that there were no chicken sandwiches left? Well bugger me, I forgot to ask for my chocolate crispie after all.