Pax, the breakfast/lunch chain store off the lobby of my office building, is expensive and its morning lines long, but I’m lazy and want a muffin and a hazelnut coffee, so I frequent the place anyway. Usually it’s a busy but orderly scene. This morning, however, the woman at the front of the line was complaining about the price of her bagel with egg whites and tomato.
It was something insanely expensive, $8, I think, partly because it was an off-menu item and partly because this is one of the most costly cities in the country. She insisted on continuing her complaint (“It’s a bagel with egg whites and tomato. Eight dollars? That’s insane!”). I don’t know what she expected them to do—give her a discount because she deserved it?
No, instead, the manager strode over briskly, literally snatched the order away from her and said, “If you don’t want it, you can leave. You’re holding up the line.” She sputtered something about attitude and stormed out. The line shuffled forward as if nothing had happened. In the silence, I felt like chirping, “Ya know, in Latin, pax means...” but I didn’t want my muffin seized.