Must. Get. Out.
Another small chapter from the Rude Albertans storybook:
Dishing up a rotisserie chicken for a customer and having a chat while I do so, I hear a bellowing voice from the produce department, about ten steps away. “I’LL NEED ONE OF THOSE TO GO.” I glance in the direction of the voice, then continue on with the customer I’m serving.
Before I’m finished with the customer, I hear the voice again:
“HELLOOOOOOO. I SAID I’LL NEED ONE OF THOSE TO GO. DID YOU HEAR ME?”
With tongue firmly between my teeth, I replied to the belligerent individual that I had indeed heard him. He kept on walking. I finished up with the customer in front of me, thanked him, then realized that the Bellower was still going about his business in the produce department, and probably expecting his chicken to be delivered to his shopping cart. Knowing that I would probably aim it directly at his head if I walked in his direction, I packaged up the chicken, dropped it on my counter, and walked away.
