There is a 7-Eleven across the street from the downtown Seattle office building I work in. There was a time I went there to buy something on a regular basis, and the employees seemed friendly enough. But then the manager started to get more aggressive with the panhandlers hanging around outside, and then with “loiterers” in the store. One day I saw him chase someone out of the store, hitting him on the back with a loud “thud”; I wasn’t sure that was in the employee manual. He apparently decided he had enough and sold that location to another South Asian franchisee, and that one sold it to another.
I hadn’t seen these new operators before when I went into the establishment late in the afternoon last week to purchase a salad bowl and two slices of pizza. I picked up the salad from a shelf and went on to observe what kind of pizza they had; they had two on the warmer: four slices of pepperoni pizza that looked like it had been sitting since early in the morning, dried-up and curling up. The other looked like it had a little more on it, and had just gotten out of the oven; I was resolved to get the slices from that pizza, since it is the customer’s choice, right?
But this would be no ordinary day at your “friendly” 7-Eleven, every one that I’ve ever been to in the last few years in King County operated by South Asians. As I waited in line to complete my purchases, I observed a white male customer at the checkout counter having a “discussion” with the clerk, who frankly looked a little “rough” to me. The customer was being told that his debit card had “insufficient funds.” The customer insisted that this was wrong; he tried to show the clerk on his phone that he had plenty of money left in his bank account, that there must be a mistake. The clerk became belligerent, ordering the customer to “get out of here.” The customer gestured in dismay and left; I thought to myself “that guy is acting like the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld.”
But Soup Nazi wasn’t done yet, not by a long shot. One white customer down, and next up was black customer. He wanted a Big Bite and a slice of the “spicy” pizza, presumably referring to the fresh pizza that I could see had Italian sausage on it. He was told he had to pay for the items first; because of the pandemic, most 7-Elevens now have the customers handle their own food from the “hot” food section, just like they do everything on the shelves, but not at this place. Here, you have to pay first, and they will give you whatever the hell they want to. The Big Bites all looked the same, but Soup Nazi ignored his request for a slice of “spicy” pizza and took out a slice of the old, moldy pizza; the black customer insisted that was not what he ordered, but Soup Nazi was having none of that: “Go, get out of here,” and this customer, probably more out of shock than anything else, “obliged” this asshole.
I was next, the guy everyone thinks is a “Mexican,” so why not make this an “equal opportunity” discrimination fest? But after taking in what I had seen, I was prepared for battle. I put the salad on the counter and told Soup Nazi that I want two slices of the “fresh” pizza. While I was paying for the items with a debit card, I observed him getting the slices of the moldy pizza. I immediately exclaimed that I did not order that, I wanted the “fresh” pizza—give me what I paid for. Soup Nazi left the pizza on the tray and told me to “Get out of here.” Yeah, I was just going to leave having been forced to pay for items I didn’t receive. I pointed at the fresh pizza and told him to give me what I ordered, or would call someone.
Soup Nazi told me to “go ahead”; he even pointed to me on the receipt the customer service phone number. Yeah, like I was going to wait “patiently” listening to the automated “customer service” system for twenty minutes and then be put on hold for an hour. No, I wasn’t going to be cheated like these two other customers. He was actually expecting me to meekly walk out with only half of what I paid for, but I told him I wasn’t going anywhere until I received what I paid for.
This apparently discombobulated the Soup Nazi because what happened next was something he had probably been itching to do to somebody: he reached underneath the counter and pulled out what appeared to be an LED flashlight, and he reached over the counter and quickly touched my elbow with it. I felt a very slight jolt of electricity; apparently this was some low-wattage Taser device. My reaction was a mixture of bemusement and indignation, and in no way did this dissuade me from my purpose; I tend to feel this way when I am convinced I am in the “right.” There were two other customers in the store who saw this, and they decided to split.
The clerk wasn’t alone here; there was another South Asian man who I took to be the “manager,” since he didn’t do anything except wander around. I asked him if he had just seen what the Soup Nazi had done. I told him I was going to call the police on this guy. Soup Nazi went around the counter with his Taser in hand, but the manager stopped him and had an animated conversation with him. The Soup Nazi did as instructed, telling me to wait on the other side of the store while they cooked a “fresh” pizza.
In fact they didn’t do that; they just wanted to make certain that I didn’t see them take two slices from the “fresh” pizza they already had sitting there. Soup Nazi brought it to me, slightly less belligerent than before, realizing that I was the type who could cause some real trouble for them if I reported this to a district manager, and maybe even talked to a lawyer to see if these guys could be sued. He “advised” me to be “nicer” to him next time. Well, there won’t be a “next” time, because that place is just another 7-Eleven I’m crossing off my list.
No comments:
Post a Comment