Hunger, like exhaustion, also makes me do strange shit.
I nearly ruined a sunny day at the downtown farmers market by being an asshole to the dude at the pulled pork food truck. His sign said “pulled pork meal $10” but the word “meal” was crossed out and the $10 replaced by $7. So I said I wanted the pulled pork and then he said he had one more meal left, and I said sure, I’ll take it. Somehow I thought this meant he would sell me the meal at $7.
When I told him I didn’t have enough for the meal, he said he could go ahead and sell me just the sandwich. Stomach rumbling — and grumbling — I stared at the side of macaroni and cheese that would have been for me and accepted his offer. He apologized.
“I didn’t realize the sign was still up,” he said.
“Now you do,” I muttered, and as soon as I did, I hated myself.
That poor man must have been standing in the sun cooking food and ringing up people all day and I came up with my hungry tummy snapping like I was entitled as fuck. I’m in customer service. I should have known better. No extra number of grace that I said before I started my sizable sandwich — hell, I didn’t even need the mac — relieved me of such guilt. Fuck me.
- sarka posted this