"Lookie here, kid, I don't want any of this guff. Just gimme the sandwich, and I'll be on my way."

I frowned. This man—an older gentleman, somewhere around eighty years old if I had to hazard a guess—had been standing across the counter for about fifteen minutes. Thank goodness no-one else had come in yet, but my manager was on his break and nobody else was working this shift. "It's as I said, sir; we only sell pastries. But I can point you in the direction of a lovely sandwich shop down the road—"

"No, no, I know I've gotten a sandwich here before," the man said, crossing his arms. "I'm pretty sure it was on rye, with avocado. Don't quite remember what you called it, but I know it was here."

"I don't know what to tell you, sir," I replied, leaning with my elbow on the counter. "My manager will be back in twenty minutes, though, so if you want to come back..."

"No, I can wait," he replied. I half-expected that he would step back and take a seat at one of the few tables, giving me a little space to breathe. But—alas and alack—he just stood there by the counter. I rubbed my temples, trying my best to look visibly irritated, but he seemed to be ignoring me.

It was about then when the bell by the door chimed and a pair of young women walked in. "Good morning," said the one on the left, and I smiled and bid them a good morning as well. And then they took their place in line, right behind the older man.

"No, no, I can help you," I started, beckoning them forward.

"I'm still in line," the man grumbled, glaring daggers.

"It's fine, we can just wait," the other girl said, visibly confused. She turned to her companion and began speaking in Spanish.

"Sir, I... I'm going to help these other customers while we're waiting for the manager to get back." I stood back up, looking to the girls. "What did you say you wanted, exactly?"

"Could we get two muffins?" the girl on the left asked, pointing to where it sat in the glass display case.

"Certainly," I said, bending down and pushing open the back of the shelf. A few moments later, I had retrieved the muffins, placed them in a small wax-paper bag, and handed it to the girl. "That'll be four ninety-nine."

The older man, who by that point was standing off to the side, merely watched as the girl handed me a few crumpled bills and I put them in the cash register, handing her back a penny. He shot her an odd glare as she bade me farewell and hooked arms with her companion, walking out the door.

Once they were out of sight, he stepped back in front of the counter. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know what you mean," I replied, shrugging. "I'm doing my job."

"Don't get smart with me, kid. I know you just wanna turn me away, but you can't," he said smugly.

"Oh, why's that?" I asked, humouring him.

"That's discrimination," he replied. "You can't do that, you know."

"Well, I guess you got me there," I replied, though I knew his argument could never hold up in court. "Stay as long as you like, I guess."

It was nearly half an hour until my manager came back, pushing the glass double doors both inward as he entered the store. "Hey, how's it holding up?" he asked, nodding towards me.

"It's... fine," I replied. Part of me hoped he wouldn't ask about the old man before going into the back, but no.

"Who's this fellow?" the manager asked, gesturing towards the man. "Are you being helped?"

"No," the older man said grumpily. "All I'm trying to do is buy an éclair, but this kid won't give me one."

My manager turned to me with his hands on his hips, looking confused. "Huh? Why not?"

I blinked. "Erm... he said he wanted a sand—"

"Oh, come off it," the manager interrupted, rolling his eyes. "Go to the back, and we'll have a talk after I get this man what he asked for."

So, as I didn't want to lose my job, I did what I was asked. I didn't lose my job that day but as the manager chewed me out, I wondered just what exactly that man had been playing at.