I walked into the supermarket with a look of determination. My goal was to get a cup of bad coffee and a muffin with the ten minute break I had from work. As soon as I walked in an elderly woman asked me where she could find something to melt the ice in her car lock. I told her,  “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I don’t work here.”
As I continued towards the coffee machine another woman stopped me to ask  a question. Before she could start, I told her, “I’m sorry, I don’t work here. I just happen to be wearing a tie.” She told me that the way I carried my self made me look like I was the manager.
When I got to the coffee dispenser a confused woman was trying to figure out where she pays for the coffee. I push the button to make her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. I told her that she pays for it at the register with the rest of her groceries when she finishes shopping.
“But what about my candy bar?” she asked while holding up Hershey bar.
“You can go ahead and eat it right now. It’s okay. Just make sure to bring the rapper to the register when you checkout.”
I’m starting to think I’m in the wrong line of work. I might have missed my calling as a supermarket manager.