This kind of sounds stupid, I'm sure. Kind of hard to really get it unless you've been through everything. First, just so it's not completely ridiculous and confusing, please allow me to explain that I have verbally (and borderline physically- I'm just waiting for something serious to happen) abusive parents. I've moved away from them, but I'm still "trained" to act the way they forced me to, and I still kind of believe everything they've ever said about me, even though I know I shouldn't. I used to work at Chick-fil-A, at the front counter. Our store had just recently opened, and from 11am on, it was crazy busy each and every day. People would stand outside because there was no room in the actual building. As you can imagine, being a cashier was a fast-paced, stressful, not very fun job that involves trying to figure out what the heck people want to eat while shouting over the vast crowd behind them, while smiling and being polite and making conversation, but somehow getting through customer orders as quickly as possible. Which is rather impossible. And here I am, super shy, somewhat socially awkward, terrified of having to talk to any customers, much less an a constant stream of them for hours. All I wanted was to work in the kitchen, where it was slower paced, friendly, and away from the crazy. But for whatever reason, they thought I should be up front anyway. One day, I get this customer (or guest, as we're supposed to call them), and he starts out friendly enough. He's a kind of short (maybe just a tad taller than me) middle-aged man. He starts ordering. He says something about his wife and nuggets. Then he says he wants chicken. And that's all he said. I figured his wife wanted chicken nuggets. So I put that order in. Then I asked him what kind of chicken entree he wanted. Because, hello, almost the entire menu is chicken. Nearly everything Chick-fil-A sells has chicken in it. That's the whole point. He says, "the chicken." -_-' Not wanting to look like an idiot, I very quietly and politely ask if he wants chicken nuggets as well, or if he wanted a sandwich. He says "no, not nuggets! Chicken!" By this time I'm really confused and getting nervous (having been trained by my parents NEVER to annoy anyone, because even if they aren't making sense, it's still all my fault). I ask him to explain again, getting naturally more and more quiet because he's starting to scare me a bit. He angrily says that he can't hear me, and then proceeds to yell his vague order in my face, loud enough for everyone in the building to stare, and making hand motions (that also make no sense) as if I don't speak english. Finally a leader comes in and starts taking the order. She manages to guess the item he wants correctly, and suddenly he acts all nice again, as if nothing happened. He doesn't apologize, or even seem partially guilty. Yelling is apparently how he gets what he wants. By this time I hate myself and I'm trying not to cry. He proceeds to "nicely" tell me about how I remind him of his daughter and how we're both really quiet. And I'm sitting there, waiting for his receipt to print, trying not to think about how similar the situation was to what happens at home all the time. Only this time it was in front of a huge crowd of people. The misery, self loathing, and helpless feelings I've dealt with my whole life decided to ambush me right then and there. I think I took maybe four more orders before I was crying to much to fake a smile. The sympathetic look of each new customer didn't help either (I'm used to being ignored and left alone, and I get yelled at by my parents for "making it seem like they've been mean to me."). Finally I turned away, asked one of the leaders if I could go to the restroom, and speed-walked to the ladies room, where I hid in a stall and cried for a good forty-five to fifty minutes. I couldn't make it stop. I felt bad for not coming back and helping when we were so busy, but I knew I would be of no use to go back out there. When I finally got a hold of myself, I went back out, and managed to get the leaders to let me go do dishes back in the kitchen. A few leaders talked to me about it, thinking it was just a mean guest and that a quiet, shy girl like me couldn't handle someone like that because of how quiet and shy I am. I chose not to tell them that he reminded me WAY too much of my abusive dad. To this day, that stupid memory still makes me cry. I know why I was upset, but even I'm not sure why it was THAT big of a deal. And yet, the very thought of that man fills me with rage. I interacted with him for no more than five minutes, but I hate him nonetheless. I'm the kind of person who likes to give everyone the benefit of a doubt, and RARELY gets angry at anyone (and I never show it if I do), but I HATE him. And I've met other guys who remind me of my dad, but I just avoid them, and I've never had much of a problem with them. Maybe that's why it had such an effect on me. Because I was trapped and I had no way to defend myself (or at least, that's what it felt like. Partially because I've been taught all my life to just accept being treated like that, and partially because at Chick-fil-A, you're supposed to be happy and super polite and always helpful. No matter what). Or maybe I'm just sick of being treated that way. At any rate, I know it sounds stupid. But I was tired of hiding the whole story.