This is what happened:

I go to the pizza place to pick up food for the Chase Corporate Challenge. Two young employees, probably teenagers, are helping me out while the franchise owner or some sort-of manager-type sits at a nearby booth going through paperwork. The girl at the counter tells me I'm all set after the guy gets me two sheet pizzas.

What about the subs? I ask.

The owner gets pissed off in an instant. He tells this guy to get the damn subs, stop being such a screw up, something like that. I honestly can't remember the details, just his nasty tone.

The guy says that he was getting the subs. His tone says, chill out. The girl looks like she wants to sink into the floor or disappear.

He gets my subs and asks if I need any help carrying the stuff out. I say no (all I want, like the cashier girl, is to leave), and regret it because I clearly need someone to get the door.

The owner: "Get the door for him. What the hell are you thinking?"

I'm actually feeling bad at this point. Scared is the first word that comes to mind. Uncomfortable doesn't scratch the surface. Fiercely empathic in a negative situation would be most accurate. I've been in this kid's shoes. We've all been made to feel like nothing, less than nothing, shit on a stick and it used to be a perfectly good stick.

I skedaddle out of there. Retreat to my car, which I could have used help getting the pizzas into. I can just imagine the owner watching from the window and cursing at his employees.

What I meant to do was say yes, I do need help, come outside.

Then, away from the dickhead, I would tell the kid to blow it off, everybody makes mistakes. No big deal. I'm not angry, except at his asshole boss.

But what I really wanted to do was confront the boss. "I'm not angry. It's not a big deal and even if it was, there're more polite ways to get the results you want."

I want to tell the guy to think about why he's really angry. Maybe he would get angrier, try to focus it on me. Then I'd know for certain I was right. He's really angry about something else: money, his marriage, his father, who knows. There is something in his life that feels out of control, but on the job he is the pizza king and gets to boss around his pizza peasants.

But I was too scared. Scared was the right word. Scared of confrontation. I missed a grand opportunity to step up to this stranger and reach right through the curtain that he thinks is a fortress wall and twang a nasty bitter string that he has pulled taut within himself. Most likely he would have reacted with more anger, but just maybe he would have taken a glance down the path to recovery. I did, after all, have all the weapons on my side. I was a stranger, an objective outsider, and I was a paying customer. How much money would it take to keep his anger in check?

These opportunities to act unexpectedly, stand against an abusive pattern, rarely present themselves so clearly. Maybe next time I'll have the presence of mind to act.

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