Now I don't mean to be racist...

He was balding, had greasy black hair and looked like he was trying to grow out a mullet but male pattern baldness destroyed his dreams. He was bug-eyed and wore glasses too large for his face. His black t-shirt was half-assedly tucked into his jeans that belonged in the late 80s. He speaks with this deep, radio announcer-like voice. I'd probably like speaking with him if I had my eyes closed and he weren't such a pompous bastard.

It was just L and I running GJs at this point, and L was serving him. I was busy cleaning the cabinets, but as per usual, I had my ears perked, just in case I needed to prep the food. Bug-eyed-friar-looking-dude (we'll call him Bug Eyes for short) was asking us about how we made our iced coffees.

"How many pumps of syrup do you put in your iced coffees?"

"We don't use syrup, we use shots." L replies, looking slightly confused.

Bug Eyes' face twitches a little bit. He repeats his question, slower this time.

I think I should point out the fact that L is very clearly Asian, and has a bit of a Chinese accent. It's not ridiculously heavy, and her English is fluent. It's noticeable, but it's just like any other person out there speaking English. We all have our own unique accents anyway.

Back to the story.

After Bug Eyes repeats the question, L replies again. "We use shots, not syrup. We put in 3 shots."

Bug Eyes now looks visibly annoyed. "Oh okay, whatever the hell you put in there. So you put your syrup in with your milk together do you? Is it made on demand?"

At this point, I'm standing next to L, listening to his drivel. I have no idea what he's asking, and I try to clarify. "Our iced coffee is pre brewed, sir, and we use three shots of the brewed coffee in our iced coffees, along with ice and milk."

He stops looking at L and looks at me. He nods. "Well, alright," he sighs, as though I've forcibly convinced him to get the damned drink. "I'll take the large iced coffee, but with 2 pumps of syrup."

L goes off to prepare the drink and I type his order in. "So that was a large iced coffee with 2 shots?"

"Yes, whatever you bloody well call it! Shots, syrups, whatever!" he spits, flailing his arms.

I stretch my smile. "That will be $5.60, thank you."

He grabs the money and tosses it into my outstretched hand. He looks at me for a second, and leans forward. "Now, I don't mean to be racist..." he begins. "... but I think your colleague should take some English lessons."

I want to break his face.

But I am also ridiculously flustered because that shit just came out of nowhere. A million responses fly through my head, ranging from rude to snarky, to indifferent. But all I manage to fumble out is an "okay." I drop the money in his pudgy hand and flee to my cabinets. I glance over to L to see if she heard. Her face looks kind of sad, but she does always look sort of wistful.

I spend the rest of my shift thinking up of comebacks. And imagining myself staring him down and saying "Now I don't mean to hurt you..." and kicking his teeth in.

Does anyone honestly believe the phrase "Now I don't mean to be ____" is a valid disclaimer for hurting someone's feelings or saying a rude, discriminatory comment? I mean, really?