How Not to Be a Jerk

There I was, laughing like an absolute idiot while my wife stared at me like she was reconsidering her life choices.

We had just walked out of a small store. Nothing fancy. The kind of place with narrow aisles, fluorescent lights, and a rack of impulse-buy junk right by the door. You know the type. Right next to the register was one of those spinning displays of sunglasses. A tall, wobbly tower of bad decisions with a little mirror bolted to the top so you can try on plastic shades and pretend you are somebody.

My wife was paying. I was bored.

So I spun it.

Just a casual spin at first. The kind of spin you give something when you are pretending you are not twelve years old. I looked at a pair. Put them back. Gave it another spin. It made that satisfying whirring sound as it rotated. Honestly, it felt like the highlight of my day at that moment.

My wife finished paying. She grabbed her change. We started walking out.

And because apparently I have the impulse control of a raccoon in a gas station, I gave it one last spin.

Not a gentle spin.

Not a responsible adult spin.

I gave it a full send.

That tower of sunglasses spun like it was auditioning for the Olympics. The cheap cardboard holders that were never meant to handle real centrifugal force betrayed their purpose. Sunglasses started flying. Not one. Not two. A handful. Maybe more. They shot off that rack and skidded across the tile like confused little frisbees.

There was that half-second of silence where time slows down and you realize you have done something incredibly stupid.

My wife looked at me.

I looked at the sunglasses.

The cashier looked at all of us.

And instead of immediately being a decent human being, instead of bending down and picking them up, instead of saying, “Hey, I am so sorry about that,” I did what any mature grown man would do.

I panicked.

We bolted.

We hustled out of that store like we had just committed a felony. We got into the car. I started laughing so hard I could barely breathe. My wife was mortified. She kept saying, “You are ridiculous. You are an adult.” Which only made me laugh harder.

In that moment, it felt funny as hell.

We did not break anything. Nobody got hurt. It was just some cheap sunglasses on a floor. What is the big deal?

That is how the brain works when you are the one who made the mess.

It was not until later, when I replayed it in my head, that the laughter faded and something else crept in.

Embarrassment.

Then recognition.

Then that quiet, uncomfortable thought.

Man… I was kind of an asshole.

Not a villain. Not evil. Not malicious.

Just careless.

Because here is what I did not think about in that moment.

Someone had to pick those up.

Someone had to stop what they were doing, walk over, bend down, gather up the scattered sunglasses, check to make sure none were scratched, slide them back into those flimsy cardboard sleeves, and reassemble that stupid spinning tower so the next bored idiot could come along and do the same thing.

And that someone was probably making close to minimum wage.

That someone probably did not find it hilarious.

That someone probably rolled their eyes and thought, “Of course.”

Here is the part that makes it worse.

I have spent about twenty five years of my life in the service industry.

Twenty five years.

Convenience stores. Retail shops. Big box retailers. Fast food counters. Restaurants. And eventually hospitality. I worked my way up. I learned the systems. I learned the policies. I learned the corporate language. Today I sit on the managing team of one of the highest rated hotels in my city.

I have trained employees. I have enforced policies. I have handled guest complaints. I have been yelled at about things I had zero control over. I have cleaned up messes that were not mine. I have watched staff members fight back tears in break rooms after being treated like they were less than human.

I have seen the best customers this world has to offer.

And I have seen the worst.

And even with all of that experience. Even knowing exactly what it feels like to be the person cleaning up the mess.

I still spun the damn rack.

I still laughed.

I still ran.