The hot dog story

I can't sleep. :(

Today someone referred to the hot dog story, which is everyone's favorite story of mine from my movie theater assistant manager days. I now share it with you.

So this older guy (50s or 60s) comes up to the concession stand and orders a hot dog. The person working the register gives him one from the warmer. He opens it up, touches it, says it's not hot enough and asks for another.

The cashier tells the supervisor, who I guess tries to tell the guy that they're all going to be the same, to no avail, because then she calls for me. I go over and tell him what they've already told him. He asks if it can at least be microwaved.

I tell the supervisor to get the microwave from the back and zap it. She's carrying the microwave to plug it in and drops it on the ground. Of course it doesn't work after that.

I go back to the customer and tell him the microwave is busted but there's a batch of hot dogs coming off of the grill and would he like one of those? He says yes.

I make it myself and do it so he can see me. I get a fresh bun, get the hot dog directly off of the grill and assemble it. I hand it to him. He opens the container again and feels it. He says it's not hot enough.

THEN HE GRABS MY HAND AND PUTS IT ON THE HOT DOG. "Does that feel hot to you?"

So. Much. Ew.

I was so mad, I made a fist and ruined the hot dog. Pieces of it squeezed through my clenched fingers. I raised my voice and told him that was the hottest hot dog he could get and if that wasn't good enough he could have his money back. As I was yelling, I rang up the refund and threw his cash on the counter in front of him. Then I stormed away without waiting for a reply.

I have so many stories about my time there, and almost all of them are something along the lines of me getting intense with customers, which I could have gotten in trouble for.

But dude, seriously. Don't fucking touch me. And don't fucking make me touch your hot dog.