I slump lower in my seat and avoid eye contact. Shrinking my body, I lower my gaze to the scribbled notes in front of me, trying to look extremely preoccupied by what I have just written. My feigned attempts are hopeless: out of the 300-something students in the room, the prof is staring at me.
If I had the capability to make it so that food was always the lowest price and the highest quality, I would gladly oblige; but such a feat is beyond my capabilities. Yet no matter how many times I try to explain this, I still end up with a disgruntled customer waving a hunk of meat in my face.
The ultimate abuse is using profanity where it is absolutely not necessary, simply because someone can’t be bothered with finding a more articulate expression. Don’t get me wrong, nothing feels better than dropping an F-bomb in frustrating situations, but there is a time and a place.