Today at the supermarket I actually managed to get someone kicked out. And it’s cool.

I was waiting in line when the woman of the couple in front of me decided she forgot something. I turned slightly to the side to make way for her, and my shopping basket bumped into the guy behind me. Not hard, but it did. I would not even have noticed, had he not started to lament. So I pulled my earphones out and turned towards him.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yeah don’t hit me with your f-ing basket.”

The guy behind me was of a very special type. Light, short hair; grayish skin; leather jacket, slightly crouched posture. I know the type from the central station. Everything about his demeanor said “Hey – I am a drug addict”. He also used 2nd person singular – In English this makes no difference, but in German that is the informal address you use with friends, buddies, and so on. Strangers are not supposed to use this form; in fact you can basically forbid someone to use it on you.

“Well, the woman needed to get through and I don’t have eyes on my back. Don’t stand so close then.”

It’s not my fault if people are dumb. You really don’t have to stand on each other’s toes in a queue at the cashier. I always leave enough space. I would of course have apologized as a matter of formality, had his tone not been so hostile.

“Blah blah, don’t talk gibberish,” the man said.

“You really should try a more civilized tone, and I did not allow you to call me ‘Du’”. I find it always a good idea to remind people I am not their buddy. If they use 2nd person plural, the formal form of address, there is more of a buffer, more distance between us. I am hoping to remind them “hey, I am not your friend, treat me properly”.

“What a sh-t nonsense, I call you whatever I want, go back to your bank and relax your f-ing self.”

By now it was clear that this guy had a perception of me and that I stood for the other end of society. I don’t work in a bank, but what point would there be in correcting him?

I turned to the cashier-woman. “Excuse me ma’am, could you please make sure this person stops annoying me?”

“You heard the gentleman,” the cashier said. “Just stop it, okay?”

“I bet you also still go crying to your momma,” the guy told me. I ignored this. “Someone really should teach the ass a lesson,” he added.

“Hey!” the cashier exclaimed. “I will pretend I did not hear that!”

The guy was then talking to the person behind him. Similar type, a bit taller, darker hair, with a beard. Buddy of his. Something about “d-ck size” and: “Clearly this as-hole has an inferiority complex.”

“I think only one of the two of us has that problem,” I smirked.

“Whatever, go put your sh-it on the band and stop bothering me jerk,” the man retorted cleverly. By now it was my turn and I paid. As I started to pack my things, the man had put his groceries on the band. He stood next to me, ready to pack his items after the cashier had scanned them. He was sill mumbling.

“What a f-ing a-hole, someone really should beat his nose to a pulp.”

“OKay,” I turned to the guy. “This is really enough,” I said.

“Get out,” the cashier intervened. “You know, I will not sell you these items, just get out of here and stop bothering people.”

“Fine,” the guy said. “I will go shop someplace else.”

“That is probably better,” I replied.

“Yes, you do that, just go now,” the cashier said.

The guys knew when they stood no chance. Had they continued, the cashier would have called other co-workers, possibly the police. They turned and left.

“Thanks, really appreciate that,” I told the woman.

I packed my stuff and headed home, feeling good that justice had been served for once.