I can tell from the retro font boldly outlined on the front of your grease-stained black t-shirt, that you like Star Wars. I can only assume then, that you watched Leia chained up to Jabba the Hut with a similar shrewd slyness.
You, a balding man in his mid-thirties could picture me, a 19-year-old girl working a minimum wage fast-food job, in any way you want. I’m the half-naked Leia trapped in your clutch.
I take a side glance at you grinning at your imagination (like you’d already gotten what you paid for) and my cheeks flush with anger. As I hand you your drink I imagine I’m Leia, using the chain around my neck to wrap it around yours, squeezing out all of the humiliation you’ve caused me and others;
joyous retribution.
Instead, I swallow my bile and hand you the rest of your food.
“Have a wonderful rest of your day.”