"This doesn't seem right," says the young man across the counter from you, meekly. He stares at his newly purchased cup of frozen yogurt with his head cocked to the side and his lip turned up in a snarl.
The pitiful specimen cringes as he makes his complaint, seemingly ready to apologize for the simple act of voicing concern. With his slight frame and sharp features, he reminds you of a fearful chihuahua.
"Oh? You come here often?" you ask.
"N-no," he stutters. "First time. But look, I think maybe some dust or something got in my yogurt?" he says, with an upward inflection that clearly states 'I am not willing to commit to any statement I make.'
You peer over the cup and realize you didn't do a very good job at mixing the contents of the dish room dustpan into his dessert.
"That's pepper," you state with only the slightest air of defensiveness. "Enhances the taste. Do you even froyo?"
"Okay but this worm, is that supposed to be there?"
"That worm is an Indonesian meal worm," you explain indignantly while pointing at the common earthworm you placed in the young man's frozen treat. "It's part of a traditional tribal diet that has myriad health benefits which you would know, my friend, if you ever managed to step outside your ethnocentric bubble for two seconds!"
"I don't know, it looks kind of dark..."
"Get out of my store you racist!"