I told her "I *am* the manager," with gravitas only achieved through decades of on-the-ground managerial grocery experience.

She said, "No, the actual owner."

I blinked, trying to understand how to talk to this creature.

Regaining composure, I rephrased, trying to breach the skull of this "woman": "I am the highest-ranking person in this grocery, ma'am."

She looked me up and down, at my receding hairline, at my name tag, at the fluorescent lighting reflecting off my forehead, and said: "really?!"

I have dealt with grocery "corporate-types" who could end on-the-ground managerial careers with a single memorandum. I have reviewed internal correspondence that would make this woman's oat milk seem like the least significant thing in the known universe. But I said none of this.

I directed her to aisle 7 and recommended the store brand.

Tabitha, who - naturally - witnessed the entire exchange, later told me: "Evan, you handled that well - now please attend to aisle 3's urine-mess," offering me a fun-size Snickers from her pocket. It was 9:45 AM.

I am the highest-ranking person in this building.

This is fine.™

(https://autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5838720&forum_id=2#49697640)