It's not exactly retail, but I work in for a franchise of a fairly large dining chain. Generally I like my job. Managers are mostly cool, coworkers can be dicks, but usually know when to leave me be, and the customers are generally really nice and easy to deal with. My younger sister (18) also works here, but as a hostess.

So it's Sunday afternoon, and we're pretty slammed. Churches let out an hour ago, so we have all our party tables filled, plus the bar section is filled because of the playoffs have started, and when you add our normal guests in, the place is pretty hectic.

With all my tables currently taken care of (food orders in, drinks are full, and no one's ready for the check just yet) I hopped on over to the hostess stand with the intent of asking for a bathroom break, and instead I hear the most startling thing I've heard since I started working here over a year ago.

At the door, talking to my sister, are two elderly women. My sister was asking their preference in seating, as the rush was starting to die a bit and there were actually a few tables available. The two sweetest looking ladies look at each other.

The first says "I don't really care."

The second lady turns back to my sister (I'm waiting patiently for their conversation to finish before I motion to her) "Well, I don't want to sit next to that retard, you understand what I'm saying?"

So, almost every Sunday, there is a man that comes in with his mother. He's in an electronic wheelchair and his head is always kinda coked to the side, and he has one arm um in classic "retard" motion, but this man is by no mean a retard. Yes, he has trouble speaking, and at times can get a bit loud. But you'd be loud to if the phrase "I want a Coke" came out as "Aaah an a ok" and you had to be sure your elderly mother (who is the only person who can consistently understand you) can hear you over the rowdy people in the bar area cheering on their team. He's just trying to have a conversation like everyone else. And the man's really smart, and funny, if you take the time to talk to him.

"I don't want to sit by that retard." As if she expected my sister to completely understand and agree that this was a natural statement.

So what does my sister decide to do? She takes them to a booth. The booth that is directly next to the only clear table. The table we try our hardest not to seat on Sundays because it's the easiest one for him to get his wheelchair up to.

It's a shame he didn't come in until hours after those ladies left, but I suppose it's probably for the best. I hate to think that old hag might have had the audacity to say something, thinking he wouldn't understand her anyway.