I came close to getting into a fight, yesterday. Quite thrilling.
I was queueing for fuel at Intermarché and it was 30 deg C. After filling up you join another queue and pay at a little cubby-hole. To ensure drivers are not billed for other's fill-ups your total remains on the pump display until it's paid for. Up to then your pump remains inactive.
As I stood outside the car waiting for the previous driver's total to be cleared I heard an angry bellow from behind. I turned round and saw a very fat man getting out of his car. Since I'm fat myself I'm able to say he was very fat. As he emerged it was like seeing the wall of a dam breached by a huge onrush of water. He pointed to my pump and told me it was equipped for credit-card payment. I didn't have to wait, holding him up.
Maybe, but surely the previous driver's total would need to be cleared first. In a voice as deliberately bellicose as that of the very fat man, I, the more average fat man, shouted: Il faut attendre (One must wait.). He started to move towards me and I relished this, wondering where my tyre-iron was. (Car drivers in US crime novels always use tyre irons on each other.)
Now another French voice joined in – attacking the very fat man. Why should I, a foreigner, be required to use a credit card? In fact it could well have been impossible; some supermarket filling stations only take French cards. The new shouter turned to face me and to smile. I said cash would be better and he nodded.
Humiliated and uncomfortable the very fat man oozed away and, lo, the display on my pump cleared.