'Cancel Culture' Strikes Again: Cinnabon Fires Worker, Conservatives Push Back

Paul Riverbank, 12/8/2025Cinnabon worker’s racist outburst sparks national debate, fundraisers, and renewed focus on cancel culture divisions.

It was a shaking moment no one in Ashwaubenon’s Bay Park Square Mall seemed prepared for, least of all the Somali American couple standing in line that afternoon. Their only request, by their own account, was a little extra caramel drizzle—a small indulgence at the Cinnabon counter. What they received instead was a torrent of words that stunned them silent, at least for a moment.

From behind the counter, Crystal Wilsey—her name now etched into the debate by dueling online fundraisers—grew visibly agitated with the back-and-forth. Soon, what began with a dismissive glance escalated into an explicit racial insult caught cleanly on video. Wilsey leaned in, declared herself racist, spat a slur, and flipped both middle fingers, grinning at the camera held steadily by the customer. The words were not shouted over others or muttered under her breath; they were delivered for the world to hear.

“That’s it, you’re fired,” the customer replied, coolly but clearly shaken, as Wilsey continued, this time with more profanity, as though daring the confrontation to end her shift.

Accounts from the family suggest things spiraled before anyone pulled out a phone. The employee’s jokes about the woman’s hijab—described later by a relative as a source of humiliation—set the tone; by the time the slur was uttered, any sense of hospitality had vanished. “It didn’t feel like a business, it felt like a gauntlet to get a snack,” said Osman, a cousin, who posted the now-viral video to social media.

Cinnabon, likely well-practiced in PR triage, acted swiftly. The company distanced itself from Wilsey and from the incident. "Terminated." "Unacceptable." "Not who we are." Their statements hit inboxes and timelines before most viewers had finished watching the clip.

Yet, as the dust was supposed to settle, a curious and unsettling duality emerged online. Funds flowed rapidly, not only toward the couple and their legal fees, but even more so for Wilsey herself—a six-figure sum within days, propelled by messages framing her as a victim rather than a perpetrator. Comments supporting her accused the Somali customers of instigating, some even using language mirroring the encounter itself, while others condemned the racial abuse and noted the trauma that can linger long after a 30-second video disappears from the news cycle.

One donor threatened to “boycott Cinnabon for good,” indignant that, in their view, management had caved to “political correctness.” Oscillating between condemnation and solidarity, the public’s split reactions were less a surprise than another reiteration of the fractures that shape American discourse in 2024.

Not lost on many, especially within Wisconsin’s Muslim and immigrant communities, were reminders of what’s come before. Public incidents involving hate speech are on the rise locally. The timing—just weeks after divisive comments about Somali immigrants by former President Trump—seemed almost too apt, one more stone in the modern American mosaic of outrage, defense, and anxiety.

Wilsey’s name, now circulating widely, brought with it unwanted baggage: minor run-ins with law enforcement—some tough to parse, some ultimately dropped—surfaced and swirled into the conversation. These details added little clarity but a lot of noise, muddying the idea that anyone walks away from such an episode entirely a hero or villain.

Days after, Osman wrote, “The racism is getting out of hand nowadays.” She described her cousin as anxious about leaving home; an everyday errand now shadowed by fear.

Social media, for all its flaws, ensured the incident couldn’t simply be minimized into a “misunderstanding.” Instead, it sits on feeds as a raw, unresolved artifact—one of too many. The country continues to argue, not just about caramel and cinnamon rolls, but about recognition, belonging, and what people should—or must—tolerate from one another in public spaces.

Perhaps the only certainty left is how moments like these, filmed and shared, don’t just spark debate—they redraw it. Sometimes the lines are clearer when the camera is off, but in 2024, nobody leaves their phone in their pocket for long.

What began as a simple craving for something sweet quickly unraveled into a flashpoint conversation about race and identity—its reverberations still echoing days later across Wisconsin and well beyond.It was a shaking moment no one in Ashwaubenon’s Bay Park Square Mall seemed prepared for, least of all the Somali American couple standing in line that afternoon. Their only request, by their own account, was a little extra caramel drizzle—a small indulgence at the Cinnabon counter. What they received instead was a torrent of words that stunned them silent, at least for a moment.From behind the counter, Crystal Wilsey—her name now etched into the debate by dueling online fundraisers—grew visibly agitated with the back-and-forth. Soon, what began with a dismissive glance escalated into an explicit racial insult caught cleanly on video. Wilsey leaned in, declared herself racist, spat a slur, and flipped both middle fingers, grinning at the camera held steadily by the customer. The words were not shouted over others or muttered under her breath; they were delivered for the world to hear.“That’s it, you’re fired,” the customer replied, coolly but clearly shaken, as Wilsey continued, this time with more profanity, as though daring the confrontation to end her shift.Accounts from the family suggest things spiraled before anyone pulled out a phone. The employee’s jokes about the woman’s hijab—described later by a relative as a source of humiliation—set the tone; by the time the slur was uttered, any sense of hospitality had vanished. “It didn’t feel like a business, it felt like a gauntlet to get a snack,” said Osman, a cousin, who posted the now-viral video to social media.Cinnabon, likely well-practiced in PR triage, acted swiftly. The company distanced itself from Wilsey and from the incident. "Terminated." "Unacceptable." "Not who we are." Their statements hit inboxes and timelines before most viewers had finished watching the clip.Yet, as the dust was supposed to settle, a curious and unsettling duality emerged online. Funds flowed rapidly, not only toward the couple and their legal fees, but even more so for Wilsey herself—a six-figure sum within days, propelled by messages framing her as a victim rather than a perpetrator. Comments supporting her accused the Somali customers of instigating, some even using language mirroring the encounter itself, while others condemned the racial abuse and noted the trauma that can linger long after a 30-second video disappears from the news cycle.One donor threatened to “boycott Cinnabon for good,” indignant that, in their view, management had caved to “political correctness.” Oscillating between condemnation and solidarity, the public’s split reactions were less a surprise than another reiteration of the fractures that shape American discourse in 2024.Not lost on many, especially within Wisconsin’s Muslim and immigrant communities, were reminders of what’s come before. Public incidents involving hate speech are on the rise locally. The timing—just weeks after divisive comments about Somali immigrants by former President Trump—seemed almost too apt, one more stone in the modern American mosaic of outrage, defense, and anxiety.Wilsey’s name, now circulating widely, brought with it unwanted baggage: minor run-ins with law enforcement—some tough to parse, some ultimately dropped—surfaced and swirled into the conversation. These details added little clarity but a lot of noise, muddying the idea that anyone walks away from such an episode entirely a hero or villain.Days after, Osman wrote, “The racism is getting out of hand nowadays.” She described her cousin as anxious about leaving home; an everyday errand now shadowed by fear.Social media, for all its flaws, ensured the incident couldn’t simply be minimized into a “misunderstanding.” Instead, it sits on feeds as a raw, unresolved artifact—one of too many. The country continues to argue, not just about caramel and cinnamon rolls, but about recognition, belonging, and what people should—or must—tolerate from one another in public spaces.Perhaps the only certainty left is how moments like these, filmed and shared, don’t just spark debate—they redraw it. Sometimes the lines are clearer when the camera is off, but in 2024, nobody leaves their phone in their pocket for long.