We have a new policy here. At the end of the night, the closer has to check the bathrooms and leave the door propped open as proof.
Wanna know why?
Because a while ago, the opener at a coffee shop down the street (from a very popular international chain, ahem) found a dead guy in the bathroom.
Yep, the closer didn’t check the bathroom at the end of the night, so when the opener retrieved the key, he found that it was still locked in the bathroom, as well as a man who’d had a fatal brain aneurism.
This is the Short-List of people who are not allowed back in the store:
The guy with the baseball bat for a cane.
The guy with three pigtails. (“Three-pigtail,” we call him)
The sweatpants guy with the braided beard who rants about the crossing guard.
The platinum-blonde lady who tried to pass off a fake 50.
The guy who hugs everybody. (Although he’s very nice. It just weirds out all the people who don’t know him. Which is everybody.)
The guy who looks in the windows all the time. (Even though he’s “a lawyer from Washington, DC,” so he’s “allowed to do things that other people aren’t.”)
The tall guy who stole my tips.
The lady who has stolen all of our tips.
The little girl who starts a screaming match every time she’s in here.
The people who put their baby on the windowsill. Which is four feet off the ground.
Excerpt from one of today’s conversations:
“Ya can’t tell no difference between reg’lar pasta and wheat pasta. ‘Cept on the way out, you know.”
This guy came back again.
Instead of being rude, though, he pulled a cigar out of his pocket, sniffed it, told me he found it there when he took his winter coat out of storage, and asked if I wanted it.
I politely declined.
I’m beginning to wonder if he reads this blog… Maybe I should start a new one dedicated to him.
Man comes in. He is least Asian-looking person I’ve ever seen. His native language is American English.
Me: I’m sorry?
Him: Do yeh tekosoirjs mon?
Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you.
Him: Do you take Oriental money?
Me: Oh! Oriental money! No. No I’m sorry, we only take American money.
He leaves, disgusted.
Lady brings the paper up to the counter. Reads it while I make her coffee. I’m ringing her up.
Me: So that’ll be a coffee and the paper?
Lady: Oh no, I’m not buying the paper.
Lady: I just want to read it.
Isn’t that a little like saying, “I don’t want to buy the coffee, I just want to drink it?”
Young woman in jogging clothes comes in.
Her: I’ll have a…. a…. oh hm. (looks at seasonal menu) No! (pauses) I’ll have a medium Americano with sugar-free vanilla.
Me: Ok. (starts making it)
Her: …and soy.
Me: (stops making it. Babbles.) I’m sorry. We ran out of soy milk. It comes in today at noon. I know that’s not helpful right now…
Her: (closes her eyes, leans against the counter. Totally serious) Nooooooooooooo!!!!!! That ruins my WHOLE DAY!
Me: …I’m sorry…
Her: (eyes pop open. Tone bumps up about two octaves) It’s ok!
Me: (quite confused and a little weirded out. Proceeds to make drink. Hands it off) Have a good day! (remembers, too late, that I already ruined it)