Some guy in his thirties bought a magazine with the cast of Saved By the Bell on the cover. A reunion. I told him I loved that show.
"I didn't watch it," he said. "It was before my time." Then he walked away.
I had to laugh. Before his time? He is older than me and I grew up on that show. My sister Carrie is 30 and she watched it in her teens. Maybe he was just a terribly confused man.
I have been hooked on X Files lately. I'd never seen it before, but Carrie has the first two seasons and got me hooked. Who doesn't love aliens? Maybe some of my customers are from another planet? Maybe. Like this next guy:
I had another strange customer who came into cafe. The only thing he said before he turned and walked away was:
"You don't have anything as boring as coconut coke, do you?"
I shook my head. What the heck is coconut coke?
I usually have to use the restroom two or three times a shift. Last night I used it on my lunch break and was good the rest of the evening. An hour before we closed, I was going about my business of washing dishes, cleaning up, wrapping the bakecase, when my bladder started screaming at me. Not the usual, "Hey, I need to be relieved." No it was more a sharp pain when I moved that told me bladder infection. So I called on the PA asking Joe to call me at his convenience. Ten minutes later he answers. Five minutes later while I was in the middle of making a customer's drink, he shows up.
"The last hour is always the busiest. It's really hard to give breaks at this time."
Of course my thoughts jump at this. Joe is the kind of guy who is always right, knows everything, and probably could run the entire store on his own much better than anyone else without breaking a sweat. At least, that is the vibe he sends me. Like those popular kids in high shcool I never spoke to or they never spoke to me. Not unless they were using me as the butt of a joke to get the class to laugh. That's how I think of Joe. He's usually nice enough, but still the popular, smart class clown to my nerdy, bookwormness.
When he tells me this, I keep quite while I finish the order. I'm thinking, a break? Really? I have worked there nearly three years now, and maybe twice have gotten my fifteen minute breaks. Two of them a shift, but I never see them. So don't be bitching to me that you don't have five minutes to spare so I can run to the bathroom and piss. I handed the customer her drink and headed for the swinging doors, removing my apron as I went. I say over my shoulder,
"The last hour is the busiest time for me too, but my bladder doesn't care."
To my relief he chuckled as I walked away. Now, me five, six years ago in high shcool would have never been brave enough to voice something like this to any of the popular kids. But I have learned: with age comes backbone. I'm not old, but I am learning to stand up for myself like I have never really been able to do before. Not to people like him anyway. The ones who intimidate me. But no way was I going to allow him to stand there and tell me he doesn't have five minutes to spare so I could pee. I know I did not have five minutes to spare, but my bladder wasn't listening. I'm sure Joe was very busy on bookside, but I can't help but wonder if he realizes what that last hour in cafe is like? Pretty stressful.
If anyone wants to know what it is like serving food and drinks, I suggest reading Waiter Rant by Steve Dublanica. I found it while straightening books last night. I couldn't resist, I read the first five pages. I am going to buy it because I can already tell it is going to be good. Apparently I am not the only one who rants about customers. And this guy knows what he is talking about, our jobs are not as easy as they may appear. It's actually quite stressful. We have to pretend to smile and act all nice and pretend we don't mind when the customer gets snotty. No, go ahead and insult me and give me attitude! I love being treated like this. See, I'm smiling! Now let me turn my back so I can spit into your nonfat, sugar-free, decaf vanilla late. Smile, smile. (Kidding, I have never spit in anyone's drink before. That's disgusting. Believe it or not, I love my job.)
But I just figure, if I am grown-up enough to smile and pretend I like you, the least you can do is smile back and pretend you like me. Don't be rude, you're not better than me. I don't care how much money you make, you're not any more special than I am. (But truthfully, like he says in Waiter Rant, 80% of my customers I actually adore. Nice, normalish, people who I love to talk with when I have a minute. It's that other 20% that I'm worried about. They are nutcases. Assholes. Scum.)
Anyway, moving on.
One of my roomies brought over two mangas as she was leaving work. We both work at Barnes & Noble. She'd been reading them on her lunch break and figured I might like to read them. I asked what they were about and she told me one of them was about ghosts. Of course, I am thrilled to hear this. Ghosts are one of my favorite topics. She hates scary movies, but I thrive on them. The ghost ones anyway. She always rolls her eyes at my ghost fetish. I asked her if she liked ghosts, though I could tell she didn't. You know what she said?
"I'm not twelve."
Excuse me? I told her it had nothing to do with twelve-year-old ghost stories. I'm talking about real, haunt-your-house ghosts. I've seen numerous hauntings in my life. What is she talking about twelve? Ghosts are not children's business. They're real. I didn't say unicorns. I said ghosts. She's nice, helpful, always so sweet and we get along great, but this sounded like an insult. It really made me mad, but I didn't let her know it. I'd like to know why she believes earthbound spirits are for twelve-year-olds and her anime and manga collection are for a twenty-one-year old. Or her fascination with cupcakes. Can anyone out there explain this to me? Maybe she's never encountered a spirit before so she doesn't believe. But I just don't understand her reasoning that something that involves death can be for kids.
I once woke up in the dead of night and sat up in bed. I had no earthly idea why I was awake, but I was. Not sleepy awake, either, but like I just drank ten cups of coffee, fully alert awake. I did not have to use the bathroom, so I couldn't figure it out. I was living with my brother at the time in his two bedroom apartment, so I slept in the kid's room. My nephew, 2, slept in the small bed next to mine, and my 7-month-old niece was in her crib on the other side of the room. I glanced around, but they were both out. Then I turned my attention to the closet door which was on the opposite wall from where I slept. It was one of those, take-the-entire-wall, sliding doors kinda closet. Guess what happened next? Right before my eyes, the dang thing slid open of it's own volition. My cat chose that moment to dart out of the room like satan was on his tail. My heart jumped into my throat and my arms became goosebumpy. Quickly, I dove under my blanket, that childhood belief that the cotton and material would protect me from any monster came back to me.
I was so scared I thought about calling to my brother and his wife. They'd hear me through the baby moniter. Then I remembered they sleep like the dead. Their alarm clock usually woke me up and would beep for about a half hour before they ever got up. I had this deep urge to wake my two-year-old nephew up and have him crawl into bed with me. No joke, I was that terrified. And, it being summer, the apartment hot with no air conditioner, I couln't breathe beneath my covers. But I didn't wake him, and soon was asleep again.
I have no doubt that apartment is haunted. There were always strange noises, like someone walking around when nobody was there. We once found a handprint on the bedroom wall that was at such an odd angle, it didn't make sense that any of us would have rested our hand there for balance or any other reason. Plus, we measured it agains all our palms. It didn't have a match.
