Suits and Such

What was supposed to be a filler job for my real ambitions somehow turned into a sincere enjoyment and human observation project. I love all of the regulars that frequent our cafe, but occasionally we get a few, well, you fill in the blank as you wish.

There is a well dressed middle aged man that comes in the morning, usually with other well dressed middle aged early risers, and he always opens a tab for everyone. One morning he was accompanied by a younger man who didn't practice the same pleasantries; some entry level prick trying to make an impression on the boss man who had finally invited him for breakfast with the rest of the people on their floor. Mere blocks from the capitol, county courthouse and various big businesses, I tend to get these guys on occasion pushing condescending presences while barking demeaning orders at me. It doesn't bother me. I'd like to say that I could get a spot at the cubicle next them, dress like them, kiss lots of ass, begin to hate my life, and take it out on people who don't deserve it like them, but I don't. Behind the typical white v-neck t's, tipped newsie hat and jeans, I usually look back with the same condescension knowing that a diligence to my written work beyond the coffee counter will produce a life of meaning that will forever surpass any feeble corporate contribution they may make, but I do this with a smile.

He orders two breakfast tacos and tells me the boss will be picking up the tab because he makes more money; charming. Furthermore, we have a punch card that allows customers a free entree after the purchase of 11 others. He asked me to punch his card, to which I promptly told him that tacos did not constitute as an entree. He became upset, disregarding that he had pushed his $4 tacos on someone else and wanted me to count this as an entree for him after being rude the entire time. He said,

- "What do you mean it's not an entree?"

-"I mean, it's two tacos and doesn't include a side. It's not an entree sir."

-"Well who the hell made that rule!?"

-"The suits."

-"Suits? What does that mean? (as the boss he was trying to impress laughed aloud and tried to fill him in on the term) I know the owner! I'll tell him about this!"

(Tell him what? That I was doing my job correctly? Nice name drop douche.)

The next girl came in with a friendly smile, ordered the same thing, and I gladly punched them as an entree. To this bizarre bean who doesn't know his own label: you know who you are.