Smoke Breaks and Wooden Benches

I consider myself to be a decently healthy person with decently healthy tendencies; one of those being a regular morning BM. I know what you're thinking, "Okay, we're off to a good start." That's what I always say to myself too. During the week I work from 6am to the butt-crack of noon or so. Since I can't arrange my social life and sleep schedule around an appropriate bed time for this shift, my body's internal processes usually don't have a chance to catch up before I have to leave for work. Don't worry though, everything happens in due time.

Several hours into my shift the time always comes. I ask my manager if I may take a few minutes or so to go for a smoke break. They always say, "You smoke?" I reply, "No, it's a polite euphemism for taking care of bathroom business." Too much information? Too bad, I'm just getting the toilet seat warmed up for ya.

All of about three of us were sitting in the back room of a cafe spread out well enough, or so I thought. A large L-shaped wooden bench seat runs the length of the back wall. A young lady and I sat somewhere to the tune of ten feet apart. We were both working on our computers, respectively, when I felt an undeniable vibration. I looked for my phone. It was in my pocket, and had not rung. I looked down the line at the girl, still feverishly typing away, only to see her phone resting on the table, not the bench seat. Trying to further investigate the situation without causing a scene, I noticed the crumbly remnants of a muffin (banana nut) and Cholula sauce...? Hot sauce on a muffin, WTF mate?

My first inclination was to send a retaliation shot reverberating back at her; not having had my smoke break yet today though, considered this to be too risky of a move. Damnit! Instead, I sat vexed over the dangerous compromising situation she left me cornered in. To this bizarre bean ripping ass down the bench from me: 1. that's messed up, and 2. you know who you are...

Cookies Mean Different things to Different People

He came in lookin' all, whatever. "Give me a cup of coffee and a cookie," the guy says to me. Textbook squatter order at 10:30am. Knowing this guy would be lingering around for a while I charged him for a bottomless refill price. The total came out to $5.07.

-"Five dollars for coffee and a cookie!?"

-"Uh huh, yeah dats right sir."

-"How??"

-"It's $2.69 for the coffee and $1.99 for the cookie plus tax. Our prices are listed on the board."

Truly, that's not a bad deal considering we're a local shop that employs people to make and store our own coffee beans. Not to mention unlimited refills and a to-go cup for no additional charge if the customer asks. As for the cookie, well I don't buy many cookies, so I wouldn't know the market trends. He wanted chocolate chip. Already flustered, the man came back to announce he had gotten the wrong cookie. My bad homie. At a quick glance the oatmeal raisin looked like chocolate chip; honest. He explained that fortunately he had a keen eye for cookie ingredients, but had he bitten into the other cookie without catching the mistake it would have RUINED his day. Really? Ruined it? It was just a cookie man. I would've given him a free cookie no questions asked. Feel free to check my math, but that would've potentially made for a different cookie in each hand all before noon! That's the kind of awesome shit that MAKES most peoples days.

To this bizarre bean who obviously has bigger issues than cookies: you know who you are...

For the Love of June (part 2)

She was a middle aged woman who had come in before. Like June, she was reserved and slightly rude out of what seemed like a necessity for all of the people who had been unnecessarily mean to her, rather than the disposition she would've wished to have consistently carried herself with.

The woman approached my counter ignoring my pleasantries and skipping any of her own. She said, "This is going to be a difficult order. I don't care how it looks, just make it happen." With that I was completely determined to make whatever she asked for work in an effort to make her happy somehow some damn way.

I pushed buttons. I manually typed things in for her. In the end, she walked away only to turn back with a genuine smile and said the words to me, "Thanks, you guys are always so nice to me every time I come in here." I am not easily emotional, but those words nearly melted me. This woman looked ragged and beaten down by a malicious world; like she had been picked on unwarranted her entire life. Now, in this seemingly small act, my cafe had become somewhat of a safe haven. I treated her and everyone else who walks through our doors the same way because of the lessons I had learned inadvertently through June years before. This was the pinnacle of my coffee career. When I looked down she had tipped me $7.

To her, all of the Junes out there and anyone else out there desperately searching for someone to simply be nice to them: come on into my place of business. I'll serve you up a sincere smile too.

For the Love of June (part 1)

Her name was June; a summery sound to match the warm month. Her poise and mood, however, did not complement the title on the plastic badge attached to her blouse. She was an older woman who worked the cash register at the end of the lunch line I went through every day my sophomore year of high school. I smiled and said, "Have a great day." There was no response. I assumed she mistook the sincerity of my generosity for some punk kid messing with another lunch lady. Days, weeks, and months went by without any reciprocation of my kindness. There were no, "Thanks," "You too's," or even an "Okay." It wore on me wondering why she never returned a single word. June didn't seem to fit the part of a bitter elderly lady. I never stopped going through her line, and I never stopped smiling and telling her to have a great day.

Finally, mere days before school let out for Christmas break, she was waiting; even looking down the line past the other kids, with a smile she had stolen from me harping about the holidays and wishing me a lovely day. I was shocked. It was a complete transformation. The rest of the next semester I never saw June without her new signature grin. We would chat as long as possible, and she even spotted me some of her own spare change when I was short once.

That was the most pleasant lunch line I have ever gone through, and I'd like to say that she can say the same. I don't know what had beaten her down during the previous semester; maybe the loss of her longtime husband, an estranged relationship with one of her children, or economic troubles. What I do know now though is the power of a sincere smile, and what it did for June. I never saw her again after that year, and I don't know the extend to which it helped, but those few moments each day seeing that sweet old woman light up to reveal her true colors were pure gold. I've never forgotten that lesson, and June is the sole reason I smile like a big goofball to everyone who comes through my lines today; even if it's just for coffee.

To this bizarre bean hopefully still servin' up smiles somewhere: you know who you are...