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.

It All Happened so Fast

A friend and I had just arrived at a coffee shop. We had barely had time to scan for seats when we both walked past a table as a girl said aloud, "I am, like, so incredibly single right now. I mean, it's not even funny." When we found our own seat we both asked each other if we had heard that comment, verbally wondering how bad things have to get to downgrade one's status from single to: incredibly single.

She was wrong though. It was pretty funny. I mean, like, she was, like, sitting as the only girl amongst three dudes leading the conversation with her incredible singleness. To this bizarre bean with super slim pickins these days: you know who you are...

It's not about coffee this time, but it is bizarre

It was spring 2007 in the year of our Lord when my reign on “the inside” finally crumbled. What is “the inside” you ask? Well, for lack of better descriptions, clinical research; guinea pig stuff; getting paid to take non-FDA approved drugs. It’s a lucrative business if you know the market well enough, and I’m not talking about the pharmaceutical part. Everyone is getting one form or another of that. No, I’m talking about the stuff we’re not allowed to have in here. I set up a ring that could get my fellow patients anything they wanted. If you had possession of any contraband chances were they came from me, or my ground crew took it and I sold it back to you for a significant markup. Everyone was involved from security, paramedics, nurses (technicians), lunch ladies, all the way down to the shuttle driver. When the tech sting was initiated to bring us down, the clinic lost 2/3 of its employees. It’s been almost three years since “The Great Phlebotomy Crash” that sent the suits to their knees when they no longer had enough people to draw blood to get the findings necessary to submit for government approval. If you’re wondering who I am, we go by initials in here. I guess they feel it dehumanizes us enough to maintain order now. I am Study Volunteer #116 of the Yellow T-shirts, T.A.R.

The repercussions were real, and now that I’m back, the plan is to fly low under the radar. I’m doing some hard time in here. Twenty-three days is no joke. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself. Hell, I had to sneak a false number in my SSN and go by the pseudonym: Ricardo Immanuel Vasquez de Alejandro Villareal Rambeau just to get back in. You’d think they had taken a few pages from the former USSR. I swear this place is run by a bunch of Red Ruskies spreading their totalitarian regime under the propaganda of commie equality. Before, I had created the perfect empire modeled after the champions of industry on the outside. I paid doctors off fair and square, attended the right board game “fun fundraiser”parties and left good feedback in the survey boxes for the pundits I knew had a shot to apply our ideals in public offices; they remember stuff like that, and hey, let’s just say the kickbacks were nice. The juice box subsidies were just what we needed to get an edge on rival competitors come snack time. It was feast or famine, and anyone who ran with me dined well beyond their means. Who do these people think they are now to redistribute my corrupt efforts to all patients? The system is still severely flawed though.

Now, territories have been divvied for power over the shower stall with the best water pressure, the seat next to the only window in the study room, control over the pool table in the game room, and of course, access to the one remote that controls both TV rooms. I suppose the idea was to give a little to each group, rather than run the risk of the unilateral vertical operations I was running happening again. Whatever. The only way to attain status is to quite simply state it these days. All day inmates, excuse me, patients are claiming how many studies they’ve done here, but they’re all fresh faces to me. Everything was going great. I kept my head down, grew a beard and spoke to no one until the streak finally broke. I blew my cover by doing the worst thing possible, saying some funny shit.

It seems a nurse had gotten flustered that someone presumably was going to be late to their procedures. Without calling for him she went straight to the loud speaker. He had been right next to her. Embarrassed, she tried to say that she merely liked hearing her voice over the intercom. I interjected in his defense explaining that some people just had the right face for radio. The pretty phlebotomist didn’t find this to be ironically humorous. Nor did I when she jabbed me to the tendon on my ensuing blood draw demanding to know: who I was, if it were my first time and why she didn’t recognize me.

Knowing my $5800 was now in jeopardy, the race was on to rebuild alliances before I get out in less than a week. Fortunately, I get around like the plague, and the residing lunch lady, as we'll call her, is a former flame. Let's just say she's helped me acquire certain things; necessary things. Trickle down theory was a load of crap anyway, I admit it, and we’ve been working together from the ground up to spare my tainted name in time to get out and get paid. Yessir, it’s been quite eventful in here, or might all of this just be the drugs talking? My memory’s a little hazy. To these bizarre beans: we know who we are...

Lady Friends

Storm clouds loomed over head when I arrived at a new coffee house. In the backyard area they were having a junkyard sale with what looked like a bunch of residents from the surrounding neighborhood bringing just that; junk. Heavy winds were forcing them to pack up their piles of crap, but not before I scored a hard cover copy of a Kurt Vonnegut novel on the cheap from a paperback Star Trek junkie.

Inside appeared to be the creation of two business partner's incoherent collaboration. On one side of the room there was a bar with the Sunday football games on, but fluffed up a bit with a couple of the largest round paper lamps I've ever seen dangling like testicles made up of the planet Jupiter from the exposed ac ducts and ceiling. On the other side was the coffee counter with random pieces of art just kind of strewn about without any themes or uniformity. This little lady behind the counter looked more like a frazzled librarian type that was too loud to keep her post. Anyone ever see the movie Liar Liar? Remember the eccentric woman in Jim Carrey's office who kept changing her hair style, and asking him what he thought when he couldn't lie? That is this girl behind the counter. When she asked what I wanted I said, "Just coffee." She looked like she was translating an obscure language, but couldn't figure out the code. "Wait, WHAAAAT did you say?" - "Just coffee."

Her boyfriend came in as her shift was ending. He stood about 5'4" decked out in slacks and a sharp button up. If dress weren't the most descriptive feature a person usually wears, I wouldn't feel the need to describe it in any way, but they were quite the opposing styles. They sat next to me on the couch. Thank God for the headphones and my focus that evening, because they proceeded to suck face and giggle like idiots, "I like you more." - "NO, I like you more!" (Great you're both lame. Neither of you win.) To my bewilderment, a guy came over from the bar across the building to announce, "I just came to say that you and your lady friend are sooo cute." They weren't cute. I wanted to back hand him immediately for emboldening their bothersome petting, but she took offense to his statement before I could stand up and rear back. "Lady friend? What I'm not fit to be considered an actual girlfriend?" (Boyfriend) "Ah, here we go..." - "WHAT!?" - "He was just complimenting us babe." - "I know, but LADYfriend sounds so informal don't you think?" And so the debate went with the guy awkwardly trapped trying to recant his failed sincerity when he should've just kept his happy ass at the bar all along.

I actually laughed to myself because, in 8 years, I've only dropped my guard enough to call two ladies my girlfriend. The rest have affectionately been described as ladyfriends also. To these bizarre beans canoodling like school kids next to me: you know who you are...

She Can Do it!

The walls that house this coffee shop were obviously built to surround a family in the 40's. The old wood and pipes are now painted into a green and maroon mural depicting those who influenced its creation into what it is today. I don't consider myself to be attributed to any particular look or style, but there are definitely some that I can't pull off. This barista can. She is beyond the hipsters, trapped between several eras I can't quite pinpoint, but it is genuine and hers; not to be recreated or attempted by any other. She has earned her spot behind the counter of this place.

She wears a long breezy skirt down to the ankles of her long slender frame. An old apron outlined in lace gives contrasting coloration to the earth tones below her exposed navel made visible by the short plain white tank top. Its crisscrossed thin rosie bra straps match the multiple dyed riveted pony tails encased by the patterned rag in her hair you could never find in a store now. She appears to be the daughter, and more feminine incarnation of the heroine from the famous WWII "We Can Do It!" portrait; domesticated and enjoying the previous allied victory that affords us the mentality of peace (even amidst constant war) in this country.

To this bizarre bean who seems to be the most fitting of all the misfits here, and better not betray my interpretation by returning home to a condo: you know who you are...

More Fun Lines at Work

To the girl who came in acting like she was hot shit, and later spilled her latte all over the floor (now sporting a completely different attitude):
Her- "I am so sorry."
Me- "Hey, it's fine. Whenever you're ready you can come up to the front, and we'll ring you up for the cleaning fee."
Her- "There's a cleaning fee?"
Me- "No."

A woman came in with two very small children. They were nagging, whining, pulling at her arm trying to be held. In addition she had a diaper bag, and was attempting to get her stroller in the door that the kids refused to sit in. I felt for her. She didn't want my sympathy. She ordered a few drinks, two cupcakes for the little ones, and also asked where the high chairs were. Despite the line behind her, I asked if I could help them beyond the counter. She said no. She had almost made it to the table of choice in one piece when she dropped one of the cupcakes on the floor. Hoping to avoid a screaming kid, as well as any more unnecessary stress in her life, I promptly brought her another cupcake. She bent down, picked the other up off the ground, and while refusing the new one said,
"Oh, no thanks. It's okay. Really. My kids eat off of the floor all the time."
-"Three second rule family huh?" (In a joking tone)
-"Sure." (In a very non-joking tone)

Another woman came in around 9:30am only to unexpectantly see our gleaming cupcake selection:
"OH. OH NO! OOOHHH God. Why? Wow. Oh, this is bad."
Me- "Mam, it's not like drinking. I won't judge you if you have one before noon. Hell, I wouldn't judge you if you had a drink before noon either."

I only divulge myself because I can usually keep a straight face through all of this, but this last one broke me. She asked for a dark chocolate mocha frappe with whipped cream. Cool, coming right up. Then she asked, "Oh, and can you make that as low calorie as possible?" People have every right to order whatever they want void of criticism, but not to say something that blatantly absent minded to me. I wanted to tell her to do a few laps around the building first if it was a pressing issue, but decided laughing aloud was harsh enough.

Fun Lines While Working

As a customer returns to the counter:
-"Hey can I get a cup for water please?"
-"Sure, that'll be $2.15."
Blank stare
-"Really...?"
Me- "No."

A customer rings up a total of $2.15 for their order. They pull out a credit card, and ask if it's okay to use it for an order that small. I say:
"Ahh, actually we have a $17.00 minimum."
-"Really? $17.00?"
-"No."

We have mason jars titled, Cake Jar, with a fun descriptive name of what kind of cake is in them. Almost every other day I hear:
"Wow what are those Cake Jar things?"
Never able to resist:
Me- "Well, despite the misleading name, they really are just a cake in a jar."