[names have been changed... and not in a particularly original or identity-protecting manner, but they're changed, so shhh]
Waiting at the mall-bookstore threshold each morn stand a sorry band of elderly misfits, all of whom congregate in the far corners of café and cause mischief of all sorts for hours, despite making purchases the sum of which often don't break the ten dollar mark.
Let's call the lead-miscreant Karenina. She remembers details like the exact date the bookstore moved from a strip mall across the street to its current location but forgets little things like wearing undergarments and what day it is. She has been a faithful pain in the rear end for seventeen years and tells anyone who will listen this news each day. She orders the same thing every day, and gods save your soul if you don't know what it is: a small coffee. TOTES ORIGINAL, MAN.
A newb who either honestly has no idea what Karenina's "usual" is or is under the mistaken impression that acting like she doesn't will result in less conversation, asked Karenina the other day what she would like. Karenina scoffed at the newb's lack of knowledge and implored the person behind her in line to join her in taunting the newb. Like a pro, the newb said, "well, if you don't quit making fun of me, I can't get you what you want."
Karenina cautiously answered, "small coffee, room for milk."
"house or dark roast?" Karenina blanked. All color left her face. She turned to me, eyes aglaze, and asked, "Caitlyn, what do I get?" After I recovered from the shock of Karenina calling me by my actual name, I could not help but reply, "YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW YOUR ORDER? KARENINA!" and descend into a fit of giggles.
I caught my breath and informed the newb that she likes light roast and a side of ice.
The next day was my fourth of five consecutive cafe opening shifts, each more bizarre and less busy than the last. Karenina arrived a few minutes late and avoided eye contact with me. oh, no. I couldn't let it go. The usual was waiting for her, but I shared with my coworker that yesterday, "this one forgot her own usual! always givin us guff for not knowing the order when someone's a little rusty herself, hmm?"
"You know what ladieth? When you get to be my age, you forget stuff." a trim woman wearing workout clothes walked up to the counter and unsuspectedly into Karenina's argument. "Ithn't that right, mith? [nudges her for emotional support against the whippersnappers] I turn seventy in three months. I feel every minute of it. Thankth." She lifted the cup in the air in thanks and retreated to the milk bar. The next woman in line's eyes were opened to an alarming width.
"You and your eyeballs have no idea."
"No, you don't get it... I just turned seventy a few weeks ago." My associate and I eyeballed this woman in a skeptical manner. She was in possession of all of her teeth, mental faculties, and publicly appropriate undergarments. Not only that, but she was fit. And her hair was stylish. I didn't buy it. My face betrayed my thoughts. "Thank you, but I'm serious. I'm seventy. And I would love a double tall nonfat cappuccino."
"As you wish!" -- the woman later revealed that she was "off to do a little exercise" by walking the mall, which made her claim slightly more believable than before. The shock and awe, friends. shock and awe.
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And who could forget the time Karenina and the crew were late to the gate? A skinny twenty-something who works at Forever 21 ordered himself a quad venti iced caramel macchiato and set up shop with a text book, notebook, and laptop over at The No-Breakfast Club's typical table. Karenina was the first to arrive but not the first to order coffee. Karenina's even less bright compatriot of the same name, Kerynina, bumbled through her tall decaf order and lost her daily battle of wits with the credit card machine. Kerynina could not fathom what had taken Karenina so long to hop in line for hers, so she joined Karenina in gawping at the oblivious boy with earbuds in, typing furiously.
A full five minutes elapsed before the boy finally acknowledged the women's presence and asked if he could help them. Karenina bleated, "WE SIT THERE."
"... I... okay? well, I need the space for homework." He reinserted the earbuds and immersed himself in whatever he was doing. The Kareninas stood, defeated, mouths agape for several more minutes until their "knight in stretchy waistband jeans hiked up far too high" proclaimed that they shall sit at the other large table until the offending individual left. Probably before he swiped a macaroon or seven. The other members of the No-Breakfast Club followed suit and positioned their chairs in such a way that all of them could touch the table if necessary but still shoot eye-daggers at the boy, who I still wonder to this day if he had any idea of just how much mind-hate was slung his way.
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The youngest and newest inductee into the No-Breakfast Club, Scar, may also be the scummiest. He charms his way into free coffees almost every morning, all the while looking like the human impersonation of Pig Pen all grown up. His boots leave dust on the floor behind him every day, and I swear I can see an aura of brown surrounding him when he sits. Worst of all, he goads the Kareninas into having hugely inappropriate conversations, resulting in mental pictures that make me want to gouge out my mind's eye and quotes to make even the steeliest resolve crumble and cringe.
The best occasion on record [for which, I was apparently present but somehow missed] was the day Karenina and Scar engage in their weird flirtation in line, so Karenina entirely forgot her cream. Karenina returned to the milk bar just in time to intercept Gandalf, slimy lord of the mall realms -- a most deserving victim to what was to come. Karenina elbowed him playfully and said, "Arrest me. I'm a naughty, naughty girl." Gandalf power-walked out of café, leaving his beverage behind.
Scar laughed uproariously AND SWIPED HIS TEA. dark days, dark days.
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A casual No-Breakfast Club member [so casual I do not know her name] ordered a mundane prepared beverage, probably a caramel macchiato. probably skinny.
She sat with the the other members for a while before they trickled out. Only after everyone else left did she realize that she had dribbled coffee all down the front of her. She sat bewildered and alone, so she switched tables. Right, because it's all the gravitational pull of that table's fault. Finally, she returns to the pick up counter and asks for a new lid because, quote, "I can't be that bad with my mouth, can I?"
you chose the worst possible audience for that question, love.
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Boston Clam Chowder and the Masked Man~
Not four days ago, a painfully slow morning yielded odd customers, as they often do. But no one could have anticipated the weirdness of the Masked Man. maybe. I'm not gonna be judgy. Maybe it was an unfortunately shaped/voiced Masked Woman. This individual was covered from face to toe: Timberlands, light wash jeans, red plaid jacket, black pleather gloves, black ski mask, sunglasses right out of the Matrix, and a skully cap. In what can only be described as skulking, The Masked (Wo?)Man weaved his way through magazines, pausing to snap a picture of the occasional magazine. At first, my associate and I gave the customer the benefit of the doubt -- it was a chilly-ass day. Maybe he didn't want nose frostbite. But as time went on and his face remained obscured and the skulking continued, it became less and less acceptable.
My associate said, "I am gonna be SO mad if he shoots up the place when this wasn't even my shift." The words lingered with both of us. We held hands and began to plan our best route of escape. Still holding hands, we tiptoed to the phone to call the manager on duty. The line was otherwise engaged, so I hung up and called back till I got visual confirmation of her presence. She made a bee-line for the cash wrap line at which he had stationed himself and accosted him. We were too far away to hear the exchange, but it ended with the Masked Man storming off toward the escalators.
The MOD made her way over to the café, FINALLY. My associate and I grilled her for details. "Well, I told him that he needed to lose the mask because he was making my staff and my customer base very uncomfortable. Not to mention the insensitivity of coming in here dressed like that, given what has been going on malls in this country lately. So I told him he had the choice of complying with my wishes or leaving the store. He walked away, doing neither, so I called the police. I don't know where I found the strength to say all that. I think I was enraged over the Boston Clam Chowder, so I channeled that energy into protecting my staff. Okay, bye."
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Otherwise homeless quotes:
"and when he says Mocha Almond syrup tastes like burned nuts, I think human balls cooked for too long. seriously, it's gross. Mocha and hazelnut here is way better."
"So they found a used condom on the benches in the kids' section this morning." "How does such a thing go unnoticed?" "Mmmm, probably the same way we missed someone defecating in front of the beverage case." "wasn't us. doesn't count."
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