Coffee and Old People

Many of our customers are old people and I really like old people. Actually that is not strictly true. I like American old people, I hate old British people. Americans are fun, they enjoy life, they celebrate their oldness, in fact they are just like young people in old people's clothes. British wrinklies, on the other hand, are just miserable. They will always start a conversation with one of two facts. Either "I fought in the war for you". To which I reply "No you didn't, I wasn't even born in the 40's. In any case I am willing to bet you spent the entire war peeling potatoes in Kettering". The other stunning introduction is "I'm 83 years old you know". Well a) I don't care and b) Hurry up and die because you are using oxygen that my children need.
Now American crumblies are fun and I usually suck up to them. Of course we all realize that this is harmless flirtation (I hope to God we realize). Although it saddens me that I used to do this stuff with 20 year olds and now I am flexing my pecs at Granny. C'est la guerre.
Of course sometimes these fun loving old relics get one over on me. This week I was passing one of the livliest old girls when she dropped the most monster of farts. Now if you have ever heard and seen a hippo farting you will know where I am going. A hippo is unique in as much as its anus seems to have labial lips. This means that when it lets rip everything vibrates in a delicious moistness that vibrates and flatulates for about 30 seconds. Well granny dropped this monster just as I walked past and sent me scurrying into the back room to chew on a napkin to muffle the sounds of my laughter. Having sorted myself out and grown up I walked out into the shop and incredibly the old girl did it again. Once again I hightailed it into the back room on the verge of wetting myself. This time the boss caught me and demanded to know what I thought I was doing being so foul in front of the customers. I choked out the fact that it wasn't me but rather the flatus factory on table four. The boss then explained that each time it happened the old bag looked at the table opposite, looked at my departing back, looked disgusted and then fanned her nose with her hand. Way to pass the buck granny I nearly lost my job thanks to your tired out old sphincter.
So she finished her lunch and then waddled of to abuse the facilities by taking a monster dump. Lo and behold she emerges 15 minutes later and the old man then tag teams her and spends another 10 minutes in there. I suppose I should be grateful that they both voided their foul and stinking colons but at the same time I have to clean the crapper and that is no party I can tell you. I am thinking of posting a sign that says that this facility is for emergency urination purposes only. If you wish to defecate please clench and waddle home (After paying your bill).
Still they must have enjoyed their lunch as they both insisted on shaking my hand on the way out. Their hands were remarkably dry so either they dried well or more probably didn't wash their hands in the first place. I hate faeces fingers more than I hate British pensioners.

Toodle Pip