Coffee and Salvation

I was interrupted from my daily perusal of www.manilow.com by the sound of the shop door opening. “What now, this place is getting like Grand Central Station, Jesus I can hardly get to sleep at day”. Imagine my shock, nay joy, to look up and see, silhouetted by the rising sun, the bastard Mr Fixit. In one hand he held a cylinder of Freon and from his hip hung the pipes, tubes and gauges of his trade. This entire Clint Eastwood-ish scene just needed the theme from the Good, the Bad and the Ugly

Whip Snap Crack
Aarr – aarra – aa arara.

Oh just use your imagination. Anyway a quick check showed a steady gait, white eyeballs and no alcohol leaking from his epidermis, so I lead him to Bitch 2 and immediately began to regale him with my bon motes, wit and jolly banter. The boss put paid to that by grasping me warmly by the fundamentals and squeezing “Listen idiot we are paying this twat by the minute, leave him alone” she whispered. As she dragged me away, through tears of pain, I noticed him disappointedly look at his watch and write in his log, 15 minutes waiting time - $45, shit. Now that I am tucked away safely in the kitchen the boss announces that she is off to the bank with the (my) tip jar. Double shit. “While I am gone don’t bother Mr Fixit and don’t eat anything”. Well there are only a certain number of spitballs you can get to stick to a kitchen ceiling and after a while I started to ponder on what the boss had told me not to do. Triple shit what was it. Perhaps munching on some Cherry Garcia might help. So 5 gallon bucket in one hand and spatula in the other I commence shoveling. After a while as you might imagine the bucket starts to condensate and I can feel it slipping out of my grasp. Quadruple shit this is going to be messy. Letting go of the spatula I drop kick it skillfully into the sluice. Coffee Bitch ; one point. Now fumbling the bucket I drop it into the crook of my elbows and clutch it to my chest like Michael Vick taking one from Lee Suggs at a Virginia Tech game (and I really do mean that in the sense of playing Football). Coffee Bitch ; three points. Looking down I spot a pint of ice cream running down my apron. Now I remember instruction 2. Quintuple shit I need some paper towel or I am dead. Stepping over Mr Fixit I inadvertently break instruction 1 and ask how things are going. Without looking up he grunts "Looks like you have blown a seal". Horrified I reply, “No it’s ice cream, honest”.

There is much more to tell but after last Friday’s excesses I am off for an early night. I fully intend to be at Sam’s Club just before Sid and Doris Bonkers and just after the hot samplers are set up. I quite fancy some Creole Tuna for breakfast with some freshly squeezed mango and possibly a strawberry sorbet to follow. Now let’s see if I can get my weekend bonus without waking the boss up.

Yours in anticipation

The Coffee Bitch