The Coffee House Rules

Those of you who have been following my scribblings for the last few weeks will have by now realized that I am the most tolerant, forgiving and nicest of Coffee Bitches. I should therefore apologize in advance for this blog which may appear to the delicate reader a touch tetchy. Unfortunately today has been the most miserable of days; it has been a day that made every minute seem like an hour. It has been a day where the smallest of dreams would not come true. It was a day that I would have willingly have exchanged for the prospect of performing pap smears on syphilitic camels using my tongue as a speculum. It was in short, a day that was as pointless as driving to El Paso.

As I opened the shop we were assailed by the smell of rotting beef, rotting ham, rotting turkey, rotting lettuce, well you get the point. The shop smelled like an Afghani dumpster. Yes indeed one of the Beverage-Airs had died in the night. This was not the one that featured in “Coffee and the art of freezer maintenance”, you remember, the one that still has traces of my vas deferens on the handle. No this was the bitch’s evil twin sister. While the boss went off to find her voodoo doll and the black needle I had an idea that was going to rescue us. You see I had paid attention to the adverts and I knew how to remove foul odors. Seizing the Fabreze bottle I started to liberally dust the meats slice by slice. The boss did not think that this was such a good idea and registered her displeasure by ramming the mop 24 inches into my rectum. It was either the shock or the surprise or (heaven forbid) the pleasure but something had me chicken dancing across the shop until the floor glistened with a sheen not seen since Yul Bryner checked out his old bacon bonce. Taking charge she dispatched me to the Walmarts to get some new meats. Today I discovered that there is only one thing more difficult than driving to the Walmarts with a mop up your arse and that is shopping at the Walmarts with a mop up your arse. “Did you know that you have a mop up your arse?”. “No, madam, I am an animal impersonator and today I am a Rhode Island Red rooster, 5 pounds of corned beef please”.

So back at the shop, the boss has wiped the body tissue off bitch number 1 and loaded her up. She fixes me with her gimlet eye and says “Well?” This appears to be an invitation to repair bitch number 2. Now those of you who bothered to read “Coffee and the art of freezer maintenance” will realize why my bowels turned to water (or they would have if they had not already been turned to wood). I ventured that maybe the freezer coil had iced up and turning the bitch off for a couple of hours might do it. Of course I knew that there was not a chance but it least it would give me 120 minutes to track down that bastard Mr Fixit. You will recall from the business with the freezer that I thought I had got him in my pocket by paying cash on the nail but despite many frantic, and to be honest increasingly panicky and pathetic voice mails he steadfastly refused to return my calls Damn you caller ID. I have since realized that paying these hill billies cash is a bad move as it appears they have a tendency to blow their wad on shine and be wrecked for weeks afterwards. I should imagine that the worthless twat is now locked up in the drying out tank aka the Sweaty Fraud Clinic. So there we have it. A perfect day in the shop thank you God, thank you so bloody much.

This miserable day has forced me to re-write the rules of the shop, which are now as follows

1. Because I am your Coffee Bitch does not mean I am your friend and I have no interest in you once the dead presidents have changed hands. I am supremely uninterested in the fact that you were in the UK 30 years ago. USAAF base Milldenhall is not the UK it is an airforce base in the UK. If you never left the PX you did not live in the UK and I am not interested. Also Frankfurt is in Germany not the UK. I just don’t care. The only acceptable conversations are.

Two of your most expensive coffees and don’t worry if the cup is not full.
Keep the change.
Oh Coffee Bitch it is huge, you are ripping me to shreds. (Ladies only on this one please).

2. It is no longer acceptable to order water or any form of water (ice water, water with lemon and so on). It has come to my attention that people who order water are cheap and cheap people do not tip. Most servers work for about $2 per hour and tips. I work for nothing and the boss demands a 50% kickback on the tips. I need the tip jar so don’t be so damn cheap.
3. When I hold the front door open for you I do not do this because I like you. I am doing this to solicit an extra tip. Please respond accordingly. I most certainly do not expect you to try and shake my hand with your faeces fingers.
4. Did I mention that I do not want to talk to you?
5. When I enquire, during your meal, if everything is OK I do this, not because I give a damn but because the boss makes me. You may reply by nodding or grunting. Do not ask me for anything else unless you have money in your hand.

These rules may be relaxed when

a) Mr Fixit dries out
b) Someone plucks the 37 remaining splinters out of my Hershey Highway

Yours in colostomy

The Coffee Bitch