We ran out of lettuce at 3:30 a.m. last night. I love telling customers that we're out of a product. Customers often say, "skip it," and pull away in a huff without ordering anything, which means less work and more time to read Bukowski in the lobby.
At 4:45 a.m. these stuck-up hoes pull up. They want egg salad in a wheat wrap. I gladly inform them that there is no lettuce. They decide against the wrap due to the lettuce limitation. I start to think things are going my way. Alas, they want to know every type of bagel we serve. I go through the list of 15 different flavors. They want me to go through the list again. My hands clinch up; my knuckles turn white.
One of the hoes asks me: "What the hell is an everything bagel?" I almost ask her if she gets out much? instead, I kept my cool and enter into the game.
"It's like a combination of the all the other bagels that I listed twice, not counting the fruity ones. It's like totally awesome, my absolute fav," I reply.
Finally, the hoes decide on two bagels ("you better make sure they're untoasted") with cream cheese ("vegetable cream cheese, or did you run out of that too?") and a French vanilla cappuccino("no, not the frozen kind, it's too cold out here for that"). I give them their total - $4.79.
"No," says one of the hoes. "Why don't we get a discount? You didn't have what we wanted." Now, if they would have been civil, not insisted on the discount I would have given it to them, no problem. I give super deals all the time, but not with these hoes.
They refuse to pull up until I give them a deal. I hold, but The Buddha Baker overhears the argument through her headset and tells them that they will get a discount. The Buddha Baker wants to get rid of them. The Buddha Baker is nicer than me. I want to show these hoes up, but I respect The Buddha Baker.
The hoes, five-layers of make-up, and some scantly-clad outfits finally pull up. The Buddha Baker only gives them 10% off, and this just won't do. The hoes want our names, the phone number of our manager and the number of the corporate office. We give them the info with a smile. They want to know how much this job means to us. Nothing, so let's move this game into overtime. Apparently, there is a phone number on the outside of the drive-through window. One of the hoes calls the number with her rhinestoned cellphone and tells us that she is calling corporate. What corporate office is open at 4:45 a.m.? Why didn't she call the corporate number we gave her?
It's at a stand-still. They won't give us the money. We refuse to hand over the food until they pay. Another car pulls up. A dude orders. I walk the dude's order out to him. As I'm walking past the hoes, I noticed the phone number they were calling is labeled: Allergy Information. Score, overtime goal for Tim Horton.
I tell the dude, who is still stuck behind the hoes: "Um, these stupid girls in front of you aren't moving because we didn't give them a big enough discount."
"They better move because I have to get to work," says the dude while pulling out his identification card - state corrections. "I work for the state police. Do you want me to have these girls removed?" I really start to get into the conflict. Adrenaline kicks in for the first time since I have been working at Tim Hortons.
"I think it has come to that," I say smiling even bigger. The dude looks around for for his cellphone in his car. The hoes have no license plate. The dude finds his cellphone, but he's still dialing when the hoes peel-out into the darkness.
The Buddha Baker also threatened to call the 5-0 and that's why the hoes high-tailed it out of there when they did. I'm let down, in a way, because the hoes end the conflict, so I get back to Bukowski while eating and drinking the hoes' order.