Everything was a little too perfect last night. I was working with the incomparable Buddha Baker. She was explaining broadcast Schizophrenia to me - victims hear voices through the radio, or TV. I was on-schedule with all the cleaning and re-stocking. We had just enough customers. Mama-kitty paid us a visit. We feed her some chicken breasts.
Then came that customer. The customer that had a bad mother and learned no manners.
That customer was a wiry chick that pulled in around 3 a.m. She ordered a medium French vanilla cappuccino and a bagel BELT (bacon, egg, lettuce and tomato) minus the egg.
I repeated her order back to her before I even started to make it because she had a bitchy attitude to start with. I knew she was looking for a problem. I tried to avoid it. I tried.
She pulled up in her tank of an SUV. She gave me a ten-dollar bill and without looking at me, or speaking a word she pulled away into the night. Three minutes later she was back: flying through the drive-through and honking her horn. Why do people honk their horns in the drive-through? Because their momma didn't raise them right.
"This cappuccino isn't even lukewarm. Where's the cheese on my sandwich?" she barked.
"You didn't order any cheese and I can get you another cappuccino, or heat the one you have up if you want," I said.
"I don't have time for this," she barked, then handed me back her order and the change I had given her from her ten. "I want a refund."
Now, maybe if she was civil I would have given back her ten, but that wasn't the case; instead, I handed her back the change that she tried to return to me. I closed the window. I could feel her devil eyes on me. I did my best imitation of "Magic" Johnson's classic hook-shot with the bag containing her bagel BELT - nothing but net. I raised my hands in victory.
She got her money back, but not her ten-dollar bill. Me, I had hit a three-pointer at the buzzer to win the game.