I was at my coffeehouse last night. I have mentioned it here on Wailing And Failing before by name. But I won't this time because of what I saw last night, which I will recount for you here and now.
Using the bathroom on the way out. I leave the can and see this guy, who does not look like any of the baristas that work there, standing on the threshold of what looks to be the closet with his back to me. I surmise it's the closet because, well, I've seen it ajar before, but also because I can see around this stranger that there is a mop bucket with wheels in there. It's yellow, so I can see it -- you know what I mean.
So this guy is standing right in front of it. And I can't see his hands, even though it looks like his arms are in front of him. And this guy's turned away from me.
No. No he isn't.
He sees me and goes, "Hey, I thought this was the bathroom."
Oh, fuckin' gross. How in the fuck do you think a closet is a bathroom? And why in the fucking hell would you be pissing into a mop bucket?
But oh no, it gets weirder. I'm not the only guy down there. There's a second guy. He may or may not be friends with the first guy. I exchange glances with that second guy as I walk up the stairs in terror.
This second guy appears to be looking at the first guy more and more. That makes me think they're friends. First guy asks where the bathroom is. Second guy probably tells him that it's around the corner, where I was … but I can't really hear him because, as I look down as I walk up the stairs, he sticks a toothbrush in his mouth and starts brushing.
Double fucking gross. Why in the fucking hell would you be brushing your teeth in a coffeehouse, for God's sake?
---
I could've told the barista on my way out the Bosch painting that was going on downstairs. But frankly I was too shocked to say anything.
Maybe because of what I witnessed, and maybe because I did not speak for the barista who probably was in for the shock of his life when he closed up the coffeeshop, that I may not be back there for a while. I thought about going to a craft brewery last night instead of this coffeehouse, and yeah, I think I might do that next time … and the time after … and the time after … and. ...
Using the bathroom on the way out. I leave the can and see this guy, who does not look like any of the baristas that work there, standing on the threshold of what looks to be the closet with his back to me. I surmise it's the closet because, well, I've seen it ajar before, but also because I can see around this stranger that there is a mop bucket with wheels in there. It's yellow, so I can see it -- you know what I mean.
So this guy is standing right in front of it. And I can't see his hands, even though it looks like his arms are in front of him. And this guy's turned away from me.
No. No he isn't.
He sees me and goes, "Hey, I thought this was the bathroom."
Oh, fuckin' gross. How in the fuck do you think a closet is a bathroom? And why in the fucking hell would you be pissing into a mop bucket?
But oh no, it gets weirder. I'm not the only guy down there. There's a second guy. He may or may not be friends with the first guy. I exchange glances with that second guy as I walk up the stairs in terror.
This second guy appears to be looking at the first guy more and more. That makes me think they're friends. First guy asks where the bathroom is. Second guy probably tells him that it's around the corner, where I was … but I can't really hear him because, as I look down as I walk up the stairs, he sticks a toothbrush in his mouth and starts brushing.
Double fucking gross. Why in the fucking hell would you be brushing your teeth in a coffeehouse, for God's sake?
---
I could've told the barista on my way out the Bosch painting that was going on downstairs. But frankly I was too shocked to say anything.
Maybe because of what I witnessed, and maybe because I did not speak for the barista who probably was in for the shock of his life when he closed up the coffeeshop, that I may not be back there for a while. I thought about going to a craft brewery last night instead of this coffeehouse, and yeah, I think I might do that next time … and the time after … and the time after … and. ...
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