old fart pants

Remember last year, I mentioned this old fart pants from The Beanhouse? Of course not, which I totally understand. Well, after that early run-in with him, I had another one months later, where he was having a hissy fit at one of the baristas for handing him the wrong pastry. “No!! I wanted a blueberry danish, not cherry! Dammit! Dammit!!” Literally, the man went ballistic and the poor barista just stood there, wide-eyed and freaked out. I stepped in because, well, I was in charge at the moment and because, well, I cannot stand this man.

“Sir, you’re not acting like this again,” I said brusquely.

“WHAT?”

“You don’t get to act like this again. Sorry. You have two choices: You can start learning how to be courteous or you can go somewhere else. Acting this way is not one of the options.”

So he grabbed his bag with the blueberry danish and stormed out. I wouldn’t serve him after that. Other people did, but reluctantly.

Fast forward many months … to today.

This same man walked into Boheme. Yep. In he walked, all smiles, with his silly grey pageboy and these gigantic glasses framing his eyes as if each individual eyeball were some great work of art. He just stood there in front of me, simpering, and I barely flicked a glance over him. Up. Down. Away.

“So — are you gonna kick me out?” he said.

I stared at him for a moment. I couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe he was even standing there in front of me — in my place — smiling the way he was.

“Yes,” I said. “I will kick you out if you ever present a problem for me or anyone who works for me. It’s different now. This is my place.”

“Well, I’ll be good.”

“We’ll see. You’re on serious probation with me. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

And I walked away while my employee — (haha! that sounds so ridiculous — never say that again, Tracey) — C made his drink.

A little while later, I left for about an hour, just to sit and breathe and eat and not have a breakdown from everything. When I came back, C ran up to me and said, “Know what that guy said to me when he left?”

“Oh, noo. What?”

“He said, ‘I’ll be good as long as she never gives me the wrong pastry like she did last time.'”

Which isn’t quite what happened, but, whatever, it all boils down to …

Booo-bye, old fart pants! You’re gone.