At A Shop Other Than My Own

Going through my morning ritual, library pit stop to print assignments because Vista rejects printers like bad organs. I stop at Java City, for lack of better option, for anything but coffee aka Diet Pepsi, Plain Bagel with cream cheese... or shmear if you want to be a Streisand about it. 

At the register, post order placement... "Trying to get some breakfast? Is that the plan?"... pardon? No, sir, as it happens I have found a mechanism with which I may alter the chemical makeup of Philadelphia cream cheese creating a deliciously fattening plastic explosive which I intend to use to kill the prime minister of Malaysia. Thank you for asking.

Stewart

Oh, Stewart. Good ol' Stu. 

A back story: 

Stewart has been a regular at my shop since our grand opening back in January of '08. Stewart is a middle aged man, occupation unknown, who makes it a point to tell us how financially well of he is (though too cheap to pay a whopping 35 cents for the scoop of cocoa he must have in his drink but that's neither here nor there) where ever he graces our counter with his presence. Stewart is also the all to proud owner of a 2008 BMW special edition Penis Extension which he proceeded to shamelessly and forcibly show off to any Y chromosome within a 50ft radius. 

The Latest:

Today, like all those preceding, Steward struts in around 6am and greets us as he always does with "good morning campers" which just gets funnier every time he says it, and he is wildly amused with himself... as he is everyday and we give a courtesy chortle and think about just how much of an asshole he is as we do every day.  

Stewart meets me at the register and my customer service light is on. "What can I get for you this morning?" I ask. Stewart orders a cafe "ah late" (normally this pronunciation error would not bother me. However, from Stewart's mouth these sounds are nails in a blender) he continues, "and today I want it extra hot... like the women who work here"  ::insert record screeching to a halt here:: "excuse me?" I reply and the ass actually repeats himself verbatim "I want it extra hot... like the women who work here" "oh... huh" I replied. Which, roughly translates  to "Go to hell creep, I'm young enough to be your daughter." I take his money, make his drink and proceed to the back room where he is quoted and sited in our daily log.

EXTRA HOT LIKE THE WOMEN WHO WORK HERE?!? Who says that? In what world are these mid-life creeps, you know who you are, living in where that is in any way an acceptable way to speak to anyone? Truly these courtship dances are in need of revision.