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Without exception, the coffee shops I worked at had their own special brands of ass hats that came in and out, and their own ways of handling it. First and foremost, the quality of your drink is inversely proportional to how much you berate us while ordering.
“Hey. You awake? I’m on the way home. UGHH. No, it was okay. I couldn’t find my headband, so that blows. Made it out of there with my favorite bra and a broken dry spell so I suppose I shouldn’t complain. What time does McNeely’s open? Think I left my scruples in the washroom.”