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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.
I managed to avoid Buddy’s lecherous company until what would be my final shift at the coffee shop. He was there when I arrived, wearing mirrored glasses behind the counter, surely warding off a monstrous hangover. I immediately regretted my choice of work attire — a thin cotton shirt and low-cut shorts.