I’ve learned something about the service industry this year. Nothing we can steal makes up for what we give them in service. Modern feudalism. Necessary for the operation but expendable as individuals. A difference in perception separates the owner from the worker. Knowing the difference doesn’t equal liberation. Someone must possess a great sense of direction in order to escape the current ruler. A moral compass helps but money is faster.
*****
“How ’bout I cut off your tits and hang them from your ears?”
That’s where I lost it. Haven’t yelled that hard since I talked to my mother. And this time I meant it. I tried to keep it in and when it was clear I had to be an asshole I pulled up the camera on my phone and started taking pictures. It’s funny how quickly someone can gather their things when they’re trying to storm out in a huff. No one in Seattle is actually dangerous. Our tempers are the only weapons drawn. Yet the social stigma of getting kicked out of a bar is never born gracefully.
Guy watched me all night. I felt his gaze like a shit-stain in my underwear. A regular for the arcade games, Guy’s never made enough fuss to warrant action and is usually gone once the night crowd wanders in. He stayed all night this time. A reliable friend of mine even took the seat next to him without complaint, willing to share the table regardless of intent. Around 9pm, Guy approaches my counter and tells me he lost 5 dollars from his pocket. I give him sad eyes and co-misery. He asks if there’s anything I can do. “Sorry, but no.”
He’s never addressed me for more than swapping nickels and dimes. I’m not completely disdainful of vagrants, I just demand coffee shop standards of behavior. If you want to hang out, pay something or (at least) ask permission. If it’s crowded, get out. Don’t solicit me or my customers. And always remember, Starbucks wouldn’t even let you come in. Okay, so the last part is middle class spite. It’s true, some places don’t even let you sit for free. I watched Guy sit in his spot for nearly two hours without moving. He has been getting thinner lately.
He watched me tab everyone out, close the till, upend all the chairs and take out the trash. The last thing I do is tell him it’s time to go before I bring in the sidewalk signs. He begins to slowly gather his things. I say, “C’mon man, let’s go.” I know he’s been watching me close. He knows I was watching. The entire thing is a battle of wills as trivial as two housepets determining dominance. Except for one thing – this is MY house. I’m paid to keep this place and make it somewhere people want to be. I don’t have hackles for much but I’ll defend my home like a mama bear. I don’t fight unless it matters.
Most things don’t matter. This conflict could have ended amicably. Guy decided to use his words while being ornery. Threatening to cut off my tits is just the right mix of violent and sexist to trigger real rage. The couple that stayed to use the bathroom were still in the lobby witnessing the whole thing and that gave me more courage than an empty room. I also know I’m right, which gives me more leverage than I usually wager with. This Guy is a person looking for the edge and tries to dance along it. I respect his decision for as long as he respects the results it yields.