"You Smell Like Coffee."

  As you may know, I'm a coffee shop slave. For hours on hours I'm at the coffee shop.  I grind the coffee beans for the daily brews, I make espresso drinks, and I'm just sitting in a sea of coffee-air for the duration of my shift. Obviously, by the time I get to leave, I smell like coffee.  Much like when I work at the movie theater, I leave smelling like popcorn.  I'm pretty sure a person cleaning up Port-a-Johns ends up smelling like shit by the end of the day, too. It just happens!

Now, I can live with the fact that I smell like coffee. It smells a lot better than other potential smells (see "shit" in first paragraph), and to be honest, a lot of guys like it! And since I don't have a guy in my life right now, I need all the help I can get!  Anyway, I think you get the fact that I smell like coffee.

Today was a very busy day for me.  Running from one thing to the next with seconds in between my activities.  I had class (which I consequently didn't go to because of trouble with my alarm clock....), work, I had to stop at the bank, and then was spending the night with my mother and sister.  I was already running late once I got to the bank, and all I had to do was cash a check. 

My usual bank lady, Jenny, is a super sweet lady and really nice and I love her. Not to mention she can cash a check in about 2.5 seconds. She wasn't there today.  I wish she was.

Since I work in places where we regularly get busy and must deal with customers/guests in an orderly fashion, nothing in the whole wide world makes me angrier than when I see someone on staff sitting in the back, twiddling their thumbs, while I am using up my precious time to get my crap done. I'm already late, so (to make a bank-type analogy) it's like I needed to take out a loan on time, and that time was spent on watching her follow office butterflies rather than help me out.  There was an old man standing in line behind me and, just by the way he was standing, I can tell he has some sort of bladder problem and is NOT wearing depends, so he had to 86 this place and make it to a toilet. STAT.

I stand in line for ten minutes while the lady at the open bank teller talks about her various bank accounts.

"So, if I open a new sub-account, can I put money into it?" asked the lady.

Bank teller: "Of course! You can transfer money from any of your accounts into your sub accounts."

My Would-Have-Said Answer:  "If you can't put money into it, what's the point of having the sub-account, lady?! Common sense!"

I didn't want to be “that guy”, but I want to be honest with you: I made sure to huff loudly once or twice so she would realize she wasn't the only person in the bank. Too bad Borders closed down, or else I would have referred her to the book, Banking for Dummies. But, that's beside the point. Finally, after another ten minutes of question and answer seminar for incompetents, the lady leaves. I step up to the counter and as soon as I step up to the counter, Butterfly lady comes up to her little office space, and calls over the old man. I was seriously rageface.jpeg.


Instead of commenting on how utterly disgusted I was with the service, I turned to my bank lady and give her a smile. I hand her my evidence of identity. She asks me what she can do, and I hand her the check. I'm thinking, Alright, awesome! I'm getting this check cashed in now and then I can hit the road! Maybe I won't be as late anymore! And that's when she smashes my hopes and dreams.


She begins typing something in the computer, stops and looks up at me. I figure it's going to be something important and all she says is, “You smell like coffee.”




…


Excuse me, what? Why-, I-, I don't even-, what?!






My Would-Have-Said Answer: “JUST CASH THE CHECK!”


What I Said: “Um, yes. I work at a coffee shop.”

To which the bank teller responds with: “Oh, I know. It says the company right here on the check.”

There was that awkward moment of silence where she stared at me waiting for a response. I stared back because, well, what was I suppose to say?! All I want her to do is cash my check! And if she knew I worked at a coffee shop, why would she comment on my smell? Was she trying to say I smelt good, or bad? In which case, who does she think she is saying I smell good/bad? Is she trying to insult me, or trying to hit on me? Either way, not the time or place. I just want to cash in a check, Jesus Christ!

After a few more awkward seconds, she turns back to her computer. Give it another five minutes and I had my money in my hand and was out the door. Not nearly as fast as the 2.5 seconds it would have been with Jenny. The old man even made it out before I did.

I wonder if he made it to the bathroom on time......

K.G. Sunshine