Mr. Burns

"Mr. Burns" was already mostly done placing his order when I walk in. It's after 7pm, so the place is empty except for him and now me. There are two staff members helping him out. One is working the cash register, the other is handling a box of pastries. The barista clearly just returned from the back room with it. Inside the box are two individualized cakes, covered in sugary frosting. The barista is  getting both out.

"It expires on the 18?" Mr. Burns asks, incredulous. The expiration is printed in large letters on the side of the box. They are still good for two more days.

"Yes, Mr. Burns," says the barista. "All of our pastries expire after a couple days."

"I don't know if I like that." What's not to like? That food expires eventually, or that they don't have fresh baked pastries every morning. I never find out.

I walk up to the register to wait my turn. The man turns and looks at me. I'd put him in his 60s. He has on a cotton collared shirt and a pair of light colored jeans. He's wearing a baseball cap, but grey hairs stick out from underneath. The hat is pulled low enough that he has to bend his head back to see my face from under the brim.


Without a greeting, he says to me, "I get special treatment because I own a lot of stock in the company. A lot." That last sentence was over-enunciated and dragged out. A quick look at the employees' faces tell me they don't care for the guy much, though they are resigned to their fate. He's clearly a regular, and this isn't unusual behavior for him.

The woman working the cash register runs his credit card. She grabs the cup she already pulled out for his tea. She says the flavor as she grabs the jar from the shelf.

Her co-worker says, "That's his usual, but he asked for something different today."

She turns back to Mr. Burns. "What kind of tea did you want again?"

He tells her, then says, "Don't worry, I know you have a hard time remembering orders sometimes." I'm pretty sure the voice in your head wasn't condescending enough. Read it again, upping things a bit.

When I order my tea, the woman has no problem remembering what it was. As I settle in with my laptop to do some work, I take a last look at this man. He's sitting with his back to the rest of the room, noise cancelling ear phones on his ears, plugged into a portable DVD player (I can't tell what movie he's watching), sipping on his tea, and eating his two little cakes.