I am alone in the shop, sitting up front and wondering where the heck the sun went to.
Some ratfucker called and said that the woman who used to own this place ran a brothel out of here. Uh, no, she didn’t. She had customers drop by late to pick up arepas. I suppose it’s POSSIBLE that a devout Jehovah’s Witness could sell poon on the side, but given my interactions with her, I would say that possibility is what you might call out by Neptune remote. I so wanted to tell the guy that unless he paid for it himself he should shut up. Instead I left my dreadful Moral Qualms aside and ran through the menu and invited him to be a customer. Go me.
Scammer came in yesterday and I sent him on his way with a “You let me know when you come up with $34 dollars to get that shipment of maple syrup out of hock! I just want you to know that I can’t give you money for something I can’t see or taste.” He seemed very downcast, and I’m sorry, but I would at least shave, shower, change my clothes and pare my nails before I tried something like that. The hell is wrong with people, I dunno….
Bought insurance for Ziva and promptly lost the tags. Go me. Now to file a police report.
I put up a sign advertising Maple Bacon Muffins and just as fast took it down, as one of our regulars cleaned us out of the day-olds. He said, “I love you guys’ muffins and soups!” This is especially gratifying because he used to be a hotel chef (he fixes bikes now, talk about yer right livelihood) and he sure knows from food.
Hey pOp everytime I try to get your biscotti off to you something else screws up in my car or I can’t find an appropriate box. Promise I’ll get it out before the end of the week.
And in other news Jeff and I are almost through Third Watch. My fave character is still Sully, but Bosco and Yokas are running neck and neck for second. Jeff and Katie and I have started a rewatch of the Wire when we’re in the same place at the same time.