Since I've spent the day in my pants watching tv and trying to ignore that there's a weird smell in the room, (It's probably me to be perfectly honest) I thought I should probably do something 'productive' and put another post on here.
(This cake lady has, as far as I know, no relation to the one from the previous story.)
First, some scene setting bullshit. At the time, I was working at Cherries, a sandwich shop in St Andrews. My shift normally ended when the shop shut at 5:30. There was one caveat to this though, if even a single customer was still in the shop/sat outside, we couldn't close. We also couldn't tell them to fuck off either. This, obviously, led to a lot of subtle middle fingers and coughing. It was a real shame as well, because they could be the loveliest couple, good chat and they leave a five pound tip, but the second that clock hits 5:20 they immediately become the biggest cunts you've ever met.
Anyway, so it rolls around to about quarter past five, and myself and whoever the fuck it was working with me look at each other and share a sigh of relief, because normally, if all the customers have fucked off by quarter past, no one else comes in and we can close on time. How wrong we were this night.
This little old lady walks in, looking like a stereotypical grandma, all died hair and too much makeup. 'Hello, I was wondering what cakes you do? I used to come in and get these lovely slices of apple pie, and was wondering if you still did them?' I knew that we hadn't done those slices of cake for like two years, so I just assumed she'd been in a coma or some shit and let it slide. 'Sorry madam, we're all out of apple pie today. So please fuck off.' 'Oh, are you sure? I have friends coming tomorrow and I'd really like to have some for them. It takes me so long to come down here....' 'Ah, you've said the magic code, let me go and get some of our secret stash of apple pie for you.' 'I'm terribly sorry, but we're getting some in tomorrow morning if that helps? Otherwise, you could try this Blackberry Bakewell Cake?' (? I think that's what it was, who really gives a fuck.) 'Is it any good?' 'It will make you orgasm so hard the police will spend three years looking for a killer they've dubbed 'The Inside Out Turner' before finally giving up and telling your family you were probably having sex with a hoover or some shit. How the fuck do I know, I don't eat this shit. I spend all my free time here trying to give myself diabetes by consuming stupid amounts of ice cream milkshake every day.' 'It's great, everyone who's bought some today has loved it.' 'Can you freeze it?' 'Sure, it comes in frozen, so I guess you can refreeze it.' (I forgot that we tell people it's made fresh every morning. Oops.)
'That's good, I don't actually eat cake you see, I just like to have some on hand in case my friends come round.' 'Woah woah woah, back the fuck up. You don't even want this to eat, you want to just put it on ice like Walt Disney so, on the off chance people come round, they can eat it? WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WASTING MY TIME, BUY SOME FUCKING TESCO OWN CAKE, YOUR FRIENDS TASTEBUDS ARE PROBABLY ALL WASTED AWAY BY NOW ANYWAY! ' So I throw some of the Blackberry what ever the fuck into a bag and get her to fuck off. AND THEN SHE COMES BACK THE NEXT WEEK AND DOES THE SAME FUCKING THING!
The end.
As an avid follower of this blog I have to say the end was a bit sudden...I would continue to complain but I worked in a coffee shop, that did cakes, for a year and ladies like this are a menace. Anyone reading this blog, if you see these old ladies report them to crimstoppers ASAP they must be stopped!
ReplyDeleteYeah, the end was a bit sudden, I couldn't really think of a way to finish it off properly. Apologies.
ReplyDelete