Are you a TIGER?

Most of the time I love crazy people.

Last night I stopped at Cafe Abir for a cappuccino on my way to tutoring (I tutor a 16 year old girl every Wednesday). I've been going there for 11 years now, on and off. For the entire time, a man has been working there who, as the years go by, has slipped deeper and deeper into annoying insanity. Cafe Abir is connected to a sushi restaurant and a sake store. Since the sake store opened, I believe he's been annexed to that area for its lack of customers. Yesterday, however, he was in the actual cafe.

He's a tiny man, with an English accent worn smooth by too much time in the States. A few years ago, he dedicated himself to growing out the wiry halo of hair remaining on his head. A miserable pony tail has since sprouted from the base of his skull. It's the kind I fantasize cutting off with a clean snip. Lucky for the world of male pony tails, you can't just cut one off in the clean snip and slink away into the shadows unnoticed. You really have to work to cut one off. I've seen it done on What Not To Wear, and noted it in the "Things I can't do" section of my brain.

When I walked up to the counter, he was being verbose and loud with a couple he clearly knew from previous orders. Every sentence was accompanied by big sweeping motions of his arms and hands. His accent was heavier and more Renn Faire-ish. Actually, he was speaking his own brand of Ye Olde English. You probably know, Renn Faire people confuse and embarrass me. I try to avoid them. He also sounded a little like Stewie from Family Guy, now that I think of it.

While he was taking his time writing on a paper cup to be used for the couple's order, they walked away. He turned to me and said, "What do you want, WOMAN?" I could have played along. It was my choice, at that point. But screw that. I suddenly found myself in shanking mode.

"Ah, I'll have a large non fat cappucino," said with death lasers coming out of my eyes.

"OH! You're a TIGER! GRRR!! Are you a TIGER?? Is that your BIRTH year??" he asked while making one of those cat scratching motions WAY too close to my boobs. He was referring to the Detroit Tigers hoodie I was wearing. Goddamn it, why don't I carry mace?

"Are you actually ready to take my order?"

"No, not really." And he continued to write on the cup from the last order. I swear to god he was holding it up like Hamlet holding up Yorick's skull.

"Well, why don't you let me know when you're ready." He was visibly disappointed I didn't want to play his little game and that I was starting to be a bitch about it. What I really wanted was to be anonymous-coffee-orderer so that I could get to tutoring on time.

"Are you having a bad DAY?" he asked in Renn Faire voice. I really hate when people piss me off, then blame my day for it. My day was just fine. There was nothing wrong with my day.

"No, my day was great. You're just driving me nuts." He was almost speechless. But not quite. At that point he went into mock-employee mode asking me what I wanted and being snidely courteous about everything in his hammed up accent. His face needed punching.

He returned my change, and I walked away. "You're welcome!" I was just so glad to be away from him, I could not care. I waited for my cappuccino for 10 minutes while he made a big deal of making the couple's drink first, then taking his sweet time to make mine. I knew my cappuccino was going to suck, and I considered just walking away from the money I'd spent to save myself the stress of standing there waiting. Instead I used my phone as a life line and texted a couple people. Eventually, he called my drink, I grabbed it and turned, in the same manner, away from him and got another "You're welcome!" Again, I could not have cared less. I just wanted away from the madness.

The cappuccino truly sucked. I drank every drop.