I don’t know about you, but if I spilled a sack of dog poop on the floor of a restaurant, I might wait a little while before coming back.
It was an ordinary Sunday afternoon at the Coffee Shop. The Churchgoers had come and gone and the Coworkers and I were just getting around to cleaning up the mess. (If you’re unfamiliar with how horrible the Church crowd can be at lunch on Sunday afternoons, there are about five million blog posts about this. Here’s one by a Christian for ya.) The last thing we needed was yet another customer treating us like chamber maids (trust me, I do not get paid or tipped enough to be your servant).
As I was wiping down one of the counters, a larger middle-aged woman made her way up to me. Hands hitched up to her chest in the universal expression of disgust and annoyance, she cleared her throat.
Her: I need that rag. Right now.
Startled, I handed it over. Snatching it from my hands, she sauntered back to her table. Without a care in the world she tossed the rag on the floor and drove it into the tile with her foot. At that moment I was called away by a customer waiting at the register.
A few minutes later, the Rag Lady was back. Pushing the crumpled floor-rag into my hand, she screwed her face in the the most unattractive grimace I have ever seen.
Her (demanding): Get someone over there to mop the floor.
Afraid to look at the rag I had been given, I slowly uncurled my hand. The overwhelming smell of dog shit knocked me in the face. Awesome.
Dragging our Dishwasher over to investigate with the mop, we assessed the damage: three square feet of dog poop smeared into the tile and grout. Rag Lady and her companion still seated at the table above this disaster, even though every other table in the Coffee Shop is open. And a lovely wad of poop scraped off on the leg of the table.
Rag Lady and her companion continued to chat amiably with one another and ignore me even though the smell of the crap on the floor was beginning to permeate the entire restaurant.
To top it off, they were actually irritated when I asked them to move to another table so we could bleach the floor beneath them. Rag Lady never apologized and she still comes in and makes a stink about something every day (I couldn’t help myself with that pun. Sorry.)
To this day, I can’t serve that woman her almond croissant and cola without the overwhelming desire to ask if she wants poop with that.