One of the perks of working in a coffee shop is that often you get to work with really beautiful women and develop friendships without the innate suspicion that all you are trying to do is fuck them. It's a good thing, that. I never really go on the make (tangentially: whenever I do something really horrendous happens), so its really annoying to me when a woman blows me off simply because she is used to guys having ulterior motives at all times, and assume that I am the same.
I mean, I understand the necessity of the defence mechanism, as most men are simply fists and penises with legs to move them around, but not ALL of them. Just because you are pretty doesn't mean I want to make love to you, because that is what it is to me: making love, solidifying the bonds of connection between two people, communicating in movement and sensation, the language of adoration and union. So it's great to be able to work with women who wouldn't normally give me the time of day, unscrutinised. I have made good friendships like this. The other perk is, of course, all the free caffeine you can drink... mmmm....
So anyway, I'm working with this beautiful Sicilian woman, Andrea, when in walks this ogre of a man carrying a huge club/walking stick. He is shabbily dressed and sports a huge red beard. He comes up to the register where I am waiting to serve. Andrea has her back to the ordering area as she is grinding a bulk coffee order that has just been called in.
"Hey Hey, what can I get for ya?"
He still hasn't made eye-contact with me and is shifting back and forth stretching a little to look over the espresso machine with rather trollish obviousness at Andrea's ass.
"Hey, did you ? uhm -- want something?"
He wrenches his fixed gaze over at me as if having to dislodge vertebrae to do so and says with this booze abuser gravel in his voice:
"NOT FROM YOU, I want her to help me."
I look over at Andrea who shoots me this I'll-help-him-if-you-want-but-he-scares-me look on her face. I turn back to the guy and say:
"Look man, she's busy. I'm here. If you want something I'll get it, if not then please leave."
He makes some guttural noise, ignores me, and trys to get Andrea's attention.
"Allright man, get out."
Now he looks at me.
"WHAT? ARE YOU TRYING TO KICK ME OUT OF HERE?"
This guy stands a full foot above me, and shifts to that puffed chest intimidation posture. I'm not impressed, I mean, I figure that he is just fronting.
"Yeah, I'm asking you to leave, man."
He starts in to a string of profanity that is barely cohesive and gets red in the face like I'd just stolen his last meal or slept with his wife -- I mean really, he goes aggro: veins all popping, fat face shaking, body tense and pitched forward. Okay, he's serious I see, but I try to stay calm and focused.
"Look man, I don't want to have to call the cops but I will if you don't go right now! JUST GET OUT!"
He lifts up his club like a batter and pulls it back to swing, yells:
"YOU WANNA FIGHT ME YOU LITTLE PUNK? HUH? YOU WANNA FIGHT ME?"
"NO, I DON'T want to FUCKING fight you, I WANT you to GET THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW!"
I stand there unflinching, just waiting for him to swing. Andrea is already on her way to call the cops and there is this eternity (real time: 3 seconds) in which time is still. He drops the club to his side and yells:
"I'LL BE WAITING FOR YOU MOTHERFUCKER, I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!"
He wasn't waiting for me later, primarily because the police came by later to drive me by and ID him -- apparently he had also been threatening some folks on a park bench. The owner of the coffee shop did show me where he kept an axe, "Should anything like that happen again." An 'axe' -- Jesus!
Andrea was impressed with how I had handled the situation, but I didn't use it for leverage to try and sleep with her, thus, we are friends to this day.
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