Disorder From The Order

, | Working | April 23, 2017

(I’m in a cafe where I tend to banter with the cashiers there, so they at least know me. I’m at the counter ordering my food. She is high-school or college-aged, possibly a student at the local big-shot university.)

Me: “And I’d like a… Boy, are you giggly today!”

Cashier: *giggles*

Me: “I don’t know why you’re so giggly, but look at that smile! Hey, look at how giggly she is!”

Cashier: *giggles some more*

(At this point I’m actually kind of mystified as to what’s so funny, but she takes my order and hands me a number, and I walk away. I walk over to a bench to sit down while they make my order. I look down at my number card, and suddenly all becomes clear. It is the number 69.)

Me: *holding the card up* “I figured it out!”

Cashier: *studiously avoiding looking at me*

(One of her coworkers came around to give me the food and he started snickering, too. It’s been over a week now and she still won’t look at me, which I find utterly hilarious.)

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