NAR: The Next Generation

I am closing up at work, almost done cleaning, and very ready to go home. The café itself closed almost twenty minutes ago.

I hear the front door open despite the fact that the sign is flipped to “closed” and our hours are clearly listed on the door. Three kids, probably around ten to fourteen, enter.

Me: “Oh, sorry, the café is closed.”

Oldest Child: “No. You close at 19:30. We called ahead and confirmed.”

I’m confused now. She sounds so sure and assertive in her statement that I’m slightly panicked I might have missed an update about us closing later at the moment.

Me: “I’ve cleaned out everything; I literally do not have anything to serve you. It’s cleaned and ready for tomorrow. I’m almost done for the day.”

Oldest Child: “But we’re regulars. We came all the way from [City forty-five minutes away]. That’s so far away. And we called ahead.”

Me: “I didn’t receive any calls all day. Who did you call?”

Oldest Child: “It was a man. He said you close at 7:30 pm.”

Now I’m thinking they might have somehow managed to get a hold of my boss’s number, but I have no clue how.

Me: “Did he confirm it was here? This place? Not [Café with a similar name], [Café with a slightly similar name], or [Café with the same concept but not named at all like us]?”

Oldest Child: “He did. We said [Our Café] and even asked if it was the right address here.”

I want to stress that her tone during this entire conversation is very demanding and slightly condescending. The dissonance of a child acting like this is completely throwing me off.

I quickly check my schedule on my phone, confirming that my shift ends in ten minutes. I relay this information to them.

Middle Child: “But we’re regulars!”

Oldest Child: “And we came from so far away! Just for you! Can’t you make an exception?”

Once again, I reiterate that I am quite literally out of product to sell them and that everything is turned off.

The conversation keeps looping; I tell them I’m closed and don’t know what they’re talking about, and they insist they called ahead and that I should make an exception for them because they’re regulars from so far away.

Me: “Okay, who did you call? Did you get a name?”

Oldest Child: “No. It was some guy. Look, here’s the number. I’m gonna call again.”

She puts it on speaker phone, and sure enough, some guy whose voice I don’t recognize picks up.

Oldest Child: “Hi. You close at 19:30, right?”

Man On The Phone: “Yes.”

Oldest Child: “And you’re [Our Café], right?”

Man On The Phone: “No, we’re [Café with a similar name].”

Oldest Child: “Oh. Okay. Thanks.”

She hangs up, and the atmosphere is suddenly very awkward. I’m trying not to laugh a little.

Youngest Child: “But… but they don’t have the [specific thing] that we want.”

Me: *Kindly* “They do. I know for sure they do.”

Youngest Child: “Oh. Okay.”

Oldest Child: *Still trying to find somewhere to direct her weirdly intense energy* “But then we have to hurry to make it.”

Me: “You really don’t; you’ve got over an hour to get there, and it’s five minutes away. I’ve walked past them many times; it’s right by [Station close by]. You can’t miss it.”

The youngest child confirms that she knows where I’m talking about and that they’ve also passed it. The oldest is avoiding eye contact.

Oldest Child: “Well. I guess we should go, then.”

Me: “I hope they have what you want. Have a nice evening.”

And with that, they left. I stood in my empty shop for a moment, baffled. Never have I thus been lectured by a child.