CONTENT WARNING: Illegal Sexual Misconduct

The owner of the coffee cart outside our office building used to always have someone helping him out. It was always beautiful young women — a new one every month or so. We never figured out why he needed an extra pair of hands at such a small cart, or why they wouldn’t last, but he was always very pleasant, and the coffee was great so it never really bothered us.

A couple of years later, I got relocated to the main office. After trying out the coffee at the cafe at the new location, I was pleasantly surprised that it was exactly the same blend and made exactly the same way as at the coffee cart I was used to. I commented to the owner about it.

Owner: “Sure. That’s because I own that cart, too.”

Me: “Wait, what? I thought the barista there was the owner?”

Owner: “No, he just works for us there. He’s really good — very reliable. He just runs it on his own; he never asks for any help.”

Me: “Oh. What about the girls?”

Owner: “What girls?”

I explained about the young women working with the barista. The owner got very quiet for a moment.

Owner: “Thanks for telling me.”

And that’s how I inadvertently helped bust a human trafficking ring. It turned out the barista used his position as a manager to organise work visas for women who were then “sold” into a different kind of work.

The barista got twelve years in prison. The cafe owner sold up and retired. The cafe is under new management but the coffee is still really good.

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.

I’m in line to buy a bagel. The girl at the counter looks like she’s seventeen, at most. In front of me are two guys in their thirties, and I’m not really paying attention to them, so it takes me a while to notice that they are making some VERY inappropriate comments. The girl at the counter keeps a completely stone-faced expression the entire time, only responding with things about the bagels these men are ordering in between harassing the poor girl. I’m about to say something when:

Guy #1: “Come on, baby, a cute little thing like you…”

Guy #2: “Yeah, a nice little chick who knows about holes…”

The girl suddenly throws a bagel on the floor, does a pirouette, and starts singing with a very raspy, hoarse voice.

Girl: “AHHHHHH, YEEEEEAAHHH… YOU GOTTA GET SCHWIFTYYYYYYY! YOU GOTTA GET SCHWIFTY IN HERE… OH, OH… IT’S TIME TO GET SCHWIFTYYYY…”

Guy #1: “Eh… what?”

Girl: “TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS AND YOUR PANTIES! S*** ON THE FLOOR!”

Guy #2: “Um…”

Girl: “I’M MISTER BULLDOPS!”

She just keeps doing this, with the dance and everything. The guys just leave. I think I hear one of them mumbling, “Is that like a meme we missed or something?

Me: “I’m so sorry I didn’t do anything; I didn’t really notice what they were saying at first. But that was awesome! You are my favorite person ever!”

Girl: *Shrugs* “It’s always fun to scare them away with a little crazy. Those two would not be able to handle my crazy.”

Me: “No, they would not.”

I come back to that bagel shop all the time. I called the head office to tell them an underage person should never ever be alone in there. Those idiots haven’t been back, but there’s always more where that came from. Although, I’m not really worried about that girl at all.

Related:
Fighting Creepy With Crazy

My daughter is twenty-two years old. She has autism and is diagnosed with Asperger’s. She’s high-functioning, but she has some tics which give her away. She gave me permission to share this story.

She’s trying to work on her social skills and become less sensitive about her surroundings, so she has joined a group on social media where they invite people out who might struggle with the great “outdoors”. During and after their outing, they discuss thoughts and bring out suggestions on how to improve and be more comfortable.

One day, they sit down at a café. There are more people around than usual. It’s more than my daughter can handle, and she starts stimming — rocking gently from side to side while folding and unfolding her hands. It’s a behavior she uses to help calm herself.

From nowhere, a couple of women approach, asking another member of the group what’s going on with “this”. The group leader speaks up, trying to be sensitive about his group.

Lead: “I’m not sure what you mean, miss.”

My daughter, however, doesn’t care what others think and wants these women gone.

Daughter: “I have Asperger’s. I don’t like crowds. I’m here with these people trying to work on this.”

The women speak to her with fake enthusiasm in their voices, with a tone usually used when talking to pets.

Women: “Oooooh. Okay, sweetie. Can we just ask you a quick question? Are you vaccinated?”

Having had this question asked before and knowing how this might turn out, my daughter is quick to respond.

Daughter: “Just recently! My idiot parents didn’t vaccinate me or my brother.” *Not true* “We both caught a neuro-comolious disease.” *Not a real thing* “That gave me autism and my brother ADHD.” *Not true* “We both got vaccinated once we moved out, but it’s too late now. We’re r****ded for life and it’s their fault!”

There’s nothing else said. The two women simply walk away with confused expressions. 

[Daughter] comes home and shares a little bit of this event. I give the group lead a quick call. With my daughter right next to me, I put him on speaker.

Not only does he fill in some extra details, but he happily praises my daughter for speaking more than usual and not getting worked up by the situation. He isn’t happy she lied, but he does support my daughter’s logic. 

Daughter: “I’ve been asked about vaccines a lot. If they can make things up, why can’t I? If I tell the truth, they lie to themselves. So, I thought next time, I would lie first.”

She’d had this planned out, even the name of the condition. She said she wouldn’t do it again, and for her routine and sanity, I agree. But I can’t help thinking to myself, “Why not?”

I work in an Internet café in a pretty small town. The Internet café remains popular as it’s a low-income area and not everyone has a computer or Internet at home.

A customer pulls up in a relatively fancy car. He runs in quickly, holding out his phone. He has not turned off his engine.

Customer: “Yo, what’s the Wi-Fi?”

Me: “Sir, this is an Internet café.”

Customer: “Exactly! So you have Internet! What’s the Wi-Fi?”

Me: “Our smallest package is [price] for thirty minutes.”

Customer: “I don’t want to buy your Internet! I just need the Wi-Fi!”

Me: “Sir, this is an Internet café.”

Customer: “Yes… I know! Why do you keep saying that?”

Me: “Because you’re still not getting it. You’re asking us to give you our main product — access to the Internet — for free. We can’t do that. There’s a [Coffee Chain] a few miles up.”

Customer: “But I need data now!”

Me: “Our smallest package is [price] for thirty minutes.”

Customer: “It’s an emergency!”

Me: “What’s the emergency?”

Customer: “I’m going to get outbid on eBay!”

Me: “Good day, sir.”