Your Own Private Coffee

(I am on a late shift in midtown Manhattan. My assistant manager is acting as cashier and barista while I am bussing the lobby. A rather unkempt-looking 20-something woman wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt comes in and approaches the counter.)

Customer: “I’d like a grande coffee.”

Assistant Manager: “All right, that’ll be [price].”

Customer: “Okay, hold on a minute.”

(The customer turns her back, walks a few steps away, pulls down the front of her sweatpants and underwear, and proceeds to pull something apparently OUT OF her private parts. Aghast, I glance at the assistant manager and he glances back at me, looking horrified. As the woman turns around with a couple of crumpled bills in her hand, he quickly states:)

Assistant Manager: “I’m sorry, but we can’t accept that. You can just take your coffee for free.”

(The woman gave him a strange smile, took her coffee, and left. The assistant manager rushed to disinfect the counter and the door handle she touched on the way out. Only in New York.)