Post by Disgraced on Aug 29, 2022 19:17:28 GMT
The small woman seemed cheerful. Confident. Well-adjusted. All things that Grace was not. That wasn't precisely irrelevant, but it didn't really do to start things with "hi there, I'm a hot mess, anyway, how's tricks?" Or maybe it did - it wasn't like Grace had actually tried it. Maybe some day, but maybe not today.
The guy, on the other hand, wow. He was all over suspicion and had the paranoia ramped up to eleven. It was possible that this was because he had been through some stuff and was also a hot mess right now and in desperate need of some therapy, but Grace was not a therapist - just a barista. A barista who definitely realized the gap between person and service worker when someone made it so very obvious that they were thinking that way. Her hand on the dog's head slowed, stopped, and coolly moved away: her other hand set the cup on the ground for him to lick out the last of the whipped cream. It wasn't the dog's fault, after all.
Grace gave him a quick and meaningless smile, and a polite and cheerful "You'll have to go to the register if you want to order anything, sir." Her tone was just a little apologetic, just a little gosh I sure do wish I could help you, but I just can't, you see? It was rational and defensible, and behind that armor lay the core of every annoyed service worker: fuck you, I won't do what you tell me.
Hey, maybe next time there was a concert by an evil monster summoning bitch, she'd sign up as a pre-show act and call herself Rage Against the Espresso Machine or something. Or, you know, not.
"Anyway, don't worry about it. Mina's just friendly. Cute dog." Downplay and extricate, the service worker's guide to getting the hell out of awkward conversations with some random dude you don't want to talk to. Her eyes shifted back to the young woman as she stood up. "Nice to meet you. You're welcome here any time."
The guy, on the other hand, wow. He was all over suspicion and had the paranoia ramped up to eleven. It was possible that this was because he had been through some stuff and was also a hot mess right now and in desperate need of some therapy, but Grace was not a therapist - just a barista. A barista who definitely realized the gap between person and service worker when someone made it so very obvious that they were thinking that way. Her hand on the dog's head slowed, stopped, and coolly moved away: her other hand set the cup on the ground for him to lick out the last of the whipped cream. It wasn't the dog's fault, after all.
Grace gave him a quick and meaningless smile, and a polite and cheerful "You'll have to go to the register if you want to order anything, sir." Her tone was just a little apologetic, just a little gosh I sure do wish I could help you, but I just can't, you see? It was rational and defensible, and behind that armor lay the core of every annoyed service worker: fuck you, I won't do what you tell me.
Hey, maybe next time there was a concert by an evil monster summoning bitch, she'd sign up as a pre-show act and call herself Rage Against the Espresso Machine or something. Or, you know, not.
"Anyway, don't worry about it. Mina's just friendly. Cute dog." Downplay and extricate, the service worker's guide to getting the hell out of awkward conversations with some random dude you don't want to talk to. Her eyes shifted back to the young woman as she stood up. "Nice to meet you. You're welcome here any time."