So the cough-aholic from yesterday came back. Coughing. Clutching a wet kleenex in her red hand as she seemingly panted between lung-erupting-coughs. ew.
I was on register. My mind was racing about taking money out of her germ infested hands. I'm not normally a germ freak. But for some reason, I am right now when a clearly sick person comes into the coffee shop!
Maybe it's because like so many in this economy, I'm underemployed and, working at a coffee shop, getting sick myself is not a good situation. First, I don't get "sick days" (read: days with pay to stay home and take care of myself). If I don't work, I don't make my small salary.
On top of that, a last minute call to cover leads to never-ending "you owe me" scenarios... not good.
I do tend to pick up colds easily and this is my first cold/flu season in this job so I justify my new found germ paranoia.
She leaned in to order. I did not lean in to meet her half way, as I often do to some tourists that seem to order by leaning in and whispering as if it were a trade secret.
She attempted again with a further lean and bleated out, "I'm really horse, I can't talk loud."
I said, "I can see you're sick, you should be home in bed drinking tea and resting so you don't get worse and get everyone around you sick too."
"But you're here now, so what can we get you," I continued.
"A hot black tea with honey."
She did not look pleased. But that look was nothing compared to the look she gave when I took her cash, gave her change and promptly turned around and washed my hands.
I don't care. Write a bad email about me. But I'm not getting sick because I touched your phlem covered snot-rag touching cash.
So there.
Currently Caffienated, Dee
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