For those of you who have been reading this blog for awhile, you probably know that I have a long running and complicated history with the hipster coffee shop around the corner from my house. Yes, the coffee isn’t that great, there’s rarely any free seats and more often than not it smells like unwashed hair, but it’s only a block away from my house – as someone who works from home this means something. When working from my bedroom/office starts to feel claustrophobic, I need that place as my quick “getaway” just as much as they need the four dollars I willingly give them for my cafe mocha.
Another thing you need to understand about me is that I have a fondness for groan inducing corny jokes and puns. When my Mom, sister and I are hanging out I’m the Ted Mosby of the family. I’ll periodically catch myself saying stuff like, “No, you have the last prawn. I don’t want to be shellfish. Get it guys?!” I may or may not also watch too much How I Met Your Mother on a regular basis.
I think I’m hilarious, but my attempts at dinner time humour are often met with a groan from my family that usually sounds something like, “UGH, SIMONE! Please, no more jokes!”
Today when I walked up to the counter to grab my usual afternoon snack from the hipster coffee shop, the young, ironically coiffed gent manning the cash literally spit up his drink. It was running down the side of his face and the front of his shirt as he promptly apologized to me.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry. I’m disgusting!”
Before I could help myself, I told him, “Son, it looks like you have a drinking problem.”
Which, for those of you who don’t know is actually a quote from one of my favourite childhood movies, Airplane. Of course, he wouldn’t know this because when Airplane came out in 1980, this guy wasn’t even a twinkle in his father’s eye.
The Hipsterista (Hipster + Barrista. I’m totally going to make this a thing) burst out laughing, as did his Rayban & suspender clad female counterpart.
“Omg! That’s hilarious. Do you have any more jokes?”
“Nope, sorry. That’s all I’ve got today.”
“You’re really funny! Like, actually funny.”
As he put together my order, he asked me how my day was going. I told him that I was a writer. He told me he thought my job sounded really cool, but in his words, “I could never do that for a living because I have dyslexia.” I take it since The Self Proclaimed Nudist wasn’t working today, this guy was put in charge of over-sharing.
He was a sweet kid. I also think I’ve figured out the secret to getting good service at the Hipster Coffee Shop: crack a joke – preferably one that’s pre-1985.
Maybe next time I’ll try out my Naked Gun or Police Academy material.