The happy hippies

For no particular reason, I found myself in a lovely mood during a recent lunch shift.  I greeted my newest table with a smile on my face and a spring in my step.

"Hello, how are you today?" I asked.

"Whoa man," she responded.  "Are you in a bad mood or something?"

I was shocked.  Never before had someone brought my annual good-mood-at-work to such an abrupt halt.  I studied my newest opponent.  A hippie, and not the "Hairspray" kind.  No, this creature was more Battlefield Earth meets Captain Jack Sparrow meets the villains from "Fraggle Rock."

"Excuse me?" 

"It's just...this WAVE of negative energy came over me when you approached the table," she said.

"Oh?"

"No worries man, I don't mean to be rude," she said.

"I normally don't either," I replied.

"Whoa, are these tortilla chips vegan!?" she asked, looking at the chips as if I had just set a 70 pound Black Mamba on the table. 

"They are not."

"You really should ASK people if they want chips and salsa before you just set them down like that, MAN!"

I'd been so distracted by what a massive bitch she was that I failed to recognize her dining companion, a skinny, stoned male who was either taking a nap or faking his own death. 

I began to remove the chips and salsa.

"Wait!" she said while touching my wrist to stop me.  "Let me wake him up and see if he wants them."

"Hey!  HEY!  HEEEY!" she screamed.

Bitch if you ever woke me up with that shrill scream I would hang you out a window by your dreadlocks, smash your jars of vegan soup, destroy your hearth and claim I was having a night terror while doing so. 

"Whaaaaa?" he replied.

"Do you want chips or not?"

"NOOOOOO!" he shouted, buried himself in his hoodie, and returned to his hallucination. 

"Yeah so can you take away those chips and salsa now?" she demanded.  "Oh and lemonade?"

I returned with the beverage.  She asked if our lemonade was fresh-squeezed.  I replied in the affirmative, which was apparently the wrong answer, because I was then treated to a lecture on organic farming, how highly concentrated ALL lemonade is, how oppressive California is, and why my restaurant sucks.

"Were you ready to order?" I interrupted after seeing how long I could hold my breath. 

"I need a few more minutes, MAN," she said.  "I don't see a lot of vegan options on your menu..."

No shit.  At a Mexican restaurant in the valley that boasts fried shrimp, fried chili peppers, and fried snapper?  I can see how our appearance deceived you into thinking you'd find many tasty vegan options here.

"So do I have to go find the lemonade pitcher myself or do you bring refills?" she asked.

"We don't offer free refills on lemonade," I lied.  "Sooooo unless you actually ask me for a refill?  I can't just presume you want to pay for another one."

"Typical," she responded.  "Another business taking a product that costs nothing to make, and charging some exorbitant price.  I'll just have a water...OR DO YOU CHARGE FOR THAT, TOO?"

"For you? On the house," I said. 

When I came back with the water, her companion was sitting upright, looking dazed and confused as if he'd been awoken by a cat scratching his face.

"What's your problem, MAN?" my female hippie friend inquired.

Other than the fact that you smell like a 1974 board game, my problem is that you're here. 

"We're just going to leave," she said.  "We both feel really attacked and judged here."

"Awww.  Ok.  Here's your bill," I said. 

"Oh yeah?" she replied.  "I hate it when people make me respond without love, but FUCK your bill and FUCK your lemonade."

With that, she and her oblivious friend retreated. 

I took to cleaning the booth thoroughly, trying to rid my section of the stench of body odor, cheap weed and mold.  And to cleanse the booth of the hippie's negative aura, I took to my strongest cleaning agent ever.  Grey Goose. 

And with that, I found myself once again in a lovely mood.

Comments

[Asa J.]

I'd have dragged that bitch out of the booth by her dreadlock. "And lemonade?" WHAT A CUNT!

[J.R.]

I worked at bagel shop in Portland that was pretty much overrun by hippies. And they were the RUDEST customers. I found their message of "hope and love and rays of light" and all that crap to be so hypocritical. Ick. And they stink.

[Adam B]

Wait, a gigantic plate of baked cheese isn't vegan?

[Heidi]

"You smell like a 1974 board game."

Hahahaha! I totally know that smell, it's very hippy-like. Loves it!

[LS]

Hippies are secretly all scammers and control freaks.

Some, not so secretly.

[mojo]

"looking at the chips as if I had just set a 70 pound Black Mamba on the table."

I'm mother fucking Black Mamba!

[Toad]

Wait, wait! When you're a hippy aren't you supposed to create a happy and good vibe? I'd say she failed.

[Sweaty Noel]

The best strategy for dealing with hippies is to leave a trail of granola from their table to the exit.