A solo, slammed barista.

Hello, TFR..! I work in a coffee shop in an international flying area, so we meet some pretty interesting people.

This story has been grinding my beans since it happened on Sunday night.

A quick relevant detail: My coffee shop is large circular shape, so when I'm making people's orders, especially if they're blended, I've got to face away from the front counter to use the blender (or urns, or coffee grinder, or coffee merch like tshirts, or to grab teas and syrups).

Allons-y!

Picture it: 4:00 PM on a Sunday during the slow months. Usually, this means that the end of a concourse is pretty empty. No one is flying in, no one is flying out; food employees are pretty much just standing around waiting until their port-mandated closing time finally comes around (6:30 P.M.).

Cue my cool boss man leaving an hour early.

Suddenly, mass amounts of people decide all at once that the only non-green-mermaid-coffee shop in the building is the hip place to be. Within a few minutes, I had about 20 separate people in line. I embrace this kind of chaos though, since I had been sitting around twiddling my thumbs for a good hour.

I take a deep breath, put on a sincere smile and began to plow through the long line of jet-lagged people needing their caffeine fix.

The line was whittling down a steady rate; everyone is happy, jokes are being told, witty banter is thrown about, and I'm rushing around the coffee kiosk making smoothies, milkshakes, iced & hot espresso drinks, etc with exceptional finesse. Tips were pouring in (the nice crisp green ones!!); I counted at least $20 just in $1 bills.

I learned later that there were three delayed flights all at the same time down at my end (something that doesn't happen that often). This means that sometimes 3 more flights will be delayed waiting for the first delay to leave. Thus, the rush of people.

2.5 hours Iater (at closing time!), I told my last customer to have a nice flight, then I shut the lights off and rushed around the store pulling in product and closing off the opening where the lines could begin.

I clocked out at 7 and dumped my tip jar on the counter to see how much extra dough I earned that day. Right away, I knew something was wrong. The dollar pile was sparse. My suspicions were confirmed. $8 and some change.

At some point in the breaks between crowds, some jackass reached into my jar when I had my back turned and helped themselves to a handful of dollar bills. I sigh to myself. This is the 4th time this has happened since September. I consider making a tipjar with teeth to trap the next thief.

Ah, retail.