Sometimes it’s hard to come up with a topic for a blog. And then the universe hands you a gem.
Friday nights at Starbucks is rarely amusing. Busy, busy, busy. Customer busy. Things to be done busy. Because working at Starbucks isn’t always about making a latte. Especially on Friday night when team ADHD is working: Brittany, Charlie, and Jackie. I’m only a double D no H just so you know, but I have to show my solidarity. On a good day, we’re all handling seventeen projects at once and on a bad day, the three of us run around in circles. This last Friday happened to be a good day. So I find myself with some extra time and decide to clean the bathrooms before I go on my lunch. It’s a few moments of down time behind a locked door…heaven. I step into the men’s bathroom and what do I find? A pair of handcuffs. At first I thought I had one too many espressos and was hallucinating. So I take a breath, close my eyes and mentally Feng Shui my head, open my eyes and yes, they are still there. Handcuffs in the Starbucks bathroom. What was my first thought? Oh hell no.
I don’t remember seeing anyone in the store in handcuffs, so they couldn’t have been left by some random fugitive. Just to make sure I’m seeing what I’m seeing, I call Brittany over, aka Baby Bird, and she’s sporting I-don’t-know-why-your-calling-me-over face. I open the door to the men’s bathroom and point at the handcuffs.
“Would you just look at that.”
Brittany’s eyes got big and round and her mouth fell open and no sound came out.
She walks over and I tell her, “Don’t you touch them. Who knows where they’ve been.”
“Mama Jax, why are there handcuffs in the men’s bathroom?”
“I don’t know. They aren’t mine.” Like any respectable person I would leave them at home. If I owned a pair.
“Are you going to keep them?”
“Okay.” She walks away snickering.
So I call Charlie over. He says, “What? What did I do?” Guilty much? He seems a tad reluctant to leave the bar area.
“Charles Mitchell Xavier Roach, I need to speak to you right now.” Sometimes you just have to break out your mom voice.
“What?” he asks.
“What do those look like to you?”
He said. “Awesomeness.”
“They’re not mine.” He giggles like a pre-pubescent school boy and walks away.
I’m thinking, what, the hell, am I supposed to do with them? I’m not going to walk out into the lobby and ask anyone if they lost a pair of handcuffs. Really. I don’t want to know about their personal life if they did.
So I broke a cardinal rule (Sorry, Ms. Lady) and I went and got my phone and took a photo to show Miriam. She’s not going to believe me. (You’re right Jackie, I didn’t believe you. I thought they were yours.) Then I threw them in the trash and after that things got busy, after all, it was Friday night at Starbucks. But I showed the photo to some of my favorite customers and we all had a good laugh.
Back to Miriam…When I showed the photo to Miriam she asks, “Did you take them?”
“They were locked and I didn’t have the key.”
“They have universal handcuff keys. You could have borrowed one from someone or buy one off of Amazon.”
A couple days later, my cop buddies come in. We bonded over cappuccinos. And I said, “Hey, did one of you leave a pair of handcuffs in my bathroom?”
Officer Cutie Pie nearly spits out his Grande iced Americano 2 pumps white mocha easy Breve. “You found handcuffs…in the men’s bathroom?” I show him the photo and he says. “They look like police issue.”
“Yes, that’s why I’m asking you.”
“I don’t think anyone lost them. Do you still have them?”
“I tossed them. I didn’t have a key.”
“They have a universal key.”
“I know.” I said. At least I know now.
“I don’t want to know how you know,” he says.
“I’m a writer, I have to know things like that.”
“I know, and that is why I’m sticking with it.”
Later on that night, I usually get my EMTs in and we play this little game. “What crazy happened to you tonight?”
Finally, I get to participate with something worthy of them. I showed my photo of the handcuffs. Everyone stared at the photo.
“Did you keep them?” one EMT asks.
Why does everyone keep asking me that?
“No, dude, I didn’t have a key.”
“I know. A universal key.”
In between sips of his Venti Java Chip Frappuccino, he digs into his pocket and whips out a universal handcuff key. “Yeah, ever since Fifty Shades of Gray came out, we get two or three calls a week to get someone out of handcuffs, so we all got our own keys.”
“Dammit, you beat me again.”
Apparently, if I want to win this game I’m going to have to break out the story of the homeless woman who flashed me the good china. But that is for another blog. I’m done.
Much love, Jackie.