The Tip Jar
Once upon a time, I worked at a “bikini coffee stand”. Against the advice of my parents, I started working there when I was 17 years old and continued working there until I was 20. If you are unfamiliar with “bikini coffee stands”, they are little drive-through espresso stands (usually painted in some neon color) where the employees all wear lingerie or bikinis while they serve coffee. I know this sounds strange, and believe me, it is strange; however, the money was good , it was fun at the time, and my parents couldn’t really afford to pay for college.
There is no loud-speaker where customers place their order. They simply drive up to the stand, order coffee, and make small talk as they ogle you in your skimpy ensemble. Anyway, it's kind of hard to explain, so maybe just Google it...the Seattle area has them all over the place.
Within a matter of months the boss gave me the busiest shift; the shift began at 4:00 AM and ended at 9:30 AM. Though the coffee stand was not officially open until 4:30, I had to count the till, grind the espresso beans, fill up the sinks, take stock, clean if needed, etc.
The coffee stand was situated in the corner of a large parking lot, sharing the enormous empty lot with only one other retailer. The other retailer didn’t open until around 10:00 AM, and so when I arrived the lot was completely dark (save for one dim street lamp above the stand, and another in the far corner of the lot).
I pulled up to the stand as I normally did, only this time it was my first shift alone. Normally, I worked with one other girl, as the shift would get far too busy for just one person. I had a routine with regular customers, as I literally worked every single day (the boss didn’t believe in time off, unless requested). While I worked, I could see cars approach the stand, and know immediately what drink to prepare (based on my recognizing a regular customer’s vehicle).
After almost a year on the morning shift, it was rare to see a new vehicle, or meet a new customer. My boss was extremely strict about being fast and efficient, and would have us prepare drinks in advance for our regulars while they waited in the line of cars. My boss was so strict, that for the first six months of my working there, he would watch constantly on his camera system and call me on the business phone to scream at me for lack of efficiency. After this, I became so fast at preparing drinks, I guess he decided he would save money by having me work alone in the very early morning hours (he was stingy too).
So, like normal, I approached the stand and punched in the access code. I went inside and turned on some music right away to keep myself company. The street lamp directly above the coffee stand had burnt out a few days before, so it was rather dark outside; coupled with the tinted sliding windows of the coffee stand, and the knowledge that I was completely alone, I felt a little creeped out…. though not nearly as creeped out and terrified as I was about to feel in a few minutes.
Even though the stand was technically open at 4:30, I wouldn’t expect my first customer until about 4:45. I usually arrived at 4:00, bust since it was my first shift alone I came in at 3:30 to give myself enough time to complete all of the opening tasks. My first customer was always Dave (names changed for privacy). He drove a red sports car and ordered a double cappuccino, heavy on the foam. He worked for the local Boeing plant and would brag about his high ranking job in-between awkward remarks about my body. You get used to this sort of thing after a while, but nothing could prepare me for the sort of thing that happened to me on this particular dark morning.
Though many of our customers were pervy men like Dave, most of the early morning customers weren’t as lecherous as one would expect; they simply needed coffee and no other business was open as early as ours. In fact, many of my early morning customers were married women in soccer mom vans, in desperate need of caffeine.
I glanced up at the clock as I counted the money in the till. 3:50 AM. I finished the count and walked from the back of the stand onto the main floor. There were two steps separating the back of the stand from the “main floor” . The back of the stand had no windows and contained a bathroom, large refrigerator, washer, dryer, etc. This is the area where my co-workers and myself would get ready, and joke around where customers couldn’t see us.
As soon as we walked onto the main floor, where customers could see us, “uniform” was required (meaning lingerie or bikini) as well as heels. That morning I was wearing a matching pink lingerie set with knit stockings. The lingerie fully covered my breasts and buttocks, and provided more coverage than a typical bikini you would see at the beach.
I counted all of the syrup bottles. I opened the fridge and took stock inside. I turned on the espresso grinder and robotically poured in a bag of espresso beans. I started filling up the large commercial sink with soapy water. Music played softly on the stereo. Then I heard it. Over the noise of faucet, coffee grinder and the music, I wasn’t sure I heard anything at first, so I just ignored it. Then I heard it again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Someone was tapping on the sliding glass window of the stand. I wiped off my wet hands and grabbed my cell phone. 4:15 AM. We weren’t open for another 15 minutes. I checked the light switches to make sure I didn’t accidentally flip on the open sign.
Along with an open sign, the stand was equipped with bright flood lights to illuminate the presence of the stand. Due to the sheer darkness that morning, I had contemplated turning on the flood lights when I first arrived, but it was strictly forbidden to do so until the stand was open. Without the flood lights on, and through the tinted glass, I could not see who was on the other side. I stood there, staring at the window. Maybe it’s just Dave, I rationalized to myself.
TAP.TAP.TAP.
I could hear my heart thumping in my ears. The tapping had definitely grew louder. I picked up the business phone, and punched in my boss’s number. He had an extensive camera system, complete with night vision, and could see in real time both inside and outside of the stand. In the very least, he could tell me who was outside. The phone rang and rang. No answer. I flipped on the flood lights. I walked over to the window, and saw the man, now illuminated by the bright lights. His head was pressed up against the glass, hands cupped around his eyes as he tried to see in. I jumped back.
“Hi!” he yelled through the glass. “Can I get some coffee?” “We aren’t open for another 15 minutes,” I replied. “My boss will be mad if I open early.”
“Oh, well. I can wait.” The man then walked away from the window and stepped into a small black Honda. I continued my opening duties, wearily eyeing the black Honda. At the time, I felt a false sense of security, lulled into the daily routine of my shift. However, this was different. At 4:30 I dutifully turned on the open sign and watched as the man in the black Honda drove up to the window. He was wearing a dark red baseball cap, a thermal shirt and plaid pajama pants. I opened the sliding window.
“Hi, sorry about that. What can I get for you this morning?” I said, trying to sound as normal as possible.
The man looked at me for what felt like an eternity. “What I want doesn’t appear to be on the menu” he said, not looking up from my crotch.
Okay, so, I know what you’re thinking: what did I expect working in this profession? Gentlemen? I brushed his comment aside with a laugh.
“We have a great white chocolate mocha.” I looked around frantically. Where the fuck was the usual morning guy, Dave? I silently prayed another customer would pull up behind this guy.
He looked away and stared at his steering wheel. “I want you to be my maid.”
“Excuse me?” I said, not sure if I heard him correctly.
“I want you to be my maid. I want you to come over to my house, wearing a maid costume with nothing underneath. I want to watch you, and if you don’t clean correctly I am going to do whatever I want to you.” He paused and gripped his steering wheel tightly. “I am not a nice guy.” He looked up at me and smiled. Until that point in my life, I had never seen a truly sinister smile before.
I slammed the long serving window shut. I ran to the back of the stand, hyperventilating at this point. I picked up the phone and called my boss repeatedly. No answer. I stood on the steps and peered out the window.
The black Honda was gone, replaced by the familiar red of Dave’s sports car. I never thought I would be happy to see Pervy Dave, but here I was, rushing to the serving window to tell him what had happened. I opened the window, all the while frantically relaying the story. Dave just laughed and muttered something about the guy dreaming. He told me that I was being paranoid and the guy just had no filter. For some reason, this put me at ease.
Dave reached his hand out the window to place a five dollar bill in my tip jar (he tipped this amount each morning). “Wow!” He exclaimed, “you just opened and your tip jar is already full. I know you make good coffee, but it’s not that great!”.
“Huh?” I said, slamming the register shut. The tip jar rested on the outside window ledge, so customers could reach it. I made it a habit of just leaving it outside in-between customers, as it could get very busy.
I leaned over and looked into the metal canister. Inside the tip jar was a long white envelope, that appeared to be stuffed to it’s capacity. My stomach turned, as I knew it had to be from the guy in the black Honda.
“Dave,” I said cautiously, “it’s from that guy I just told you about. I am not opening that.” Dave sipped his cappuccino and suddenly his goofy demeanor turned serious. “you’re right, let me open it. I have gloves.” It was late fall and rather cold out. Dave put on his gloves in a dramatic manner, laughing about my paranoia, and proceeded to step outside of his car. He took the envelope out of my tip jar and opened it.
“Holy shit.” He said, his eyes widening. He held up a stack of $20 bills held together by a rubber band. On the back of the stack was a folded up piece of paper. He unfolded the paper and began reading it. His eyes grew even wider. His hands were shaking ever so slightly. “What!? What does it say!?” He simply said “Get dressed and call the police.”
I snatched the note from him, his jaw slightly agape. The note was laden with spelling errors and looked as if it was written in a child’s hand; oddly, there were rather long words that were attempted but spelled incorrectly. It said some very deranged things. There are some things too sick to mention here, but I will relay the basic message as best as I can recall; some things you just never forget, even if you want to (so here it is, without the spelling errors and the length; it was two pages long, front and back):
“You will come to my house. When you arrive I will examine you thoroughly. I will then tie you to the post and you will be punished for what you do. Every inch of your body will be bruised and sore. Afterward I will untie you and use you in every way possible he used a different term, but it is extremely graphic and includes the words “hog tied”. You can scream, but no one will hear you. This is your first payment. Upon reading this note and taking this money you have agreed to follow through. If you do not follow through you are a stealing, lying whore and you WILL be punished more severely than if you cooperated to this initial agreement. You will clean every inch of my house. There will be no mistakes or there will be more punishment to follow.”
I got dressed and called the police and my boss (who finally answered). The police arrived and I went to the station to explain in detail what happened. I handed them the note, along with the money for evidence. The female police officer (who appeared to be in charge) nonchalantly told me that I should probably quit my job, that this behavior was to be expected from customers. I told her that I had never experienced anything like this before.
My boss reviewed the outside video tape footage. The footage showed a man, standing outside of the coffee stand window just staring inside. Occasionally, it showed him leaning his head into the glass and cupping his hand around his eyes. It also showed him rubbing his crotch. Apparently he had been standing outside the window since 3:40 AM, ten minutes after my initial arrival. At one point it showed him going back into his car, only to re-emerge several minutes later and finally tap on the window. I was shocked to realize that the man had watched me for almost a full hour without my knowledge. I felt stupid, but most of all, scared. The footage also revealed that the man had his license plates covered with what appeared to be white paper.
After reviewing the footage and the note, the police decided that the man posed a potential threat, and that this behavior was not normal (duh).
They sent an undercover cop back to the stand with me. I was shocked that they wanted me to go right back to work not even two hours after the incident. The cop sat outside in an SUV while I worked; the plan was this: if the man drove through again, I was to flick the open sign on and off to alert him of the man’s presence.
I worked, serving all of my regular customers, trying my best to pretend nothing happened. I was told not to recall the incident to any of my co-workers or customers that morning, in case they knew the man and warned him of police involvement. The man did not return that day… but he did return.
Little did I know, that day was only the beginning of a year-long nightmare. I know this reads like a work of fiction, but every single word of it is true. This is the first time I am re-telling this to anyone other than the police, my former boss, my past co-workers and my ex-boyfriend…. So please, be nice.
Submitted June 28, 2016 at 01:55PM by HelloSaroh http://ift.tt/29749yA LetsNotMeet
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