A man came into the post office today and asked for a chai latte. I said we didn’t have any. He didn’t believe me.
Are you sure? he said.
I said, look around. We sell envelopes, cards, boxes, jiffy bags. This is a post office, not a coffee shop.
He looked at the shelves then at the exchange rate board behind me and said: but I don’t need envelopes or anything like that. I need a coffee. A chai latter preferably. Why wouldn’t you sell them?
I said, because this is a post office. Post offices don’t generally sell coffee. It’s not what they’re for.
He looked confused, but you’re a shop, aren’t you? You sell things.
I said, yes, we are, and we do sell things. Just not coffee. You’re welcome to put it in the suggestion box, though, and I pointed at it.
He followed my finger there and back and said, you’re joking, right? This is a joke, yeah? Is there a camera around or something? Are we being filmed? Yeah, yeah, very funny. Okay, I get it. Now, can I have my latte?
I said, sorry, sir, this is not a joke. We don’t sell latte. The cafe up the road does, but we don’t. Why don’t you go there? It’s not so far.
He said, but I’m here. I came here. You were open. You were a shop. You must have latte. Some kind of coffee, at least.
I said, look, how many times have I got to tell you? We do not sell coffee. If anyone’s on some prank TV show, it’s you. Now, can you stop wasting my time? There are other customers for me to see.
The man turned around. The queue had been building. He said, but you need to deal with me first.
I said, I have. Next.
The woman behind him stepped forward. The man moved out of the way. I ignored him, smiled at the woman and said, what can I do for you?
She got a list out of her bag.
Mangoes, she said. Unripe ones. I’m making a salad.