Satan is an Old Woman

"Can I have a pound of Espresso Beans, please?"

"Sure!" I said, and rang it up. "$9.95"

The woman is holding a ten dollar bill, so I rang it up, extended my hand and smiled. She clutched her money to her chest.

"I'll give you the money when you give me the coffee!" she hissed at me.

"Mmm, ok. Hang on a sec, I have to go to the back and get it."

I found a bag and presented it to her.

"This is not what I want." She shoved the bag across the counter.

"Didn't you want espresso beans?" I asked.

"Yes, with the caramel."

"We don't sell espresso beans with caramel."

"But the sticker always said something about caramel. That's what I like."

"Right. The old bags of espresso had a sticker describing the CARAMELY TASTE of espresso itself. Espresso has a taste that is described as "caramel", but there's no caramel in the beans. This new bag doesn't have that sticker on it, but it's the same thing, trust me. Here you go." I shoved the bag back across the counter.

"No, I want the caramel beans."

By this time I had another barista scrambling around looking for an old bag, and everyone else behind the counter was stifeling their laughter. An old bag was procured, and A., another barista, handed it to her.

"Thank you." She said, and gave me an icy look. "THIS is what I wanted." She marched out of the building.

I walked to the back, clamped both hands firmly over my mouth, and screamed.

"Oh stop!" said another barista, who's almost 50. "One day you'll be old."

"But not completely crazy!" I retorted.

Who lets old people out of "retirement homes" anyway?