The story of the cafe the basic knowledge of fine coffee culture

Forrest Gump's mother said to him, "Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what's in it." in the same way, for those of us who run a coffee shop, we never know what the story of the next table will be.

The closing time of the shop is ten o'clock in the evening, so I will gently remind the guests who come after eight o'clock. If they need to stay longer, then they will recommend some nearby places that are open until midnight. At 9:20 last night, a young man and a woman came. I reminded them that the shop was closing in 40 minutes. Is that okay?

The boy said, "40 minutes, that's enough".

It was probably an old classmate from out of town to meet, I guessed, so I sent the menu.

The girl ordered a blue margarita and a glass of boiled water for the boy; then they talked about them, and I went on to clean up the store.

Now it seems that many people envy our work, thinking that opening a cafe means playing with flowers and plants in the shop every day, or chatting around with guests, and some people even say that she will open a cafe in the future. to count the stars on the roof every day.

The truth is: we have to work for more than ten hours every day. We seldom have holidays. When we are not busy, we are all right. I wish I could go home and lie in bed at seven or eight o'clock in the evening when business is good.

Looking at the time, it was already ten o'clock in the evening, and it was time to go in and remind them that the shop was closing. When I went into the inner room and was about to speak, I was surprised to find that the girl was sobbing softly, while the boy was sitting by.

My mind suddenly went blank and stammered, "We, we're going to close."

The boy gave a sound, and I flew away from the scene.

After a moment of silence, the boys whispered comforting words from the back room, while the girls wept mixed with rebuttal; while the boys comforted, they begged, "you hear me out." Finally, after repeating this sentence more than a dozen times, the boy let out a roar, "will you hear me out?"

At this time, I was outside the counter, my hands and feet were cold.

"it's over, there won't be violence, will it?"

Fortunately, the quarrel gradually went down again, and the boys continued to explain, while the girls continued to interrupt from time to time, followed by "you hear me out."

I couldn't help burying my face deep in my hands. "Please, hear him out!" I-- I really can't handle it. "

I prayed with all my heart.

In this way, a sobbing girl, a depressed literary youth, and a helpless cafe owner.

We are immersed in our own worlds.

On this cold and long night.