things we sell

bilbroswaggins69  asked:

Coffee shop au or fake marriage thing??

Ahahaha ok ok I’m gonna go with coffee shop au because it is… so classic but also versatile.

Alright so I’m feeling this as a klance AND shallura thing, because brothers who suffer together, stick together.

So poor stressed out Keith is a university student, trying his best to study, meet assignment deadlines, and manage to take care of himself. He’s faring… ok. There’s a coffee shop he frequents on campus that has a lot to with how he copes. He goes in one day hoping to get his usual long black and say hi to his friend Hunk that works there, when he’s served by someone he’s never seen before.

And oh no. OH no…. he’s really hot. Killer smile. Tan skin. Broad shoulders. Narrow hips that Keith wouldn’t mind grabbing onto…. wait, what was he doing here again? He blurts out his order and robotically moves to the pick up counter. The baristas name tag says “Lance”. Lance serves him his drink with a cheery smile and Keith scuttles out the door.

Keith comes back later that day. And the day after that. 3 times on Tuesday. 4 times on Wednesday. Each time he thinks about asking Lance out. He repeats pick up lines to himself while he stands in the queue, but when he gets to the front, all he manages is a “fell from… hurts!….. I’d likealongblackpleasethankyou”

Shiro is noticing a huge difference. Keith is jittery and has huge bags under his eyes. He notices the coffee cup always in his hands and how Keith starts shivering if he goes for a few hours without caffeine. Shiro starts to reprimand him, but Keith brushes him off.

One day Shiro actually catches Keith entering the coffee shop. Shiro jogs after him, ready to drag his ass out of there. He bursts through the glass door and halts…..

Oh… oh sweet, gay, Keith. Shiro watches how Keith blushed when Lance remembers his order. Shiro knows exactly what’s been going on. He gets in line with a smirk. He conversed easily with Lance, and tells him that Keith always raves about the coffee here.
“Oh, Keith? That’s his name. I’ve just been calling him handsome.” Lance laughs and winks Keith’s way. He ACSENDS.

Lance gets called into the back room and another coworker comes up to serve. She’s tall, startling blues eyes, and an impossible amount of light hair.

Shiro and Keith both have a caffeine addiction for the next fortnight.

Keith goes in one day looking particularly bad. He hasn’t slept at all, and that’s partially due to caffeine, but also due to a killer assignment he had to complete. Shiro looks slightly better next to him. Lance rushes out from behind the counter.

“Dude you look awful.” Lance grabs Keith’s forearm. Keith talks in slurred words and seems to be only half present. He tries to order a coffee, but Lance says he won’t give him one. That he needs to go home and rest. Keith talks about quadratic equations and mumbles something about really needing coffee right now.
“I think you need to stop”
“Can’t stop. Have to ask out lance. Gotta keep…”
It takes Keith 30 seconds to realise what he’s said. He blushes up to his ears and apologises profusely. Lance takes his hand.
“I would make fun of you, except I could never get up the courage to ask you out either.”
Lance promises to go out on s date with him BUT ONLY after he’s gone home, slept and drunken a lot of water. Keith is about to head off when lance laughs:
“You know, we sell things other than coffee. Why didn’t you just order a juice all those times you came to see me?”

Shiro and Keith look at each other in shock, before hissing out “juuuiiiiiice”.

Keith shifts his coffee addiction to a mango smoothie one. Shiro drinks green tea by the litre.
After a week Allura leaves her phone number on his cup. Shiro has never been so happy and hydrated.

no, he just likes sleeping with his eyes open while sitting up

3

there they goooo

anonymous asked:

This man took all the flowerpots one of our shelves, pulled the shelf out of its wall bracket and bought it to the till and got annoyed that I wouldn't sell it to him. "It says it's £3! Legally you have to sell it to me!" "No the *flowerpots* were £3." "But its against the law not to sell an item with a price sticker on it!" This went on for a long time, security was called in the end. The worst thing - we SELL shelves in the store. Ones you don't have to break an entire wall fixture to buy.

The flower pots should have fell on his head when he ripped that thing apart. -Abby

anonymous asked:

Planing anything for Easter holidays all? (Be cute to see everyone wear bunny ears and tails, here in Australia it means the Sydney easter show is back in town and it a Easter event here where farmers get to take over the Olympic park here and show off what's great about the country to those of us in the city, I always love seeing the farm animals and all the arts and crafts and the awesome foodstuffs it's pretty fun event to go with friends)

Lance: I wish. Easter here is just kinda a commercial thing we do. Stores will sell easter stuff and shops like ours will celebrate the occasion with costumed events. but that’s about it. I heard from one of the American teachers at school way back, that they do egg hunts!

Allura: We try to plan something every year, but it tends to go wrong. So we played it safe with rabbit costumes.


A.N. I forgot to answer this on the day >~<!

6

Green Lanterns of Earth + Name Meanings

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Robbing Peter to Pay Paul

Yesterday. It’s busy and I’m the senior staff member working and it’s the management’s day off. 

A woman comes up to the till, wants to complain about a product. Apparently, it’s not working the way she wants. I originally suggest she contacts the manufacturer and see what they say, but she doesn’t take too well to that. So I ask what she wants from us. Well, she wants a new part for the product. 

I tell her, we don’t sell them separately. Which means.. We don’t have individual pieces sitting around for replacement. It’s part of the thing and you have to buy the whole thing to replace it. 

But she wants the thing. 

We don’t sell the thing separately, ma'am. 

No, I want you to take the thing off another product and give it to me, she tells me. 

I can’t do that. I tell her that I if I take the thing off a brand new product, that means the next person buying the product is out of luck and it’s not fair to them. 

Well then, can she return it for another thing? 

Is it used? (The product is used for pet waste disposal and once used, we can’t resell it.)

Yes. Obviously

Nope, sorry, can’t return used product of that nature. 

She looked at me like she was going to murder me so I suggested she talk to the manager when they’re in next. 

This isn’t the first time I’ve encountered someone wanting us to damage brand new/unused product for a part. It’s not fair to other customers. 

anonymous asked:

Shoutout to the customer who came in 5 minutes before the deli closed, watched me finish cleaning my last slicer while his kids chose what they wanted, then ordered one of the messiest things we sell...did i mention i get in trouble if i stay past closing? And that i wasn't even supposed to be working today? This is why i hate closing but I'm ALWAYS the closer

2

When we placed Coming in to Land on the stage in rehearsal, you could see a fault line running right through it. It still offered a good evening’s entertainment, and I had great fun as a customs official toying with Maggie Smith’s Polish would-be-immigrant, but almost everyone who saw it commented on the incredulity of a wealthy yuppie bothering to assist an older, down-and-out Polish women to enter the country illegally, by marrying her. This was disappointing because on paper it had looked like a work of genius. Maggie Smith seemed slightly down through rehearsals, sensing maybe that the play was not what we had hoped. Through the technicals and previews, her tension increased. She was demanding, living on a knife edge of danger, and, more than anyone I have ever worked with, she had an ability to keep things alive. We did 50 sell-out performances of the play, and the last one felt as fresh as the first. Maggie did not seem to be acting. I felt as though she was making it up; and I was learning again. - Tim Pigott-Smith, Do You Know Who I Am?

Save Shinpachi

Shinpachi is like the ‘Armin’ of Gintama, he doesn’t get that much official goods and he’s frequently undermined. I’d even say he’s practically being ignored by the companies making Gintama merchandise. Why? is it because his glasses? Is it because he’s not sadistic?? Is it because he’s a straight man?? Is it because he’s an otaku??? Save Shinpachi.

fffffffffuck emmerdale was good today 

the grey dove {part one}

@carryon-countdown day 21: Christmas Shopping

(also on ao3)

length: 7.3k

genre(s): fluff+the tiniest bit of angst for flavor

triggers/warnings: none

The one where Simon works at a coffee shop, Baz needs to finish his Christmas shopping, and they both need to find their chill (aka the gay xmas movie we all deserve)



Baz
Whoever came up with the tradition of holiday gift-giving should be burned at the stake. They deserve a long, slow, painful death, because they are directly responsible for my current mood (Which, if you’re wondering, is very pissed off.)

I’m expected to spend a small fortune on not only my immediate family, but all my aunties and uncles and cousins and whoever else is bloody invited to the Grimm Family Christmas Extravaganza. We don’t celebrate with any of the Pitches, save for my Aunt Fiona and it’s anybody’s guess whether or not she’ll actually show up. Which is unfortunate, as she’s the only member of my family who I can actually stand to be around for extended periods of time. (Except maybe the baby.) (He doesn’t count.) (He can’t even talk yet.).

There’s a coffee shop up ahead, one I know I shouldn’t go in, but I’m absolutely knackered and in desperate need of something caffeinated.

The Mage’s Men. What a terrible name for a coffee shop. What a terrible name for anything, really. What does it even mean? Who is The Mage and why does he need Men?

There’s a fleck of purple on the brick, a reminder of the time my Aunt Fiona decided the sign needed a new coat of paint and her boyfriend-of-the-week got distracted and accidentally shook the ladder. (He became EX-boyfriend-of-the-week pretty quick after that, but not before getting an entire can of the purple paint dumped on his head.)

I push open the door and the change is obvious. Gone are the plush armchairs and dark wood. The lights are harsh and unforgiving against the metal tabletops. Top 40 hits are playing on the speakers and, as I enter the queue, it switches to an advert. How pedestrian.

This looks nothing like my mothers dream. Everything she worked so hard to create has been stripped away and replaced with…well, shit.

For a moment I’m almost glad she isn’t here to see it.

I step forward and barely register the voice asking what I want.

“One peppermint mocha.”

“What size?”

I look up, and I see him. Blue eyes. Bronze curls. Gorgeous. The most gorgeous boy is standing behind the counter, and I forget why I’m there.

“What size?” he asks again, sounding annoyed.

“Large.” I say, and it comes out sharper than intended. I open my mouth to soften it with a please, but his glare kills the words in my throat.

“That’ll be £2.”

2? For a large? He must have heard me wrong.

“I said large.” Fuck, too sharp again.

“I know,” he snaps, “I’m not bloody deaf.”

“Why is it so cheap?”

He rolls his eyes, and I hear a groan from the queue behind me.

“The reason our coffee is so cheap (he says this in a posh accent that I think is supposed to sound like me), is because the owner wants everyone to be able to enjoy it. Unlike the previous owners who were content to sell only to those who could afford to spend £8 on a fucking cup of coffee.”

Previous owners. He means my family. Does he not know who I am? He seems to know the Grimm-Pitches, how does he not know me? To be fair, when my family owned this place I’d been a chubby cheeked 5 year old and not…well…who I am now.

“I’m sure the previous owners had a good reason to charge that much. Maybe they thought it was important to use the best ingredients in their coffee.”

“Are you saying we don’t use the best ingredients?”

“I doubt it,” I sneer (I can’t help it, he insulted my family), “not if you’re able to get away with selling it for a measly £2.”

His jaw clenches. “Do you want the coffee or not?”

“I suppose.” I say with a sniff. Bloody hell, I really can’t stop. But it’s almost becoming…entertaining. He’s fun to mess with, this boy.

I watch him work. He seems to be the only employee here, and I feel a twinge of sympathy as I think about the long line of people behind me. Surely there must be someone else to help him? I’m not about to ask, not after our previous exchange, but I subtly slip a £5 note into the tip jar when I’m sure he’s looking away.

He hands me my drink, and I leave before I take the first sip.

It’s delicious.

Damn him.

Simon
Who does this tosser think he is? There’s nothing wrong with our coffee! We don’t serve crap, we use the best ingredients we can afford (even if we can barely afford them) and manage just fine (most months we don’t even break even, but he doesn’t need to know that).

I make myself a peppermint mocha and sit down to check my phone. Part of me is expecting Agatha to text me and apologize. Tell me that she made a mistake and doesn’t actually want to break up with me. That she was wrong about me not caring about our relationship because I do. It’s just that sometimes other things are more important. Like my future. Which Agatha accused me of focusing too much on. She said she wanted a relationship now.

I don’t get why she’s so upset. It’s not like we never spent any time together. We had a standing date night every Saturday and I would make sure to visit her whenever I had the day off. If I wasn’t studying, that is. Or helping Davy out in the shop. Sometimes he asks me to come in on my days off, which bothers me a little bit, but not enough to say no. Why can’t she understand how important my future is to me? That the reason I spend so much time studying and working is because I don’t want to be stuck with the kind of life I’m expected to have?

Agatha is my dream girl. (Was my dream girl?) She’s everyone’s dream girl, if I’m honest. She’s got long blond hair (that’s probably softer than Baz’s) and gorgeous brown eyes. Dating her felt like a dream. Everything about her was perfect, even her family. I love her family, and I think they love me too. Well, they did.

I don’t know what I’m going to do next week.  I’ve spent nearly every Christmas since I was 11 with the Wellbeloves. It’s my favorite holiday, Christmas. It didn’t use to be. Christmas in the care homes was shit. Most years we didn’t even get presents (and if we did, they were crap), much less the extravagant dinner and party Agatha’s family hosts.

Sometimes I wonder what Christmases with my real family would have been like. Would they be fancy, like the Wellbeloves? Would they be chaotic, like the Bunces? (I spent one Christmas with Penny’s family and never went back.) (I don’t think her mum much liked having me there anyway.)

I look at the clock and down the rest of my drink in one gulp. My stomach growls. I wish I’d thought to grab a pastry, but there’s no time now. Davy mans the shop during my break, and he asked me to make it 5 minutes shorter today. Says he’s got a headache. I don’t mind, I don’t need that much time anyway. Even if it means I don’t get to eat anything until after we close. I don’t like most of the things we sell here anyway. Scones are probably my favorite thing to eat in the entire world, but we only sell plain, or raisin, and they’re hard from being left out so long and always taste like they were left in the oven too long.

If I had my way, we’d get rid of the shit pastries, and make things like they have at all the fancy coffee shops. There’s one two streets over that sells the most amazing sour cherry scones. I could eat them everyday if I could afford it.

Davy says we don’t need to sell things like that. That the people who frequent the shop are perfectly happy with what we’re selling. I don’t agree, but he’s the owner and he knows what’s best. so I never tell him so. (I’d make them if he’d let me. Maybe I’ll ask next time he’s in a good mood. Maybe he’ll even say yes.)

My mind goes back to the guy from earlier. Baz. (With a “z” he’d told me in his stupid posh voice as I labeled his cup.) What a dick. An absolute arsehole. And such a snob. I bet he eats fancy scones all the time. With jam and cream and his pinky in the air. I bet he only drinks the most expensive coffee. I bet he has someone to make it for him, even at his house. Probably too busy brushing his silky black hair to make himself a cup. Bastard.

I’m glad he hated his drink. Now he’ll want to go somewhere else. Now I won’t have to see him again.

Keep reading

I hate when people talk about all these shitty ways to get wait staff to give good service. All you have to do is be nice ??? 3 places give me free food every time I go for being a nice person like what have your shitty tipping methods gotten you??? ur waitress for u more sauce?? congrats u turkeyass I’m glad that all worked out