(no subject)

A patron approaches wearing low-cut hip-hugging jeans, makes an inquiry, and walks away. As she departs:

Coworker V: Pull up your pants pull up your pants pull up your pants!
Sam: Or just stop lying to yourself and take them off completely.
Coworker V: Fun either way!

(no subject)

I left work at nine and have just arrived home. Forgot the El was running on the upper tracks, so I had to take a somewhat circuitous route home -- apparently I was less confused than everyone else on the platform, because by the time I got on a northbound Red Line train I had a trail of ducklings faithfully following me.

I realised that with all the turnover, most of my coworkers are now unknown to the Cafe. They are:

Coworker V: Young, hip, metrosexual, actor. Voted "most likely to be the next one to quit" by me.
Coworker J: Young, hip, gay, actor. Tracked to take the job I wanted, but I can't blame him.
Coworker L: Ultra-organised punk rock girl. Likes to shop online for shoes.

And of course M, who comes back on Saturday.

That's us.