Dodgy Drunks & Pissed Up Wankers: A Continuing Saga

Opening a Cafe on Frenchmen Street at 6 am on a Sunday is like walking into the Ceasar's Palace suite of The Hangover before everyone woke up meets a really lame zombie attack .   It smells, there is trash everywhere, people are milling about aimlessly crashing, stumbly, drunken and/or coming down from whatever they took the night before.  And there is always an interesting situation that arises when one of them meanders into the cafe to attempt to purchase breakfast or coffee. 

Last week this hipster Brit arrives and painstakingly orders a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich.  After much miscommunication between he and the barista the transaction is completed and he takes a half step over and procedes to fall asleep leaning against the counter.  Another customer entered and ordered around him, none are really surprised.  You have to be slighty desensitized to these kind of things here.

After tthe party...trash dat!

I rush his sandwhich, throwing it in a to go bag, no matter what the ticket says, and shoo him on out the restaurant.  This poor cat attempts to eat his sandwich on the chairs outside, this went unnoticed to us inside until I took a box to the trash and find him passed out, slumped down in his chair with the remains of his sandwich trickling from his mouth down his chest where the last remaining bite is resting in a sloppy mess of deli paper and melted cheese.

I wake him up with an abrupt, "Hey dude! You can't sleep here man.  Dude!" After a while he comes to and begins to argue and almost yell at me claiming that he was definently not asleep. 

"Asleep or passed out, you gotta get the hell out of here you pissed up wanker."

After another of these exchanges (I was a little hungover this particular morning and was feeling fiesty) he finally made his exit.  Mounting his bike like a man with brand new legs, and wabbled about 20 yards before literally just falling right over onto the ground.  It's like he just turned to dead weight, whatever happened, he and his bike fully ate it.  He popped right up like he was totally cool, as if nothing happened, remounted, made it to the corner where he tried to stop for a car, and ran into the curb busting his front wheel.  Taking it like a man, or the worthless drunken piece of clay he was at that moment, and vomited his sandwich right back on himself.