My coffee, fresh from the 7-11 grounded coffee machine, went splash, most of it filling up my bag, some of it sloshing on my black shirt and black tracksuit pants.
I was eyeing off a hot chick outside the convenience store while trying to put a few purchased bananas in my bag.
I got distracted.
I walked back into the convenience store to make another one, using the same cup that was now contaminated from the dirty streets of downtown. By now the coffee in my bag started leaking out of it and percolating onto the floor. I pulled out my wallet and passport, they weren't wet and pretended nothing was out of order.
But the once pristine clean floor that was now muddying up before my eyes told another story.
My flip-flops were drenched with Arabica. I was sliding in them. That also contributed to the mess I was making on the floor from the leaking bag. I also smelt like a drenched barista, another flavour added to my foul and soiled clothing which I was forced to wash today.
Mikee, the female staff, followed me with a mop. There were no complaints, you are making more work for me, dirtying the floor, just an honest attempt at cleaning up the mess before other customers slipped over the muck I had brought into the convenience store.
I paid up for another coffee that was now fresh and steaming.
It had to be the sleeve, it wasn't big enough, so the coffee cup slipped out of it.
Even Mikee was looking more appealing. She wasn't grumpy like the night shift who have to deal with drunk tourists, stoned street kids and fucked up whores on the make. That might explain their grumpiness.
On the way to my hotel, an old lady was begging for small change.
I wasn't in the mood.
Getting befuddled can invite losing your passport and wallet, which I was holding in one hand, and the freshly purchased coffee in the other.
I could feel the whole street looking at me and sizing up an opportunity to take the wallet that was fattened up with an ATM withdrawal last night. A passport would be a bonus.
Luckily the pickpocketing street urchins were still sleeping on their cardboard boxes, otherwise it might have been another story.
Fuck off bitch, that was the look I gave her. And didn't she moan that I wouldn't give her a few pesos? She can moan some more and I really won't be offended.
Sitting outside my hotel drinking the coffee, I was visited by every con man in the city who were flogging belts, sunglasses, fake labelled bags and phones and Kamagra jelly.
The iPhone Ten was a joke. I had to hold back a laugh as the tout got more and more aggressive with the realisation that I had caught him out. At least the iPhone Six they sell on the streets of Malaysia look like the original.
I bought a belt and a fake pair of Raybands.
And I sat back and watched.
TJ, the dyke manager came outside and we chatted a bit. She outlined every scam in Manila, saying most of them happen around here, and:
'Don't bring a girl back to the hotel,' she advises,' they'll spike your drink and steal everything.'
It's a common story on the streets of Manila.
She's not the first to tell me.
Meanwhile, walking out of the 7-11 with a new hot and steaming coffee, the hot chick looked at me, and if looks could speak, she would have said, 'LOSER.'
I still can't forget the expressions on the faces of a small group of ladies who were sitting around a table enjoying their coffee and looking at me gibbering away, while Mikee was following me with a mop. They were too polite to say that I had fucked up their morning coffee.
The dollar I lost on that spilt coffee was worth every cent of it, I told a middle-aged lady who was here for a Milo. After my recommendation, she would consider trying the coffee next time.
She was being polite too.
I miss the simple days of dropping into the Long House and ordering a cheap coffee. It took out all the complications.
I went back to 7-11 for a snack run. Mikee is still the professional. I profusely apologised and threw in a 'wasn't it fun.' She smiled and treated me like a customer.
Her boss, who was tinkering with the CCTV on a monitor, flashed me a smile. Had he seen the coffee incident? Did he really care?
Obviously not.
'She was the employee of the year,' he says, 'did you know that?'
Not until now.
If this had have happened on the night shift, the staff would have fed me to the zombies outside.
I was eyeing off a hot chick outside the convenience store while trying to put a few purchased bananas in my bag.
I got distracted.
I walked back into the convenience store to make another one, using the same cup that was now contaminated from the dirty streets of downtown. By now the coffee in my bag started leaking out of it and percolating onto the floor. I pulled out my wallet and passport, they weren't wet and pretended nothing was out of order.
But the once pristine clean floor that was now muddying up before my eyes told another story.
My flip-flops were drenched with Arabica. I was sliding in them. That also contributed to the mess I was making on the floor from the leaking bag. I also smelt like a drenched barista, another flavour added to my foul and soiled clothing which I was forced to wash today.
Mikee, the female staff, followed me with a mop. There were no complaints, you are making more work for me, dirtying the floor, just an honest attempt at cleaning up the mess before other customers slipped over the muck I had brought into the convenience store.
I paid up for another coffee that was now fresh and steaming.
It had to be the sleeve, it wasn't big enough, so the coffee cup slipped out of it.
Even Mikee was looking more appealing. She wasn't grumpy like the night shift who have to deal with drunk tourists, stoned street kids and fucked up whores on the make. That might explain their grumpiness.
On the way to my hotel, an old lady was begging for small change.
I wasn't in the mood.
Getting befuddled can invite losing your passport and wallet, which I was holding in one hand, and the freshly purchased coffee in the other.
I could feel the whole street looking at me and sizing up an opportunity to take the wallet that was fattened up with an ATM withdrawal last night. A passport would be a bonus.
Luckily the pickpocketing street urchins were still sleeping on their cardboard boxes, otherwise it might have been another story.
Fuck off bitch, that was the look I gave her. And didn't she moan that I wouldn't give her a few pesos? She can moan some more and I really won't be offended.
Sitting outside my hotel drinking the coffee, I was visited by every con man in the city who were flogging belts, sunglasses, fake labelled bags and phones and Kamagra jelly.
The iPhone Ten was a joke. I had to hold back a laugh as the tout got more and more aggressive with the realisation that I had caught him out. At least the iPhone Six they sell on the streets of Malaysia look like the original.
I bought a belt and a fake pair of Raybands.
And I sat back and watched.
TJ, the dyke manager came outside and we chatted a bit. She outlined every scam in Manila, saying most of them happen around here, and:
'Don't bring a girl back to the hotel,' she advises,' they'll spike your drink and steal everything.'
It's a common story on the streets of Manila.
She's not the first to tell me.
Meanwhile, walking out of the 7-11 with a new hot and steaming coffee, the hot chick looked at me, and if looks could speak, she would have said, 'LOSER.'
I still can't forget the expressions on the faces of a small group of ladies who were sitting around a table enjoying their coffee and looking at me gibbering away, while Mikee was following me with a mop. They were too polite to say that I had fucked up their morning coffee.
The dollar I lost on that spilt coffee was worth every cent of it, I told a middle-aged lady who was here for a Milo. After my recommendation, she would consider trying the coffee next time.
She was being polite too.
I miss the simple days of dropping into the Long House and ordering a cheap coffee. It took out all the complications.
I went back to 7-11 for a snack run. Mikee is still the professional. I profusely apologised and threw in a 'wasn't it fun.' She smiled and treated me like a customer.
Her boss, who was tinkering with the CCTV on a monitor, flashed me a smile. Had he seen the coffee incident? Did he really care?
Obviously not.
'She was the employee of the year,' he says, 'did you know that?'
Not until now.
If this had have happened on the night shift, the staff would have fed me to the zombies outside.
