I sat in my favorite coffee shop, avoiding the project on my laptop screen. That’s when I noticed the usually cheerful demeanor of the baristas evaporate, only to be replaced with fear and dread. “Oh God, he’s here,” I heard one of them mutter. I followed their collective gaze to the door and saw a thin, gangly man carrying a laptop bag. You could feel the arrogance radiating off of him. He skulked around the shop hunting for a table like a shark that detected a hint of blood. He finally found a seat and brusquely asked someone if they needed all the room at their table. He placed his bag down and sauntered up to the register. He was like a vulture hungry for just one thing—joy. The characteristically carefree barista now looked defeated by his mere existence. Before she could say anything, he blurted out, “Changing the coffee soon? I don’t want any of those,” while pointing his finger at a canister behind the counter. “No, we just made all of them,” she replied. He paused, looked her in the eyes. “OK,” he said. And with that, he went back to his table, collected his things and left. Astounded, I asked the cashier, “What’s his problem?” The barista looked at me, the life returning to her eyes. “He’s just an emotional vampire,” she told me. “‘Cause he sucks.”
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