Bums and Crackheads and their Poop

Working at a restaurant in downtown Manhattan, you’re bound to become acquainted with a few vagrants.

Café Gypsy’s outdoor seating made it a popular venue for hipsters and beggars alike. One guy liked to sing and tell jokes to procure money from customers. Another guy liked to flash his wang. One guy in particular was everybody’s favorite: Crazy Eddie. He likes to lie down on the sidewalk and moan about how his rectum burns when he takes shits after drinking too much alcohol.

Funfetti Café has its own brand of unwelcome guests: crackheads. They aren’t nearly as entertaining as the bums of Café Gypsy. They’re gaunt and unsmiling, probably wielding knives. They slink into the restroom, conspicuous among an early morning crowd of American tourists.

While I’m working brunch, one of the tourists flashes me an inquisitive glance, but at this point, I have not been advised about the crackheads. I must look just as alarmed.

After 1130am, the crackheads dissipate. I ask the other server if this is usually the case, and if there is anything that we should be doing to deter their bathroom dealings.

“No, they’re all fine. Don’t bother them. They mind their own business if we mind ours. Except for this one guy named Keith; we don’t let him in anymore. He shits on the floor of the bathroom. We’re not a big fan of that.”

Good thing Funfetti Café has passed the point of having to ask anyone to make poop signs.