Hit the road, Jack, and don't you come back no more, no more, no more, no more... but I know you will. Jackass.

Working at a coffee shop introduces me to a variety of interesting people.


First, you have the early regulars. Every day I open the store, I know that of the first five or six people who will walk in the door, Cliff, Craig, Joe, and Richie will be four of them. The other one or two will be a doctor or nurse on his or her way to work at the hospital across the street.


I've stopped asking them what they want to drink, because I already know (small medium-blend coffee; large, unsweetened iced coffee; two large medium-blend coffees, and small, bold coffee, respectfully). Instead, we talk about their jobs, family, the weather, or, in the case of Joe, the fact that he's wearing yet another New York Giant's T-shirt that I've never seen before. (He's always sporting the Giants belt buckle, earring, and tattoo, but his shirt changes from day-to-day. He's also shown me photos of his blue truck complete with a hood-sized Giants emblem and is going to bring in photos of the room in his house dedicated to the team. Talk about a mega fan.)


The group who overlaps the early regulars are the hospital workers. They come in at all hours of the day because the hospital is, obviously, open 24/7. One doctor, a surgeon, orders six shots of espresso in a cup, and drinks it in a single gulp. These guys are hard-core.


As the day goes on, the next big group who comes through the door are the students. John Jay College is two blocks away and Fordham University is one block away. Students come in to get breakfast at the coffee shop before heading to class, then between classes to get a refresher caffeine buzz. The student who I refer to as "my boyfriend" - mostly to annoy one of my colleagues, who can't stand him - is quite attractive, if I do say so myself.


A third group of people are the tourists. They're easy to spot because they're almost always holding NYC maps and usually ask for directions to the nearest subway in accents from all over the globe.


None of these groups bother me and in the case of the regulars, I look forward to talking to them every day. But, inevitably, I can't like everyone.


The next group of people are the homeless. They usually either come in right when we open or are in the store right before we close. During winter, they come in to warm up, and the rest of the time they're looking to sleep. But no matter what the season, they're always looking for hand-outs, whether it's from us or the other customers.


As the boss when I'm there, I'm always the one babysitting these people, and monitoring what they're doing, because it's inevitable - I'm going to kick them out for some reason. If they bother other customers, I have to tell them to leave. And they bother our customers in many ways - asking them for money or their leftover food, yell-preaching about God, occupying chairs that our paying customers want, or simply by the way they smell or what they're doing, like drinking beer at 6 a.m. and stumbling around. If they refuse to leave, I have to make the call to the police.


And If they're sleeping, it's my job to wake them up and tell them not to sleep in our lobby. If they fall back asleep, which 99 percent of them do, I have to then tell them to leave or call the police if they don't. I so do not get paid enough for this. Especially in the case of the other day with my interaction with a homeless person I've named Jack (as in Jack-ass, 'cause that's what he is.)


After telling Jack, whom we've banned from the store repeatedly for pestering our customers for money and stealing stuff in the past, to leave he actually stood there and ARGUED with me, demanding that I tell him what he did to get the boot. I told him I'm just following orders from the assistant manager. Jack's response? "He can't just tell you what to do." Um, yes he can. That's what the term "boss" generally implies, Sherlock.


I don't do well with arguments, especially with those dealing with an unpredictable, probably schizophrenic homeless guy, so I had a hard time both dealing with him during the encounter, and dealing with myself afterward because I'm not used to such confrontation on a seemingly regular basis.


In New York City, it comes as no surprise that everyone seems to have a Type A personality - including the bums. This frustrates me to no end, and I was upset with myself that I still am not equipped to handle such experiences, as pointed out by a friend and colleague, Amanda. She said, "Erika, it is so obvious that you're not from here. Your face plainly said, 'I have no idea what to do.'" Which I don't, really. I have no idea what I'm to do with myself as one person in this ginormous place of millions. It continues to be a problem.