Maybe you could wipe the blood off your face before you threaten me again because I have witnesses.

Anyone who's read even just a handful of my blog posts knows that I'm always compelled to write about the colorful characters that come into my coffee shop.


While compelling, "Bloody Nose Guy" was a bit different. Never before have I ever felt like I just might have to prepare myself for actually getting punched in the face. Never before have I ever felt the need to make a mental note at what was within arm's reach of my interaction with a customer just in case I had to pick it up and use it to defend myself. Welcome to New York City!


When I first saw the guy, I thought he was just someone standing in the lobby having a conversation with a friend. But then he shifted his body so he was facing my direction and I realized that bloody nose guy had, well, a crusted-on bloody nose and was essentially talking to himself in close proximity to someone else.


So, being the manager responsible for crap like this, I went out into the lobby to ask him if he was OK and to steer him away from the customer he was talking toward who obviously had no idea who this guy was. Even from a few feet away, the stench of alcohol assaulted my nose, which is when I realized that getting this guy out of the store without conflict was not going to be easy.


And it wasn't. This guy - a short, overweight, bald Hispanic man about 60 years old, which is what I later told the police - was so drunk he was incoherent. After responding to my question of whether he was OK in garbled nonsense, I suggested very calmly that maybe he go across the street to the hospital to get checked out. He just stared at me like he didn't understand what I was talking about.


That's when I made the mistake of more firmly suggesting that he leave. Apparently, that was the sentence that he happened to understand. And the next sentence he uttered was the only full sentence that I actually understood. "What. Did. You. Say?" he asked emphatically, his eyes weirdly focused on mine while very blatantly stepping well inside my personal space bubble.


Not wanting to actually get hit - which from the look on his face was a very real possibility at this point - I took a bear step backward so I'd have room to pivot and dart back around the counter to what I thought would be safety and call the police. But bloody nose guy apparently wasn't satisfied with our interaction. I have never heard my coffee shop as quiet as it was just seconds after he started screaming string after string of profanities while stumbling at my heels toward the back room. Enter my colleague, Rigo.


Thank God Rigo was there and thank God he was willing to block this guy's access to me. He also apparently knew how to talk to him, which was essentially in a hushed tone, and had the amazing ability to remain calm while this guy was spitting profanity into his face. Not wanting Rigo to get hurt, I quickly slid this small metal cart between him and Bloody Nose Guy - which the stranger didn't even notice, he was so out of it and busy cussing - and called the police.

Eons - also known as about 5 minutes - went by before a police cruiser rolled up to the store. In the meantime, a customer from California - who later told me that he feels safer here than in L.A. where apparently everyone carries a gun - intervened and helped talk this guy more toward the door. Unfortunately, that backfired in the sense that before the police arrived, this guy wandered out of the store and stood in front for awhile before ambling down the street. All I could do when the police waltzed in a few minutes later was describe the guy and point them toward where he went. I did the same thing with the second set of officers who pulled up two minutes after the first set not knowing that their colleagues had just been there. Weird.

Thankfully, I haven't seen Bloody Nose Guy since, but by virtue of where I work, someone else is bound to come in soon and threaten the status quo. Can't wait.