Funny or Sad? Can't Tell

He doesn't want any of my bananas.

He doesn't want my coffee.

Wait, he does.

The coffee or the bananas?

"Borthgh!"

That's...is that both? You want a coffee and a banana?

"Yearrsh."

Standing still never looked so hard. I leave him swaying and I make his coffee. I set it down next to a banana in front of him and cheerfully tell him his total: "$3.02, sir." He looks at me like I've grown a second head, though given his level of intoxication perhaps I look like I have.

"Whurt?" Listening to him talk is like watching Quest For Fire. I know I'm hearing a language, I know it must have grammar and vocabulary, but humans haven't spoken it for thousands of years. "Fffrhghnn...whurt?"

"Your coffee and banana, sir. They'll be $3.02." I don't usually have to force a smile so hard. I am cheer's grim doppleganger, forced to stare down a man so far gone to drink, sobriety must seem alien to him. The growing line behind him collectively cringes in sympathy, but offers no help.

He slams one fist on the counter. "Gurttnmunny!"

"You...don't want your coffee and banana, then, sir?"

"Dunwnt yrrr fuckinbananad!" He reels around, crashes into a chair and decides that's where he's going to sit. We shrug it off and continue working, but he's not about to be forgotten. Every time a customer crosses his blurred and bloodshot line of sight, he releases some invective that I'm sure would be devastating if anyone understood it. The most prominent word fragment is a long, tormented "whooh!" which repeats every few lines. It makes him sound like a drunken seabird.

Our supervisor gently tells him to leave. This fails to work. Our supervisor tells him we're going to kick him out. Danny D. Drunkman's response is, from what we can discern, "nuh uh, I'll kick you out!"

The police are called. Forty minutes later they appear and escort the gentleman and his bottle of hobo wine (swear to god, I think it was Thunderbird) outside. They're not arresting him, oh no--too much paperwork for all involved, and besides, the poor guy's harmless. Just a drunk that gets beat up in local bars a lot.

The cops get back in their cars. Doctor Intoxo, perhaps assuming cops can't not arrest a man for the same crime twice, immediately stumbles back through our door, and this time an officer (saying "I tried to be nice!" in the most resigned tone I've ever heard come out of a Blue Meanie) hauls him away.

All that is left...is silence.

 Moral of this postcard: the Chinese need their own Captain Planet.

Wait, they got Captain Planet? And this generation still litters? Man, it's almost like instead of a useful and informative cartoon about the fragility of the environment it was a really batshit crazy show where Captain Planet fought environmental issues like AIDS.

Deal with the real, people!