The Day Father Christmas’s Crackhead Brother Asked Me Out

This might have to be the first instalment in a new series: the unforgettable humans who wander into the cafe

I don’t know what it is about me, maybe it’s the apron, maybe it’s the flour on my face, maybe it’s the permanently frazzled look that screams “approachable chaos," but for some reason, I seem to attract the weird ones. Never the normal, sensible, “has a pension and a decent winter coat” type.

No.

Always the eccentric ones with stories… and hair.

And just when I thought I’d seen everything my little café could throw at me, along came him, the man who looked like Father Christmas’s crackhead brother, and who, for reasons known only to himself and whatever higher power is laughing at me, decided to ask me out.

He came in with a woman, so naturally I assumed they were a couple. They ordered two deluxe hot chocolates with whipped cream and marshmallows, which I always think is slightly odd for fully grown adults, but hey, it takes all sorts, and they sat there all afternoon. Had another round. All seemed fine.

But he had that energy.

The kind that makes you think,

“Are you okay, or has life just been a bit much?”

White, frizzy, shoulder-length hair (with not much left on top), denim jeans, white t-shirt, black leather jacket, the full “I got lost at a White snake concert in 1987 and never made it home” aesthetic.

Later, as I was chatting to another customer, I felt someone hovering, that prickly sensation, like a cat watching you from across a dark room.

I turn around.

He steps forward.

Hands me a tiny folded slip of paper and says:

“If you ever fancy a drink… give me a call.”

Then he winks.

And walks out.

I froze.

Fully still.

Soul somewhere above my body, tray of scones going cold in my hands.

I turned to my trainee, wide-eyed, stunned, and whispered:

“Err… that guy just asked me out.”

He glanced toward the exit, then back at me and, eyes wide, and in the most gloriously unfiltered, no-pause, no-blink way only a trainee can manage, delivered the line that nearly finished me:

“ OMG..He looks like Father Christmas’s crackhead brother!.”

I burst out laughing on the spot, I couldn’t help it.

He said it so quickly, so bluntly, and with such perfect accuracy that it just took me out.

I giggled about it for days afterwards.

I’ve accepted it now, I’m simply a magnet for the wonderfully weird.

At this point, I think I’d actually faint if a normal man tried to chat me up.

Why is THIS my romantic demographic?

Genuinely, I’d love to know.

Would I love a sensible one to appear one day?

Absolutely.

Will it happen?

Unlikely.

But at least the universe makes sure I’m never bored.