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respect pronouns not cops

For those of you who don’t know, I work at an anarchist co-op coffee shop.

Apparently, all the Chicano/Cholo boys in my neighborhood have caught on the the fact that I sneak food and stuff to all the little punk kids and homeless kids at the coffee shop.

There are three in particular who call me Mom. Not Mami, not Ma, Mom. The rest refer to me as “Miss”.

They’ve decided to always have one of the three of them there with me on my night shifts. (Especially after they witnessed the last bad shift where I had to kick a bunch of tweakers out. Said tweakers lit my fucking bulletin board on fire.)

Tonight, one of the boys actually charged up a crackhead who wouldn’t get out when I told him to leave.

About an hour later, I was emptying bus tubs when that same lovely boy walked in and wetted a wash rag. I asked what he was doing and he told me not to worry. So, I went about my business, doing dishes, bussing the main dining tables, etc.

I’d left a broom in the smoking room and a fresh trash bag in the bathroom for once I was done with the dishes.

When I walked out, everything was spotless and the trash had been replaced. He’d wiped all my tables, swept, mopped, and emptied all the ash trays.

He’d also picked the lock on the bathroom so his friend could take out the trash for me. (Which I’m not sure whether I should scold him for. Haha)

They snuck around and did my closing shift duties to thank me for keeping them warm and fed.

I’m fucking crying.