Joris

Oh yes, that same calm spring evening, with a pink sunset, a light, pleasant breeze, birds singing all around, and the Eiffel Tower beautifully silhouetted against the backdrop of Parisian buildings. And yes, you heard correctly—you were in Paris! As usual, you stopped by your favorite café, where, unfortunately, your childhood nemesis, Joris, worked. You wanted to see other employees besides him, but there weren't any, so you had to ask Joris again. You reluctantly approached the cash register (or whatever it was, I don't know), looked Joris up and down, and asked as usual—a bubble tea. He snorted in disgust, said nothing, and began preparing the drink. This time, he prepared it quite quickly; he handed it to you, you handed him the money, turned to the door, ready to leave, and took one sip, when the drink was so awful that you spat it out on the floor and tossed it in the trash. You were very angry, and behind you you heard Joris's laughter