[ WP ] You are working the register at a quaint café . A customer tries to pay for their purchase with a human heart .

`` That'll be 3.89,'' Madison mumbled, holding out her hand for the change. At first, she made some vague efforts to put pep into her customer interactions, but it had been six months of minimum-wage register work. 
 
 The man smirked. `` Give me a moment. I have just the thing.'' He rummaged through one of his many pockets, although a leather wallet was very clearly sticking out of one near the top. His coat was strange, but Madison worked on a campus at a college renowned for its philosophy and sociology courses, so she was n't very surprised. 
 
 It had been a good five minutes, judging by the clock on the left wall that was definitely a little slow, and a long line of impatient customers had formed behind Mr. Coatman. `` Sir, if you do n't have any money-'' Madison started, finally growing tired of the stinkeye a soccerman in the back was giving her as she cradled a sobbing infant. 
 
 `` No! I can pay!'' he barked. Madison was used to people embarrassedly insisting they had money, but this was a lot angrier than the standard fare. A lot more offended. 
 
 She waited about thirty seconds before speaking again. `` Sir, there's ten people behind you,'' she said. 
 
 He flashed a grin. `` All the better to witness this, my dear,'' Mr. Coatman said in what seemed very much like an attempt to be seductive, although it failed. 
 
 Madison was about to open her mouth once more after waiting a full minute when Mr. Coatman triumphantly reached into a pocket she could've sworn he'd checked at least eight times already and pulled out a sticky red blob. He smashed it down on the counter, getting weird juices all over her, and if she'd been wearing genuine uggs instead of Target knockoffs she might've gotten angry. 
 
 `` What the hell is that?'' A balding man three people away from Mr. Coatman yelled. 
 
 It was pulsing slightly and getting more juices on the counter by the minute. 
 
 `` Sir, I'm sorry, but we can only accept cash, credit or check,'' Madison said. 
 
 Mr. Coatman blinked. `` What?'' 
 
 `` This is not an official currency accepted by our store,'' she told him. Somewhere over on the right, a teenage girl vomited into the trashcan. The smell wafted through the store, mixing with some day-old coffee cakes and the soccermom's baby, who had now soiled its diaper several times. 
 
 `` Are n't you going to react at all?'' Mr. Coatman yelled. His face was slowly turning an extremely interesting shade of purplish red. `` It's a goddamn human heart!'' 
 
 With one swoop, Madison knocked the appendage off the counter, pulled out a rag, and started to wipe down the counter. `` I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you do n't have any money,'' she said. 
 
 Mr. Coatman stared at her for a full minute and a half before throwing a five-dollar bill down, grabbing his chocolate chip bagel, and stalking out, muttering about ungrateful teenagers, lost investments and startup costs. 
 
 She turned to the next customer, a man in his fifties with a briefcase that looked important. `` What can I get you?'' she asked. 
 
 Six months of minimum wage, countless hours of register work, twenty or so physical altercations, five vomitings, six diarrhea incidents, and at least three human appendages a week. 
 
 She really did n't get paid enough for this shit.
