Kanpyo: Ejected!

Under the current regime that ticks away like a hammer-pounded clockwork inside my confines, there has been little upheaval.  Firings are few and far between; the bulk of the turmoil is carried internally by the employees who are forced to work under absurd conditions--for this reason, employee walkouts are far more common.  It's rare that employee actually puts in two weeks notice.  Certainly, there have been few incidents between patrons and owners--customers bring in money, and while their more difficult aspects may not suffered gladly at the hands of the staff, the owner, seeing more clearly the direct relationship between any given clown and the profit margin, will often wear her false smiles unfalteringly throughout an interaction with a difficult customer.

Emma Dayo, the owner, loves money.  A lot.  She would chase a rolling dime down a sewer grate and emerge triumphantly (though covered in feces) clutching it between her thumb and forefinger.  I have overheard employees speculate on a treasure room in which she indulges in Scrooge-McDuck-style swimming sessions in her sea of tender.  She has time and time again answered employee complaints with her self-penned adage, "I love customers."  (It's a relatively simple code to crack; simply replace the word "customers" with "money.")

How is it, then, that Dayo's hatred of an individual outweigh her worship of money, and cause her to bar a customer from ever returning to her establishment?  Leave it to Kanpyo . . .

Despite money he invariably brings, Kanpyo's long list of special requests has long since chapped the ass of Dayo.  But, ever the coward (and seldom forced to deal with him directly,) she has on a number of occasions refrained from giving him the boot (though she has given certain employees the opportunity to pull the trigger for her).

This brewing tension recently came to a head, during a photo session in which a member of the press was snapping photos of a steaming cauldron of nabeyaki udon for an upcoming newspaper article.  Kanpyo felt that the shutter snap and flash was more than enough to disrupt the elegant atmosphere he had engineered.  He did not hesitate in airing his displeasure to the owner, who--making a rare appearance dressed in a chef coat--was acting as a shepherd to the member of the press.  Kanpyo felt that the proper recourse would be a showering with apologies and gift certificates.  The owner did not see it that way.  An impasse was met.

At this point in the narrative, one might expect that Emma Dayo would point a finger toward the exit and say in an authoritative voice, "Get out of my restaurant!"  This was not the case.  Ever avoidant of conflict of any shape, she foisted her burden upon the sushi chef, who was to inform Kanpyo upon his next visit that he would no longer be welcome at this establishment.

When the moment came, Kanpyo went quietly and without protest.  Emma Dayo hardly felt the sting of the money she was sure to lose.  After all, the upcoming article was sure to bring in new customers--and no one loves customers like Emma Dayo.