She was running around screaming, “has anyone seen my birth daughter? I want her to give me a second chance. Mary Delilah, I brought sage!”
She asked where she should set up her essential oil diffuser to purify the “bad vibes.”
She held up the line for twenty minutes intently studying the menu only to request a “love sandwich.”
She insisted she could sense Kamala Harris’ prosecutorial aura on the premises and demanded to know where they were harboring her.
She stood in the middle of the establishment begging for patrons to put coins in her fanny pack; she needed to qualify for the next debate.
She began conducting a surprise group yoga class.
She asked for a payphone to call Jacinda Ardern.
She gave forced palm readings to a young gay couple who were just trying to eat their Baconators.
She kept yelling “Who here is a Cancer?? I have a your horoscope!”
She started a Gregorian chant circle.
She performed the 4 Non Blondes’ classic “What’s Up” but changed the lyrics from “what’s going on?” to “girlfriend, you are so on.”
She requested a gender neutral bathroom she could cast spells in.
She made all of the customers re-watch the first season of Glee.
She tried to hold an AA meeting, but for people addicted to western medicine. (And on that note, knocked the insulin out of a twelve year old diabetic’s hand, and recommended she try “nature’s insulin,” frankincense.
She became absolutely certain a patron was, in fact, her long lost daughter Mary Delilah, and tried to have an “energy exchange” with her.
She tried to have Gwyneth Paltrow canonized as a saint.