One, two, three. Tickets dispensed, potions made. Slap your hands clean, dip them in hot cauldrons, burn away the remains with poisons. Repeat. Throw in a few clients. Smile and appease, repeat.
Behind the high countertop, the witch peers over to see if anyone stares back at her. No one. She continues making different potions, all doing the same thing but carrying different flavors. Satisfied, she sells the popular wares and dusts off the particulates sticking to her apron.