My first attempt at a blog...

Hi. I’m Lyndsey. I work at this one place, we serve coffee and stuff...but I will refrain from naming it as I would like to hang on to my job for a while. Here's a clue though, it's one huge (like massive) coffee company. That gave it away didn't it?

Although my job might seem glamorous and exhilarating, I get the privilege of dealing with some of the most shitty people...straight up sticks in their asses type people. This blog is a just meant to comment on the everyday assholes I encounter as being the useless barista behind the counter. I will probably inform you of how a conversation with a shitty customer went (with smiles and thanks yous) and then inform you of how I wish it went…complete with meteorites falling through the ceiling on the asshole who thinks I can’t remember his decaf grande vanilla nonfat no foam latte.

The name of my blog “ You’re gonna need to write this down” comes from the numerous condescending, self centered customers who storm to the counter, tell me to get a pen ready and proceed to tell me their ‘special’ drink that they think they just invented….for fuck’s sake, I mean really. “I’ve got my fucking pen, and if you don’t stop I will shove it up your ass” (that would be one of those things I wish I could say…)

So hi. That was my intro...now lets get to it...


Tuesday was a lovely little day. I was in a cheerful mood, customers were more of less happy and I was content with doing minimal work. I’m leaning against the register as I usually do when feeling lazy and in comes this man. Once I describe him, you’ll know exactly what I am talking about:

Head to toe in black. Big black pants, a freakish band t-shirt. Black, long, greasy hair. Metal everywhere, in his ears, on his tongue, through his lip, eyebrow…everywhere. The type of guy who probably hates his dad and rebels by playing Creed really loud in his bedroom….such a rebel.

Anyway, the guy comes up to the counter, on his cell phone (that is a whole other post) and mumbles something to me before I can get out my “Hi, how are you?” that I have so perfected.

“Blah, blah, blah, tazo chai, venti, extra hot, mumble, mumble, mumble.”

“Umm…I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.” I mean seriously…don't you people rebel against this sort of stuff?

“Would you like me to repeat it slower or write it down for you?” Oh no you didn’t….maybe if you took the fucking metal off you face I could fucking understand you! And perhaps, if you got off you goddamn cell phone you could politely tell me what your girly fucking drink is, PRICK!

“No, just a bit slower would be lovely.”

“Venti, strawberry, tazo chai tea, extra hot, no foam, light whip, latte” You are fucking kidding me… “Did you get that?” Did I get that? Get the fuck out….seriously, freaks like you aren’t allowed in here. It’s a rule. I just made it up. So GET OUT!

“Yes, I did”

“Do you need me to tell you where the strawberry button is?” No I don’t need you to tell me where the fucking strawberry button is….

“No, I think I can handle it…”

“Under blended beverage, hit modifiers and it’s next to the chips.” Apparently he didn’t hear me…

“That’ll be $4” Would you like a fucking job too?

The asshole walks out with his strawberry chai latte to smoke a cigarette. I feel like giving him a standing ovation on by the most ridiculous customer ever but instead I just mumble “that was fun” and hope that the cigarette was laced with some chemical that makes it blow up in his face, heat his metal “expressions of who he is” to like a billion degrees and watch as he runs around screaming like a girl.