So I am really not sure who invented the coffee sleeve or whenever the fuck it was invented to begin with. And although it avoids using two cups (those are the real pussies) I still find the fucking things ridiculous and wasteful (a complete blog on waste will come shortly and all dedicated to Nick).
Before I get a million an one comments about it being hot, let me explain...
For those of us who keep it simple and order normal temperature beverages...yes, they do come out hot and for that, I understand the sleeve. However, the extra hot and even the extra extra hot people can kiss my ass. Anyone who actually chooses to drink scalding hot, burnt milk can most definitely burn their hands too. Seriously, extra hot is the stupidest thing ever. Why the hell would you want a scalding hot beverage burning the top ten layers of your tongue only to have the new top ten layers burnt off the next morning when you do it all over again? It's burnt. fucking. milk. Nasty. It smells like dirty socks and fucking moldy cheese....not something I'd like to sip or guzzle through a straw. With that being said, we can disregard the excuse of extra hot for use of sleeves....it's called TEPID people, enjoy/taste your goddamn drinks like normal people.
Speaking of tepid (below temperature) any of you who put sleeves on their tepid drinks need to go and sit by themselves for a while. Actually, I take that back. Go sit with the straw drinkers and the decaf bitches and may god save your souls. That is just fucking ridiculous....
So anyway, it's like 1,000 degrees out now and we have been overloaded with frappuccinos. Frappuccinos are cold drinks...blended in a blender and topped with whipped cream. Frappuccinos ARE NOT fucking drinks meant for sleeves. But believe it or not, a nice amount of people put sleeves on their icy drinks. Last time I checked an icy beverage did not burn your hand. Did the law of physics change or do these people just try and look stupid.
What was that? OH DUH! They keep the condensation off you pretty little manicured hands. Well then, excuse me. You use all the sleeves you want to avoid getting your hands wet and when we die of global warming you tell mother earth how sleeves changed your life.
PLUS...fucking 7/11 or plaid pantry doesn't offer sleeves for their slurpees...are you going to go ask the night shift man if he can please get you a sleeve as to avoid a moist hand? No. I didn't think so. And soft drinks have the little droplets on the outside of their drinks too!...how fucking stupid would taco bell look if they offered a coosy for your beverage?
Right. Well that's what sleeves on frappuccinos look like. Stupid, unnecessary and wasteful.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
The "Usuals"
About 50% of the people we get in the shop are regulars, i.e. they come in every single day and get a coffee...usually the same thing because they are more than likely frightened of change. It's kind of an expensive area so people spend around $40-$75 a week. Ha! You laugh. You think I am kidding? Seriously, I'm not. There are people dying around the world and I swear to God people spend an upwards of $50 a week on coffee.
That being said, most of the regulars are nice, upbeat, interesting and friendly. They're the ones that not only get it...they also get the drinks made as a priority with special little foam animals on top (thank you Nate). We treat them good, damnit!
However, believe it or not. Their are a few 'regulars' who actually have the audacity to treat us like shit. Funny, we serve them their drug every day and they act like it was their god given right for us to have somehow felt their presence before they even got there and have their drinks ready by the time they got to the counter.
OR, what pisses me off even more is when they roll their eyes while standing in line! Seriously...like God is supposed to come down, part the crowd and allow them a clear fucking path....get a life. And then they get all impatient on us, ignore us when we ask how they are and continuously ask if "this is their drink."
However, recently a rather pompous regular royally pissed me off...(not a good idea, remember, I can give you decaf)
"Hi, Venti coffee today?"
Stands there, apparently he didn't hear me. "Uhh, I get the same thing every day!" He actually throws his hands out from dramatic effect. Did the asshole not just hear what I said? Or was he too busy with pulling the stick out of his ass to hear me? Now you see where I get the idea that I was obviously supposed to have his coffee ready by the time he got to the counter.
"Actually I just asked you if you'd like a Venti coffee" And if you'd actually listen to me instead of assuming I am some lower form of life that breeds off fungus and worms, then you'd realize that. Ass. Yeah, you heard me.
I get his coffee and he just kind of looks as me, like "Well, I DO." What he didn't realize is that I DON'T CARE!
That being said, most of the regulars are nice, upbeat, interesting and friendly. They're the ones that not only get it...they also get the drinks made as a priority with special little foam animals on top (thank you Nate). We treat them good, damnit!
However, believe it or not. Their are a few 'regulars' who actually have the audacity to treat us like shit. Funny, we serve them their drug every day and they act like it was their god given right for us to have somehow felt their presence before they even got there and have their drinks ready by the time they got to the counter.
OR, what pisses me off even more is when they roll their eyes while standing in line! Seriously...like God is supposed to come down, part the crowd and allow them a clear fucking path....get a life. And then they get all impatient on us, ignore us when we ask how they are and continuously ask if "this is their drink."
However, recently a rather pompous regular royally pissed me off...(not a good idea, remember, I can give you decaf)
"Hi, Venti coffee today?"
Stands there, apparently he didn't hear me. "Uhh, I get the same thing every day!" He actually throws his hands out from dramatic effect. Did the asshole not just hear what I said? Or was he too busy with pulling the stick out of his ass to hear me? Now you see where I get the idea that I was obviously supposed to have his coffee ready by the time he got to the counter.
"Actually I just asked you if you'd like a Venti coffee" And if you'd actually listen to me instead of assuming I am some lower form of life that breeds off fungus and worms, then you'd realize that. Ass. Yeah, you heard me.
I get his coffee and he just kind of looks as me, like "Well, I DO." What he didn't realize is that I DON'T CARE!
Thursday, May 24, 2007
My upcoming absence...OK, only like 3 days...
Hi All,
I realize only like, 6 people read this (you guys fuckin rock!) but I wanted to inform all 6 of you that I will be camping this weekend and therefore unable to have any new posts about annoying and strange customers I enocunter. I know, I know, i have not got the hang of posting everyday (it's hard!) but i am trying! But, instead, I will be drinking beer and doing stupid things myself....But I hope you all have a good holiday weekend!!
Oh, and as the sunny season comes upon us, just a tip: To all of those who wear their sunglasses inside the shops...fucking take them off! You're inside and you are being annoying. You are no Bono or Jack Nicholson. Besides, you look like a goddamn idiot. Props to Ryan for that one...
Peace out Ya'll!
-L
I realize only like, 6 people read this (you guys fuckin rock!) but I wanted to inform all 6 of you that I will be camping this weekend and therefore unable to have any new posts about annoying and strange customers I enocunter. I know, I know, i have not got the hang of posting everyday (it's hard!) but i am trying! But, instead, I will be drinking beer and doing stupid things myself....But I hope you all have a good holiday weekend!!
Oh, and as the sunny season comes upon us, just a tip: To all of those who wear their sunglasses inside the shops...fucking take them off! You're inside and you are being annoying. You are no Bono or Jack Nicholson. Besides, you look like a goddamn idiot. Props to Ryan for that one...
Peace out Ya'll!
-L
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Obsessive Straw Drinkers
So I thought that drinking lattes, mocha's or any other hot beverage with straws was reserved for soccer moms. Well, apparently it's not. Is it not common sense to sip hot beverages as opposed to gulping them down through a straw? Did I miss a memo? Is this something the trendy-s are doing, or what? I mean, the fucking wrapper even says "Do Not Consumer With Hot Beverages"! And yet, people continue to do it!
I generalize it with 'people' as opposed to just 'soccer moms' or 'women' because yes, men do it too. Grown, adult men. Men with a wife and children at home. Yes my friends, we see more than the occasional man drinking their Non fat, no whip, white chocolate mocha's out of straws...and for the life of me I just cannot get my head round' this! Is the hole on the cup not slit specifically for sipping? And besides that minor point, do these freaks not realize what fucking idiots they look like?
At first I had accepted that this was a typical pastime of 'soccer moms'....I mean, how else were they going to drive like maniacs in their SUV's if they didn't have to struggle putting their straws in their mouths? But men? Full grown men? Men in suits and ties to say the least. Aren't they embarrassed someone might see? I mean, let's say a business deal is pending...the fucker is down the drain if the potential partner sees his potential business deal/man drinking his mocha out of a straw! I mean, really.
The other day though, I had a customer that defied all expectations that I had of the obsessive straw drinkers. He was about 60ish, tall, in slacks and a dress shirt.
He orders a Venti mocha (non-fat, no whip)...I make it and hand it out to him.
He proceeds to take the smaller of the two straws we offer (we keep the big ones behind the bar) and measures it next to his mocha. He ponders the height and then decides this straw just won't work. All the while, I am observing him with quiet disbelief. What the fuck is this otherwise nice man doing?
"Can I have a bigger straw?" I am trying my hardest to not laugh and wipe the look of astonishment off of my face. I hand him a big straw and anxiously watch his next move.
He measures this one...just in case. God forbid it be too big...because then we'd have a real problem on our hands. I can imagine him measuring the big straw and erupting in anger that we don't have any medium straws to suit his needs. "What the fuck kind of place is this? Only two sizes of straws?!?"
But he didn't. He smiled, said thank you and left. Hence why I can't be too hard on the guy. I mean, someone must tell these people. They seriously have no idea...It's like walking around with a "Kick Me" sign on your back, all the while smiling and and gulping your way through life.
But hey, at least it wasn't decaf....
I generalize it with 'people' as opposed to just 'soccer moms' or 'women' because yes, men do it too. Grown, adult men. Men with a wife and children at home. Yes my friends, we see more than the occasional man drinking their Non fat, no whip, white chocolate mocha's out of straws...and for the life of me I just cannot get my head round' this! Is the hole on the cup not slit specifically for sipping? And besides that minor point, do these freaks not realize what fucking idiots they look like?
At first I had accepted that this was a typical pastime of 'soccer moms'....I mean, how else were they going to drive like maniacs in their SUV's if they didn't have to struggle putting their straws in their mouths? But men? Full grown men? Men in suits and ties to say the least. Aren't they embarrassed someone might see? I mean, let's say a business deal is pending...the fucker is down the drain if the potential partner sees his potential business deal/man drinking his mocha out of a straw! I mean, really.
The other day though, I had a customer that defied all expectations that I had of the obsessive straw drinkers. He was about 60ish, tall, in slacks and a dress shirt.
He orders a Venti mocha (non-fat, no whip)...I make it and hand it out to him.
He proceeds to take the smaller of the two straws we offer (we keep the big ones behind the bar) and measures it next to his mocha. He ponders the height and then decides this straw just won't work. All the while, I am observing him with quiet disbelief. What the fuck is this otherwise nice man doing?
"Can I have a bigger straw?" I am trying my hardest to not laugh and wipe the look of astonishment off of my face. I hand him a big straw and anxiously watch his next move.
He measures this one...just in case. God forbid it be too big...because then we'd have a real problem on our hands. I can imagine him measuring the big straw and erupting in anger that we don't have any medium straws to suit his needs. "What the fuck kind of place is this? Only two sizes of straws?!?"
But he didn't. He smiled, said thank you and left. Hence why I can't be too hard on the guy. I mean, someone must tell these people. They seriously have no idea...It's like walking around with a "Kick Me" sign on your back, all the while smiling and and gulping your way through life.
But hey, at least it wasn't decaf....
Sunday, May 20, 2007
Sundays...
Sundays are always the strangest of days. Number one - I don't think anyone should have to work on Sundays. This doesn't boil down to religion, but mostly the idea that we should be hanging out, taking walks and/or nursing our hangovers. (Hey, I may sound a little up front, but this girls got heart!)
Anyway, Sundays at this *cough* one place I work, are a day for some of the most stuck up people to come out. A lot of the "churchies" as I like to refer to them...You know, the ones that pray and lift their hands and upon leaving God's parking lot, flip each other off for cutting one another off (come on, you SO know the ones...) So yeah, we get a lot of those.
Sundays are super busy now that the weather is nice. (Hence why we can't all be at home talking naps and walks....people need their coffee damnit!) This little farmers market is in the parking lot next door so we get all the perfect little families, buying perfect little lattes, walking their perfect little dog, over to the perfect little market, to buy perfect little fresh cut flowers, to put in their perfect little windows. A bad latte would be the end of the world on their perfect little days. So Sundays take a lot of extra effort.
Today was an especially drowning Sunday. You'd think as adults, people wouldn't be so fucking needy. I mean come on! I have like a billion drinks in line and you want me to top yours off with foam? Bugger off.
Oh and what about the ones that feel the need to sneakily cut in line? Yeah, you. Usually the "churchies" (apparently God ignores these little discrepancies) You think we didn't see you? Well, we did and unfortunately we can't say anything, damnit! But I will do my best to get your ass to the back of the line where it belongs...either by ignoring you or putting your drink behind those who were supposed to be in front of you.
And yes, I realize the half and half is out, I also realize the world might end while you wait...but it will just be a minute regardless of how many times you ask....
Oohh, and I love these:
"Is that my americano?" I hate this more than anything...
"No, this is not your americano" you just fucking ordered and their are at least 15 drinks in line ahead of you.
Two drinks go by..."Is that mine?" Your kidding me...
"Nope, yours is still all the way back there."
And then there's....
"Tall chai tea latte!"
Woman takes it and starts to drink it. "Ummm, this doesn't taste right."
"Right. Well what was it you ordered?" Let me guess, the vanilla latte that I am finishing off right now?
"A tall vanilla latte" Your fucking kidding me. I just called out a tall chai...are you trying to fuck up my flow? Honestly. "Well, that doesn't taste right because it's NOT YOURS."
"Oh well, I thought it was." She seriously looks at me like it's my fault. Somehow I had managed to morph my voice into making a tall vanilla latte sounding like a fucking tall chai.
Anyway, Sundays at this *cough* one place I work, are a day for some of the most stuck up people to come out. A lot of the "churchies" as I like to refer to them...You know, the ones that pray and lift their hands and upon leaving God's parking lot, flip each other off for cutting one another off (come on, you SO know the ones...) So yeah, we get a lot of those.
Sundays are super busy now that the weather is nice. (Hence why we can't all be at home talking naps and walks....people need their coffee damnit!) This little farmers market is in the parking lot next door so we get all the perfect little families, buying perfect little lattes, walking their perfect little dog, over to the perfect little market, to buy perfect little fresh cut flowers, to put in their perfect little windows. A bad latte would be the end of the world on their perfect little days. So Sundays take a lot of extra effort.
Today was an especially drowning Sunday. You'd think as adults, people wouldn't be so fucking needy. I mean come on! I have like a billion drinks in line and you want me to top yours off with foam? Bugger off.
Oh and what about the ones that feel the need to sneakily cut in line? Yeah, you. Usually the "churchies" (apparently God ignores these little discrepancies) You think we didn't see you? Well, we did and unfortunately we can't say anything, damnit! But I will do my best to get your ass to the back of the line where it belongs...either by ignoring you or putting your drink behind those who were supposed to be in front of you.
And yes, I realize the half and half is out, I also realize the world might end while you wait...but it will just be a minute regardless of how many times you ask....
Oohh, and I love these:
"Is that my americano?" I hate this more than anything...
"No, this is not your americano" you just fucking ordered and their are at least 15 drinks in line ahead of you.
Two drinks go by..."Is that mine?" Your kidding me...
"Nope, yours is still all the way back there."
And then there's....
"Tall chai tea latte!"
Woman takes it and starts to drink it. "Ummm, this doesn't taste right."
"Right. Well what was it you ordered?" Let me guess, the vanilla latte that I am finishing off right now?
"A tall vanilla latte" Your fucking kidding me. I just called out a tall chai...are you trying to fuck up my flow? Honestly. "Well, that doesn't taste right because it's NOT YOURS."
"Oh well, I thought it was." She seriously looks at me like it's my fault. Somehow I had managed to morph my voice into making a tall vanilla latte sounding like a fucking tall chai.
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Are you sure that's Decaf?
I have issues with decaf. As I am sure you already realized, I have issues with many things, but decaf and the customers that order it is among the top of the most annoying issues.One man in particular really pushes me buttons on this issues. But first, I must explain where this absolute anguish in regards to decaf anything stems from.
It's fucking coffee. It's a drug and a damn good one at that. Must you ruin coffee more than adding bleached sugar, watered down cow puss you like burnt to 185 degrees, 2 equals, 1 sweet and low and no foam? Where the hell do you get your buzz from?
Frankly, decaf is for pussies. What was that? Oh yes. I understand that there are many reasons as to why some might prefer it, readers included. But seriously, life threatening? Come on, number one...don't drink fucking coffee if it's that bad. Number two, make your own fucking decaf if it IS that bad. We are humans, goddammit. And it's likely that my dumb ass will fuck up your coffee at least once and give you regular. I don't need you fucking kneeling over on the floor grabbing your heart, let alone a slapping a fucking lawsuit or guilt trip on me.
Alright, so you understand now my frustration with decaf? Small, yes. But nonetheless annoying as hell.
So this man comes in every afternoon....you think I'd know his name by now but the dickhead pisses me off too much to ask.
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" Simple enough...
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" I repeat in the standard starbucks way.
"Yes, decaf." The decaf is always emphasised. Like I fucking missed it the first time. Did you not hear me call it back to you? I got it. Decaf.
"I got that. Decaf" I begin to make the drink.
Shots pooring...."That's decaf right?"
"Yes, it's decaf"
"Good, because i really can't have regular. My heart...it just can't handle it." Umm...Hi fatty, perhaps your fucking heart could handle caffine if you did fill up on fucking fatty ass sausage breakfast sandwhiches every morning. Think we don't notice? Wrong.
"Well fuck." I think....I'm worried now. I throw it out and make a new one, which is positively decaf.
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" I hand the drink to him on the bar.
"Decaf, right?" Oh so you didn't just see the anxiety attack I nearly had in fear that I might kill you. Fuck off, wanker! You come in here one more time and you are most certainly tempting fate. You want to mess with me and my power to give you fucking regular coffee....cause I just might. And then I will withhold my smirk as I call 911 while you are one the floor holding you heart. IT'S FUCKING DECAF!
It's fucking coffee. It's a drug and a damn good one at that. Must you ruin coffee more than adding bleached sugar, watered down cow puss you like burnt to 185 degrees, 2 equals, 1 sweet and low and no foam? Where the hell do you get your buzz from?
Frankly, decaf is for pussies. What was that? Oh yes. I understand that there are many reasons as to why some might prefer it, readers included. But seriously, life threatening? Come on, number one...don't drink fucking coffee if it's that bad. Number two, make your own fucking decaf if it IS that bad. We are humans, goddammit. And it's likely that my dumb ass will fuck up your coffee at least once and give you regular. I don't need you fucking kneeling over on the floor grabbing your heart, let alone a slapping a fucking lawsuit or guilt trip on me.
Alright, so you understand now my frustration with decaf? Small, yes. But nonetheless annoying as hell.
So this man comes in every afternoon....you think I'd know his name by now but the dickhead pisses me off too much to ask.
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" Simple enough...
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" I repeat in the standard starbucks way.
"Yes, decaf." The decaf is always emphasised. Like I fucking missed it the first time. Did you not hear me call it back to you? I got it. Decaf.
"I got that. Decaf" I begin to make the drink.
Shots pooring...."That's decaf right?"
"Yes, it's decaf"
"Good, because i really can't have regular. My heart...it just can't handle it." Umm...Hi fatty, perhaps your fucking heart could handle caffine if you did fill up on fucking fatty ass sausage breakfast sandwhiches every morning. Think we don't notice? Wrong.
"Well fuck." I think....I'm worried now. I throw it out and make a new one, which is positively decaf.
"Iced decaf grande carmel macchiato" I hand the drink to him on the bar.
"Decaf, right?" Oh so you didn't just see the anxiety attack I nearly had in fear that I might kill you. Fuck off, wanker! You come in here one more time and you are most certainly tempting fate. You want to mess with me and my power to give you fucking regular coffee....cause I just might. And then I will withhold my smirk as I call 911 while you are one the floor holding you heart. IT'S FUCKING DECAF!
Sunday, May 13, 2007
My Issues with Pocket Change...
I have always thought that along with curing aids, helping the poor and addressing global warming, alleviating change would top the list as an issue that would greatly decrease suffering, frustration and annoyances.
I fucking hate change. Seriously, there is nothing I hate more than some dickhead giving me $3.05 for his coffee that cost $2.55, just so he can get two quarters back! I mean, for crying out loud! It's all fucking money! It will all fall to the bottom of your fucking bag, the pockets of your tight ass pants or the bottom of you're washer. Jesus Christ. I mean if I have to sit behind the counter and watch some idiot fiddle in his shorts for a fucking quarter when his wallet is over flowing with $1's...SERIOUSLY!
Oh, and the dickheads that really push my buttons by doing this didn't get the memo: you FUCKING tip when someone makes you a fancy little drink that goes along with your fancy little life. It's a fucking nickel...the fucking jar is right in front of your face...and my smile is big goddamnit. TIP ME THE FUCKING NICKEL...it's the principle more anything...
And for some odd reason the US government decided to fuck around with me and my complete hatred with change by playing a little game....
"How can we fuck with Lyndsey?" they say, "we're a bit bored and she's not nearly annoyed enough...might as well give her something to bitch about...
Some overly eager intern raises his sweaty little palm..."Ohh, I know, let's put each state on a quarter, make them of limited availability and of special releases" oh that is so fucking clever..."that way we can fuck around with them and have a laugh for at least a year" seriously, if you know the little shit that came up with the genius idea, I want his name and address...
So now, not only do I have to watch in agony as some asshole digs for change, I also must wait further for them to to check to see if they have that quarter already...Jesus, I mean really.
Oh, but yes, it gets much, much better. Remember those special customers that feel the need to keep the pennies and nickels as to defy the simple act of tipping a barista? Well those are the same ones who we catch shuffling through our precious tip jar looking for their special fucking quarters!
"uhhh, can I help you with something?"
Looking at me meekly "oh I saw a Washington quarter in your jar and I don't yet have that one" oh right, so you thought it completely appropriate to steal from the poor so your thirteen grandkids can all have a nifty collection of quarters that they won't give two shits about.
"oh right...well if you'd kindly remove your hand from my tip jar I'd be just delighted to get you all the quarters you'd like" Get out. Seriously. Leave, take your fucking quarters and leave or else I might have an anxiety attack.
"Oh well I haven't seen any of these ones before."
"Right. Well, there you are"
I fucking hate change. Seriously, there is nothing I hate more than some dickhead giving me $3.05 for his coffee that cost $2.55, just so he can get two quarters back! I mean, for crying out loud! It's all fucking money! It will all fall to the bottom of your fucking bag, the pockets of your tight ass pants or the bottom of you're washer. Jesus Christ. I mean if I have to sit behind the counter and watch some idiot fiddle in his shorts for a fucking quarter when his wallet is over flowing with $1's...SERIOUSLY!
Oh, and the dickheads that really push my buttons by doing this didn't get the memo: you FUCKING tip when someone makes you a fancy little drink that goes along with your fancy little life. It's a fucking nickel...the fucking jar is right in front of your face...and my smile is big goddamnit. TIP ME THE FUCKING NICKEL...it's the principle more anything...
And for some odd reason the US government decided to fuck around with me and my complete hatred with change by playing a little game....
"How can we fuck with Lyndsey?" they say, "we're a bit bored and she's not nearly annoyed enough...might as well give her something to bitch about...
Some overly eager intern raises his sweaty little palm..."Ohh, I know, let's put each state on a quarter, make them of limited availability and of special releases" oh that is so fucking clever..."that way we can fuck around with them and have a laugh for at least a year" seriously, if you know the little shit that came up with the genius idea, I want his name and address...
So now, not only do I have to watch in agony as some asshole digs for change, I also must wait further for them to to check to see if they have that quarter already...Jesus, I mean really.
Oh, but yes, it gets much, much better. Remember those special customers that feel the need to keep the pennies and nickels as to defy the simple act of tipping a barista? Well those are the same ones who we catch shuffling through our precious tip jar looking for their special fucking quarters!
"uhhh, can I help you with something?"
Looking at me meekly "oh I saw a Washington quarter in your jar and I don't yet have that one" oh right, so you thought it completely appropriate to steal from the poor so your thirteen grandkids can all have a nifty collection of quarters that they won't give two shits about.
"oh right...well if you'd kindly remove your hand from my tip jar I'd be just delighted to get you all the quarters you'd like" Get out. Seriously. Leave, take your fucking quarters and leave or else I might have an anxiety attack.
"Oh well I haven't seen any of these ones before."
"Right. Well, there you are"
Thursday, May 10, 2007
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.
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.
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