I work in a coffee shop, and though I’ve worked retail-type jobs since I turned 15, coffee shop customers are truly the worst. I’m not sure if it’s just that the latte has become the obvious yuppie accoutrement, that the neighborhood is rapidly gentrifying and rich types are moving in and turning tenements into condos, or that the overlap between “subhuman, abusive assholes” and “people who buy $5 coffee drinks” is simply enormous. The long and short of it is that our customers think that we, the employees, are their personal punching bags, spittoons, and bedpans, and I’m motherfucking sick of it.
Fortunately, I have absolutely no qualms about exacting swift and immediate revenge when I go to make their drinks. When you treat me (or my coworkers) like garbage at the register, you forget that we have complete control over what does or doesn’t go into your drink. I’m not talking about doing anything harmful or illegal like spitting or sticking my pee-pee into the drinks; that would be absurd. But don’t think I won’t make you the worst cappuccino of your life if you’re a dickhead!
If you think that the fact that some people have to work in service positions gives you the right to shit on them, read up and keep this OP in mind the next time you go to order that latte.
Here goes!
Offense: Though I stood with my hand outstretched, you put your money on the counter.
Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you that you’d do something like this? I can’t think of anything more aggressively and unprovokedly rude to do in a situation where you’re a customer. I stood there with my outstretched hand, hoping to make things easier and hasten the transcation. You put - or more often toss - your money on the counter top instead of in my hand. Why would you do something like this? Do you think that I’m some sort of peasant, and you’re King Shit of Fuck Mountain, and I should have to crawl and grovel around on the counter to pick up the money that you deigned to throw at me?
Revenge - Oh, you ordered that latte decaf? I slipped four shorts of espresso in there instead. Oopsie! Good luck falling asleep sometime this year, jackass!
Offense - You were condescending, dismissive, or otherwise talked down to me when you ordered.
I’m not a child. I’m not your child. I am not retarded - in fact, I have two bachelor’s degrees. Now that I think of it, all twelve of our employees have at least a bachelor’s degree, and three of them are working toward PhD’s! Why do you insist on talking to us like we’re a bunch of G.E.D.-assed delinquent baby mommas? You probably speak to your maid, nanny, mexican gardener, the guy at the lexus dealership, your accountant, and the people you’ve made a career out of shitting on at your office in the same dismissive, superior, condescending tone. Like you’re talking to an errant child. Like you’re so fucking superior that you can only dream of communicating the vast, cosmic mystery of your luxury drink order to such a lowly cro-magnon like myself.
Revenge - You made it extra clear, using that scolding teacher tone, that you’re lactose intolerant and insisted that I make your beverage with soy instead of a dairy product. No problem! I’ll just substitute the dairy bomb that is half-and-half for in your extra-large drink. Don’t worry - I’ll splash just a little soy in there to trick your tastebuds into thinking that nothing’s amiss. Hope you didn’t plan on going anywhere today!
Offense - You allow, or even encourage your kids to run wild in the store, making life miserable for everybody.
Look, I understand that you have a tough life as a yuppie housewife; as soon as Chet made partner (the youngest in the history of his firm!), it was time to buy a condo and start shitting out those kids. After a long, hard morning of watching Passions and…well, honestly, I have no idea what it is that people that don’t have to work for a living do, so anything else would just be conjecture - you decide to bring little Skylar and Pashleigh down to the coffee shop and let them run batshit motherfucking insane through our store. The other day, you actually stood Skylar on the fucking counter while ordering your drink - are you insane!?!? The kid’s at least four - it’s not the same as sitting a baby on the counter for a second! He kicked over the fucking tip jar! What in God’s name is wrong with you? You let them run screaming and shrieking through the store, terrorizing the rest of our customers, pulling fragile merchandise off of our shelves, spilling their drinks on the floor (thanks for not only not attempting to clean it up yourself, but not even letting us know!), and otherwise being hellions. Of course you’ll leave your table destroyed with spilled drinks, paper trash, empty cups (there’s a fucking trashcan FOUR FEET AWAY!), and maybe even a diaper (if we’re lucky)!
Revenge - Look, honey, I know that you’re trying to work off the last of the pregnancy weight from having Pashleigh - that explains the double-wide “jogging stroller” that you blocked our door with, and why you made it extra clear that you wanted your Vanilla Latte made with fat-free skim milk and sugar-free vanilla syrup. Whoops - I made it with heavy whipping cream and four extra pumps of regular vanilla “on accident!” Oh, and I know that you ordered little Pashleigh’s hot chocolate “not too hot,” but let’s just say that one of us will understand why she’s crying and pointing at her mouth in about twenty seconds!
Offense - You yakked on your cellphone the entire time you were at the register.
Jesus, you’re the punchline of every “man, people can be real dicks with their cellphones!” joke, and it’s not enough to get you to hang the fuck up long enough to order your drink? If I gabbed on the phone the entire time I was ringing you up and making your drink, you’d throw a shit fit and want to see the manager. Why do you think it’s ok for you to do the same? This is the 21st century equivalent of - Oh, God, I don’t even know!!! This is extra infuriating if you’re wearing a robotic douche ear device, which I’ve already covered in the past.
Revenge - How about a cellular latte - that is, the single-celled organisms that came off of my finger when it accidentally went into the milk that went into your drink? By the way, I had just come back from cleaning our restroom, and haven’t had a chance to wash my hands yet. OOPS!
Offense - You’re just plain un-fucking-pleasant.
Look, my basic weltanschauung is like those billboards in Brazil - “Happiness; we’re all in this together.” By which I mean, JESUS CHRIST, BE FUCKING DECENT TO OTHER PEOPLE INSTEAD OF BEING A SCOWLING, HATEFUL, UNPLEASANT WITCH MONSTER. Goddamn, you ordered your drink like you’re ordering it from the man who raped and murdered your mother, not from smiling, friendly, eager me, who so chipperly offered, “How can I help you?” with a beaming grin! Why would you spit and hiss your order at me like a snake? What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve heard the adage about vinegar and honey, right? Do you really expect to go through life with gigantic pyschic middle fingers permanently extended? Do you really think that’s a good way to live? Do you think you’ll get far with that approach?
Revenge - Fuck you, I’m on my break.
By the way, I’m just joking about Pashleigh. I’d never punish a kid for the sins of her parent.
