Sunday, December 15, 2002
The audacity of some people never fails to astound me.
I am not a patient woman by nature, but I like to think that I at least make an attempt to treat everyone with politeness and respect. Working in a coffee shop for three years has improved my people-skills somewhat, especially in this area; it takes a lot of patience to remake someone's drink during a morning rush because he forgot to say "decaf" when he ordered. But even though I put up with this sort of thing all the time, and with a smile no less, there are some people that just make me want to throw their drink at them, and say something nasty. Not that I actually ever would throw someone's extra-hot latte at him, of course... heh heh. But sometimes, it's a tempting thought.
Today's flock of customers seemed to include an abnormally large percentage of imbeciles. First, early in the afternoon, Mr. $1.52-Regular came though the drive through. He doesn't seem to grasp the concept of ordering like a normal Starbucks customer, and saying "tall coffee"; instead, he finds it necessary to quote the price: "I want a $1.52 regular." He also doesn't seem to understand the mechanics of a drive-through menu. He just goes straight to the window and foregoes ordering through the speaker entirely. Now, all of this I could deal with, if it wasn't for his other comments. When asked whether or not he wanted cream or sugar, he replied, "What? Cream is for sissies!" This seemed like a joking remark at first, so I said back in mock-indignation, "Hey! I drink my coffee with cream."
"Yeah, but girls are allowed to be sissies," he said. "That's what y'all are supposed to be like."
I stared, smile frozen on my face. "Oh, I see how it is." I was no longer joking.
He nodded and grinned slyly. "Yeah, you know how it is."
I handed him his change and told him to have a nice day, despite having different sentiments.
Much later, toward the end of the night, I nicely asked another drive-through customer to wait a moment before I took their order. Of course, I can hear everything they say over the headset, so as I was finishing up another transaction, I heard them laughing over private jokes and deciding what they should order.
Then I heard them giggle inanely and honk loudly for no apparent reason other than to deafen me. I turned the volume down on the headset and asked for their order.
The man in the driver's seat put on a fake accent in an annoying falsetto voice. I had to ask him to repeat the order twice before I could understand what he was saying. When they pulled around to the window, I handed them their drinks, and the man said "thank you" very loudly and in the same voice. The woman next to him dissolved into a fit of laughter. I stood there and stared, holding their change in my hands, a forced and obviously irritated smile across my face.
"Oh, you've pissed her off," the woman said.
I calmly handed their change out the window. Contritely, the man thanked me in his normal voice. I relented, gave them a more genuine smile, and wished them a good evening. Then I turned away.
And the man put on his high-pitched voice again, and screamed incoherently at the top of his lungs through the drive-through window.
"Did that guy just yell at us?" my shift supervisor asked.
"Yes. Yes he did," I replied through gritted teeth.
But the height of annoyance came at 10:25, nearly thirty minutes after the store closed. The door had been left unlocked to allow some late-stayers to exit -- and of course, some other moron decided to come in. I don't know why no one reads the hours posted on the front door. But this man strolled in at 10:25, and asked if we were closed.
"Yes, we're closed," I said, expecting him to leave.
"Aw, do you think you could make me something? One of them peppermint mochas?"
"No, sir, we're closed."
"So you can't make me a peppermint mocha? You can't make me the holiday drink?"
"I've already wrapped and refridgerated our mocha," I explained.
"And you can't make me one drink?"
I sighed. "I have the mocha pump in the dishwasher and I have the mocha wrapped and refridgerated. I. Can't. Make. Anything."
He pondered this for a moment, and at last the light seemed to dawn on him. "Oh. OK then," he said resignedly, and lumbered out of the store. I told Jon to go lock the doors fast, because I wasn't about to deal with another customer like that.
Sigh. People can be such idiots.
| 1:54 AM |
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