Tales from a coffee shop, part 1 of many
Today was my last day at work for the summer, which was lovely. Well, in theory it was lovely as I now get an amazing two weeks of holiday before those universities attempt to educate me further. Good luck to them with that.

Anyway, as it was my last day, I thought I would try and be in a good mood all day, be super-friendly to all the customers, and have a really great last day.

The general retards public however seemed to have a different plan.

I made a couple of mistakes in the morning, but nothing that I didn't notice before actually giving the lovely people their drinks. It all started getting strange around lunch time.

I made a drink, and my boss took it over to the correct customer. All seems fine.

I then continued making drinks, my boss taking each of them out until they are all done, at which point I took the last drinks out myself, as I had nothing more to do for a few minutes.

Or so I thought.

While I was walking back towards the coffee machine behind the counter, a lady at a table called me over. This lady was probably in her sixties, and had no drink, and she was sitting with an African woman who was probably in her forties, who had a cappuccino that I had made.

"Ah," thought I, "an order has been lost while we were busy, and this nice old lady has not received her drink. If this is the case, I shall rectify the situation immediately."

It was not the case.

Old woman: "My friend's drink isn't correct."
Me: "What is wrong with it?"
OW: "It's not a cappuccino."

Now at this point I must have had a very confused look on my face. I had made a cappuccino. I had given a cappuccino to my boss to take over. I was now staring at a cappuccino sitting on the table in front of this old woman's friend.

I decide to be diplomatic.

Me: "Actually, that is a cappuccino there."
OW: "No, it isn't. My friend says it isn't."
Me: "Well what is the problem with it then?"
African Woman: "Is not cappuccino."

Right. Great. You know that episode of Family Guy where the police are hunting for Stewie after he murders someone or something, and they speak to Superman's maid? Well this was like speaking to that maid. Oo, a link here.

About 5 minutes of back and forth then follow, with me being told that it isn't a cappuccino, it isn't what she ordered, it is more like a hot chocolate, and that she drinks cappuccinos all the time, therefore must be correct.

At this point, I nearly lose my temper for the first time since starting work there, which is a while ago. I am within a nano-meter of telling her that for every cappuccino she drinks, I probably make 30 or 40. And they don't get sent back*.

Having refrained from that, I decide instead to tell her that I can make her another one, but I can promise that it will be exactly the same as the one that is sitting in front of her with her spoon in it, but she will then have to wait for it. No matter how many she asks for, they will all be like that.

Every.
Single.
One.

Silence.

She seems almost confused, and once again I am told that what is sitting in front of her is not a cappuccino.

By this point, it's getting a bit repetitive for my liking, so I decide to finish this.

Me: "So what would you like me to do then, now you know your options?"
AW: "I'll have tea."
OW: "She wants a pot of tea now."

I know. I am closer to her than you are. Twat.

Me: "Ok, I'll just get that for you."

I went back, and got her a pot of tea. I took it to her. I smiled, and was polite, and gave her back the difference in price, and even used my lovely fake smile.

Did I get a thank you? Like hell I did.

So I walked off, through the bookshop behind our coffeeshop, punched a metal doorframe, and then returned to the floor.


What working there has taught me is that I hate the general public, or at least 98% of them.


*Not that I'm being stuck up, it's just true. I'm really that awesome.

Well, that turned into a bit of an epic. Sorry. If you made it through all that, well done. If it resulted in death by boredom, I really don't care.
(PenguinOfDeath is Scottish, and most likely angry, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:03, 4 replies)

I know what you mean.
I used to work as a barista as well.
It's truly hell on earth.
What's really fun is getting the people who think they're being fancy and ordering some complicated coffee drink.
I had someone try and order an iced cappuccino, which is impossible, seeing as how a cappuccino is espresso (can be made iced), milk (can be made iced), and hot foam (not so much).
However, the customer insisted it was not only possible, but that she ordered it all the time.
Riiiight.
(Betsy Braddock Thee before thine, except after thou., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:12, closed)

Impressive
The next tale I plan to post is also from today, and features someone ordering something we didn't make, then complaining when I made it exactly as she wanted.

I punched something after that one too.
(PenguinOfDeath is Scottish, and most likely angry, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:13, closed)

The gas station crappuccinos!
When I was a barista, not a day would go by without someone asking for 'One'a them capamachinas like at the Quick-e-Mart' or a caramacchifrappacrema candy bar in a cup Charbucks brand name drink.

Does this look like a convenience store? No? Does my apron read 'Quick-e-Mart' or 'Charbucks'? No? Can you read the description of the drink on the menu? Also no, alas, but the point remains the same: You want a convenience store crappuccino, go to a convenience store. You want coffee, go to a coffee shop.

Unless it's Charbucks, of course, upon whom I wish suffering for making me explain the concept of a true macchiato over and over again while the customer nods and then complains because it's 'different than at Charbucks!'.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 0:54, closed)

People
are very touchy about what makes a cappuccino.

I prefer not to care because it is a shit drink.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Fri 5 Sep 2008, 11:48, closed)