Our espresso machine requires maintenance and we have done everything in our power to alert customers to our inability to provide hot coffee drinks; we’ve posted several brightly-colored signs on the one and only entrance to the shop.

A man holds the door open for a loud female customer, complete with attached cell phone accessory. Her call must be very important as she is talking so loudly we all know the results of her last lady doctor appointment.

As she approaches the counter I attempt to deliver the bad news in as polite a fashion as I am able.

Me: “Welcome to [Coffee Shop]! I just wanted to make you aware that our espresso machine is undergoing maintenance and—”

She shoves her finger in my face, index finger up in a classic “Shut Up!” gesture. I swallow my anger and continue to wait for her to fish her credit card out of her purse while still yakking away on the phone.

Once she locates it, she pulls the phone far enough away from her face to bark two words before going back to her call.

Customer: “Non-fat latte.”

She throws the credit card on the counter.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but as I was saying, our espresso machine is down and I cannot make any hot drinks or any espresso drinks.”

She ignores me completely and continues her conversation until long enough has passed that she believes her drink should be done, at which point she storms up to the counter.

Customer: “Where’s my drink? You’ve had more than long enough to finish a simple latte. What are you, stupid?”

Me: “I tried to explain to you that our espresso machine was down when you entered the store, but you were so engrossed in your conversation that you must not have heard me.”

Customer: “Well, most competent employees would put a sign up so people don’t waste half their lunch break waiting for a drink that you weren’t even making.”

Me: “Actually, if you’ll direct your attention to the door, you’ll notice that there was not only one sign, but several, explaining the situation.”

I’ve had many unpleasant encounters with customers over the years, but I think this response takes the prize for the most entitled comment I’ve ever heard because, rather than apologize for being on her phone or even acknowledging her part in the kerfuffle, she doubles down.

Customer: “Well, if that man hadn’t opened a door I was clearly capable of opening myself, maybe I would have seen the sign.”

Me: “So, let me see if I understand you correctly. You’re upset that someone opened a door for you because they were trying to be polite?”

Customer: “Exactly! I certainly hope you’ll do something about it the next time he comes in here; that kind of thing is not acceptable!”

Me: “Oh, you can rest assured that I will make sure that man gets what’s coming to him.”

The next time he came in, I paid for his drink; I think he got what he deserved.

Related:
My, Aren’t We Feeling Entitled Today?, Part 2
My, Aren’t We Feeling Entitled Today?

I go into an independent coffee shop, grab a bag of espresso beans from a display, and take them to the counter.

Me: “Hi. Can I get these beans ground for espresso, please?”

Barista: “Sure. What machine do you have?”

Me: “Umm… an espresso machine.”

Barista: “Okay, but which one?”

I have never been asked that. They usually just choose the espresso setting on the grinder and whir away.

Me: “I… don’t know. I bought it second-hand; there was no box. I never looked that closely at the brand.”

Barista: “Well, I can’t grind it if I don’t know the machine. Can I get you a drink or something?”

I pull my phone out and look up “espresso machine,” showing her the first result.

Barista: “Oh, an espresso machine. Not, like a Keurig or something.”

Me: “Yeah. An espresso machine.”

Barista: “So many people get their coffee ground by us and then want to return it when it doesn’t work in their Keurig or whatever.”

She turned and ground my coffee for me. I’ve taken a photo of my machine and keep it ready in my phone if I ever encounter the request to prove I have an espresso machine again, but it hasn’t come up since.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Coffee Shop] in [Mall]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, where do I cash out my lottery tickets?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Yeah, I got lottery tickets. Where do I cash them out?”

Me: “Well… I suppose a gas station would do it.”

Customer: “Why won’t you?”

Me: “This is [Coffee Shop]. We don’t do lottery tickets.”

Customer: “But you’re customer service at [Grocery Store]! You have to do it!”

Me: “No, ma’am. This is [Coffee Shop] in [Mall].”

Customer: *Angrily* “Well, can you transfer me to [Grocery Store] in [Nearby City]?”

Me: “No, I can’t.”

Customer: “Why?!”

Me: “Because this is [Coffee Shop] in [Mall].”

Customer: *Click*

At the café where I work, we sell cookies that are made in-house. It is also important to note that the cafe is located in a very wealthy neighborhood. A woman, maybe in her late fifties, approaches the counter and just points at the cookies and smiles. I ask her if she wants them and she nods yes.

Me: “Okay, that will be 2,20€.”

The customer is still smiling while slowly pushing a fifty-cent piece across the counter.

Me: “Umm… it’s 2,20. I need a bit more.”

The customer adds a twenty-cent piece and slides that across the counter.

Me: “Okay, now we have seventy cents but the cookie is 2,20€.”

Customer: “Wait, how much does it cost?”

Me: “2,20€.”

Customer: “Seriously?”

Me: “Well, we do make them fresh in house.”

Customer: *Huffs* “I could make that at home!”

Even if she disagreed with the price, did she really think that a house-made cookie would only cost fifty cents?! Vending machine cookies cost more than that!

I have had three different jobs and I still have the uniforms for my other two, which were fast food. One of them was a coffee shop that is well-known but not too popular. I often wear the uniform shirt in public because I still love the place and don’t mind the free advertisement. I also have some pretty bad anger issues; I just feel angry for no reason at all kind of often, with a hair-thin trigger. This happens on my first ever trip to the much more popular coffee shop. I order and sit at a nearby table on my phone to wait.

Lady: “Get up!”

She is standing right in front of me, just staring. I look up at her.

Me: “What do you want?”

Lady: “That’s no way to talk to a customer! Get your a** up and make my coffee! I swear, lazy-a** millennials like you are ruining this country.”

Me: “I don’t work here.”

Lady: “Don’t lie. I’ve seen you here! And it says it on your shirt! I am a paying customer; you can’t—”

I stand up and slam my phone down on the table and stand toe-to-toe to her. She is maybe an inch shorter than me so it isn’t that intimidating, but she does back up a couple of steps.

Me: “Excuse me? I don’t f****** work here. You know d*** well I don’t, as this—” *gestures to the name of the coffee shop on my chest* “—is nowhere f****** close to this shop. You don’t need to be talking s*** like that to workers or random-a** people. Now piss off; my drink is ready.”

I went up and got my drink. I didn’t bother seeing what happened to the lady after I said that.

Related:
A Uniform Response, Part 4
A Uniform Response, Part 3
A Uniform Response, Part 2
A Uniform Response