I Give Three-Eighths Of A F*** About Your Concerns

I used to be a barista at a popular coffee chain. We had a woman who would come in every morning and order, I kid you not, a double-tall vanilla latte with three-eighths of a pump of vanilla. Not half of a pump. Three-eighths of a pump. She even made one of the baristas mark our bottle pump with a Sharpie. This lady was universally disliked by employees and customers alike.

Every single day, the first cup we would make for this woman, no matter who made it, was always wrong; it was either too sweet or not sweet enough. So, after a while, I began to just pretend to make another drink. I’d pull the steam wand and wave my hands about like a fool behind the machine. I would hand her back the same drink we made her the first time, and it was ALWAYS perfect the second time, even though it was the same drink.

On my last day of work, this woman decided to come in twice that day. She was being overly obnoxious and talking on her cell phone about “deals” and “her assistant” and essentially just announcing her importance to everyone in the room.

It was 3:00 in the afternoon, in the spring, and the place was filled with teenagers ordering frappuccinos. I had both blenders going and both steam wands going when this woman decided to yell at me.

Customer: “GOD, I CAN BARELY HEAR MYSELF THINK!”

Me: “Funny, I can still hear you complaining.”

If you knew me, you’d know I had the perfect facial expressions to go with it; I looked like a snarky little s***. I told her that I’d been handing her back the same drink every morning for over a year, too. I said, verbatim:

Me: “It’s kind of embarrassing now that you know, right? Three-eighths is half a pump for all intents and purposes here, ma’am.”

She LOST IT.

She demanded that my manager fire me on the spot or she’d call corporate and we’d lose her business, blah, blah, blah.

I HATED my manager. He was the opposite of a “spirit of the rules/law” kind of person and really enjoyed making our lives more difficult than they needed to be. I knew that firing me would actually reflect quite negatively on his quarterly reviews, and I knew he wouldn’t do it.

My manager came out to talk to the woman.

Manager: “Ma’am, it’s [My Name]’s last day. The best I can do is send her home early, which would be a reward rather than a punishment since we’re so busy.”

I think my manager also offered her a gift card, but she was still upset. She proceeded to spend the next two hours on hold with corporate outside. Then, when corporate either accidentally hung up on her or told her to shove it, she threw her glasses, called me a “little b****” in front of a ton of kids, and ran to her car.