Sweet, Creamy Karma

Years ago, I worked for a big Canadian coffee and donut shop, mostly working the evening shift. If you aren’t familiar with [Coffee Shop], the cream and sugar are dispensed by a machine that is calibrated to an amount determined by corporate. If you are used to ordering at other coffee and/or donut chains, the number of sugar and creams you order may need to change depending on how much you actually want.

One night, we had these three bikers drive in, and we could tell they had been on the road for a while. Their ringleader was your stereotypical biker: tall, wide shoulders, big beard, and covered in leather. His friends were shorter but otherwise still had the whole tough but tired look going on.

My coworker was in the back working on soup and sandwiches, but it was only three people and it had been a slow night. No worries. I just needed to get these tired boys some caffeine and wish them a good night.

Ringleader: “I want an extra large twelve and twelve.”

Me: “Are you sur—”

Ringleader: “Did I stutter?”

Me: “Okay, but that’s only—”

Friend #1: “Did he stutter?!”

No. No, he did not…

So, off I went to make him exactly what he’d asked for. I grabbed a cup, put it under the sugar dispenser, and pressed the times-three button four times — twelve extra-large shots of sugar. Then, I went over to the cream dispenser and did the same thing. Now, fun fact: the cream and sugars are measured to dispense a twelfth of the cup size you are selecting. So, by the time all twelve shots of creamer were dispensed, the cup was basically full.

I stirred the creamy sugar mixture around before I poured an itty bitty splash of coffee into his cup, just enough to bring it up to the safety line on the cup. I tried asking him if he wanted me to heat it up or anything, but I basically got the same exact runaround from him and his friend.

Obviously, the guy knew what he wanted and he didn’t need me to tell him what he was ordering. They grabbed the rest of their order and drove out into the night.

Now, you would think that was the end of the story. The big, angry biker man got his nasty sugar-cream drink and left me sitting there wondering if the rest of the world had been drinking their coffee wrong this entire time.

But no, I was lucky to be working the next afternoon when he came back in! Mr. Ringleader came back in all by himself the next day and shuffled up to the counter. I could tell he must have been embarrassed because his voice was a lot softer this time; he knew he’d f***ed up.

The glorious aftermath is that he apologized and confirmed that the drink had been utterly disgusting. It turned out that he was used to ordering from another coffee chain where they use way smaller measurements for their cream and sugar. Once I knew where he was used to ordering from, I made him the approximately same drink using our measurements (roughly a triple-triple) and sent him on his way.

I only wish I could have seen his face when he took that first sip.