They Want An Irish Americacappamoccachino

, , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

Customer: “Do you do fancy coffee?”

Me: “Umm, you mean like cappuccino and flat white?”

Customer: “Yeah, but the one with chocolate in it?”

Me: “Hot chocolate?”

Customer: “No! The one with chocolate and coffee.”

Me: “Oh, you want a moccachino?”

Customer: “Yes, but with caramel as well. What do you call that?”

Me: “Ah, a moccachino with caramel?”

Customer: “Yes I want one of those. Wait, I might want two. Hang on.”

(She then walks to the other side of our seating area to talk to her friend. I’m not too worried by this as it’s quiet anyway.)

Customer: “No, only one of those.”

Me: “Okay, your total is $4.50.”

Customer: “Do you do those special coffees like they do in America?”

Me: “An Americano?”

Customer: “Is that the one with alcohol in it?”

Me: “Oh, no, I think you mean an Irish coffee or a liqueur coffee.”

Customer: “No, not Irish coffee, just the ones with alcohol in them?”

Me: “You mean with [Brand Irish Whiskey], or [Brand of Creamy Liqueur] in them?”

Customer: “Yeah, those ones!”

Me: “Yeah, they’re called Irish coffee or liqueur coffee. Do you want one of them as well?”

Customer: “Oh, no. Have you done my coffee and chocolate thing yet?”

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The Best Stories Are Told At 3am

, , , , , , | Right | August 17, 2017

(I take a second job working the overnight shift at a 24-hour gas station and convenience store. It is my first time ever working third shift. Around three am, while preparing coffee and pastries for the morning rush, my mind starts to wander.)

Me: *thinking to myself* “I wonder what some of these customers stories are. Like, what’s going on in your life that you wander into a gas station at three am on a Tuesday morning? It would sure be interesting to get to know some of these people.”

(Then, just as I turn around and face the front of the store, a rusted out, windowless van pulls up to the gas pumps. What appears to be a little old lady climbs out and approaches the store. As this person gets closer, it becomes clear that this is no lady. This is a man, with full beard (in other words, not even trying to fool anyone) in a thrift store dress, sensible ladies shoes, white gloves, and your grandma’s purse draped over his arm.)

Me: “May I help you?”

Customer: *in the sweetest little old lady voice* “Just a coffee, regular, please.”

(He was very polite. I didn’t get the sense that this was some sort of prank or anything. Just seemed like that’s what he’s into. I’m not bigoted in any way and support all kinds of lifestyles, but remembering what I was thinking just before he walked in, I now thought “I REALLY want to know this dude’s story!”)

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That’s Not What They Mean By Edibles

, , , , , | Working | August 17, 2017

(I write profiles on various attractions for the west coast. Though new, I’ve received a few odd assignments, and with my general eccentric interests, I’m fairly hard to throw off-balance. One day, a profile request for a museum exhibit in San Diego comes to my email.)

Me: “Oh, gods, please tell me that someone misspelled ‘cannabis.’”

Coworker: “Why, what’s it say?”

Me: “Cannibals: Myth & Reality.”

Coworker: “What? Yeah, that has to be a typo.”

(I look at the brochure that came with the assignment.)

Me: “Nope. It says cannibals. I’m writing about a cannibalism exhibit. This was not what I was expecting when I applied here.”

(I write the profile and become very interested in the exhibit, to the point where I request to write an editorial article for our website. A few days later, I get a call from one of the people at the museum for an impromptu interview. He’s very helpful, explaining how the exhibit is meant to disprove many of the popular notions about cannibalism. He’s incredibly insightful, pointing out how most cases of were actually for medical purposes in western culture, or a desperate situation of life and death. However, since I am not on speakerphone, my coworkers can only hear my side of the conversation.)

Me: “That makes so much sense. So, it’s not just savages and psychopaths that indulge in cannibalism?”

Coworker: “That was not a sentence I expected to hear in this office.”

Boss: *sticking her head out of her office* “I’m sure there’s context for that, but I’m not sure I want to know it, [My Name]. I’m just glad I already had lunch.”

(Thankfully, the article ended up being very good, but after that I made sure to either let my coworkers know who I was interviewing ahead of time, or take the call in another office.)

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Crazy By Default

, , , , | Working | August 17, 2017

(I stopped in at an office supply store early one morning before work. I approach the checkout; I am one of the only customers there.)

Cashier: “Good morning! How are you this morning?”

Me: “Pretty good. You?”

Cashier: “Pretty crazy today, but otherwise okay.”

Me: “Crazy? It’s only 8:20 in the morning!”

Cashier: “True, but I’ve been crazy since I was born. I’m used to it.”

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Don’t Ever Let Them Put You In A Box

, , , | Working | August 16, 2017

(I made a Boxtroll costume for Halloween the year the movie came out. I cobbled two boxes together into a large box with a hole on top for my head to come through, tall enough to rest on my shoulders, and altered a skeleton mask to look like the characters that sits on top of my head. I also print out a Candy Brand label and stick it to the box, deciding that was my Boxtroll name. I have the day off, but I decide to drop in at the store to show it off. I sneak into the office, hear two of my managers talking in one room, and set my box in front of the room, blocking the narrow hallway. I duck inside the box, waiting for them to notice me before I show them my mask. They come out of the room, still talking… and inch their way around the edges of my box, going into another room, without a break in their conversation. I wait, a little dumbfounded, and a minute later one of them comes out of the room, carefully moving around the gigantic box in her way, again without a word. I pop my head up through the top, and she’s across the office with her back to me. I shuffle over to her.)

Me: “…Hello?”

Manager #1: *jumps and spins around* “[My Name]! Where did you come from?”

Me: “I was the giant box in the middle of the hallway…”

Manager #1: “Wait, what?”

Me: “How did you not think that was strange?!”

Manager #1: “Well, there are boxes in here all the time…”

Me: *nearly crying with laughter* “It says ‘[Candy Brand]’ on the box! We don’t even sell [Candy Brand]!”

Manager #2: *comes out of the room* “[My Name]! Where did you come from?”

(Clearly I am a very successful Boxtroll. I also have never, ever let those two forget that time they thought I was a box.)

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