Please, No Morey!

| London, England, UK | Working | April 5, 2016

(I have just finished ordering a drink. Everything goes smoothly until the barista asks me my name.)

Barista: “What’s your name?”

Me: “Murray.”

Barista: “Okay, Mary.”

Me: “No, Murray.”

Barista: “Miri?”

Me: *very loud and clear* “No, it’s Murray.”

Barista: “Maury?”

Me: *frustrated* “No… just write Muriel.”

Barista: “Okay, Mural.”

Me: “It’s Muriel.”

Barista: “Okay, wait over there.”

Me: “Thank you.”

(I was relieved when I thought the barista figured out my name but that feeling didn’t last. I picked up my drink and noticed that the barista had written “Merry Al” on my cup.)

Can’t Fight The Empire Without Coffee

| Mon Cala | Right | April 2, 2016

(I am working at a coffee shop, serving a stream of customers. I serve a Mon Calamari, who is looking our seasonal specials.)

Customer: “What’s a Janeway special?”

Me: “It’s a special cross-promotion we’re doing with another franchise. It’s essentially just coffee, black.”

Customer: “I’ll take it then.”

Me: “Coming right up!”

(I prepare his coffee, but in his eagerness the customer goes ahead and reaches for another customer’s order.)

Me: “No, sir, that’s—”

(Too late, he takes a sip. The Mon Calamari’s huge eyes go even wider than normal as he gives me a look of horror and betrayal.)

Customer: “It’s a frap!”

Don’t Mocha Good Sense Of Humor

| Ogden, UT, USA | Working | March 30, 2016

(I am a frequent customer at this coffee shop, so most of the baristas know me by my order. I go through the drive-thru this time, since it’s a hot summer day, and I have my dog in the car with me.)

Barista: “Welcome to [Coffee Shop]. What can I get started for you?”

Me: “A large iced white mocha with hazelnut, please.”

Barista: “Sounds great! I’ll get going on that and have your total at the window!”

(I pull up to the window, and wait for a bit. This shop isn’t known for being fast, but since I’m not in a hurry, I don’t mind. The window opens suddenly. I look up, but there’s no one at the window. Slowly, I see a drink start rising up from behind the counter. The drink slides onto the counter and stops. Then a straw comes flying through the window, and lands on the top of my car. I’m laughing so hard at this point, I can hardly breathe.)

Barista: *slowly rises up from behind the counter, giggling* “That will be [price].”

Me: *laughing as I hand her my card* “That just made my whole day!”

Barista: “I thought you might like it! Have a great day!”

Her Bark Is Worse Than Her Dog’s Bite

| ON, Canada | Right | March 26, 2016

(I work in a coffee shop, and it is against the rules to bring pets into the store. A young woman comes inside, yelling into a phone. A two-year-old child is with her. A few minutes later she brings her dog inside, too.)

Customer: *yelling into phone* “I don’t f****** care! Get me a f****** ride!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am, you need to take your dog outside.”

Customer: “F*** off, I’ll take him outside soon.”

(The customer then proceeds to continue yelling into the phone.)

Coworker: “Ma’am, you need to take your dog outside right now.”

Customer: “I said f*** off; I’ll take him outside in a second!”

(The customer proceeds to scream into the phone, looking back at my coworker every couple of seconds to scream at her, too.)

Coworker: “Ma’am, if you refuse to speak to me politely and don’t take your dog outside, we will call the pol—”

Customer: “CALL THE F****** POLICE, THEN!”

(We call the police, who find her camped out in our drive-thru, still screaming into her phone. The last we see of her, she’s being taken away by the cops, with her child in a separate cruiser.)

Me: “Do you want to know the scariest part of all that?”

Coworker: “What?”

Me: “During the entirety of that whole exchange, that kid didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t cry or anything.”

Coworker: “That is terrifying.”

(You can tell that child was used to her mother’s tantrums.)

1 Thumbs

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 3

, | NC, USA | Working | March 22, 2016

(There is a coffee shop on campus, and I often go for tea to keep me awake in class. Since most of the staff are students, there seems to be somebody new every couple weeks. I order a large iced soy chai, but when it’s called the drink is barely off-white. I take a sip, and there is just the faintest hint of tea.)

Me: “Uh, excuse me, but I don’t think you put enough chai in this. It’s usually a lot darker.”

Barista: “Oh, that’s the soy milk. It’s white, so the drink turns out white, too.”

Me: “How much chai did you put in this? I always get it with soy but it’s never been anywhere close to this light.”

Barista: “I just learned this one, and the instructions say to put one pump in the cup, and that is what I did!”

Me: “It’s a twenty-ounce drink. One pump may be enough for a small, but—”

(She snatches the drink off the counter, tips about an inch down the sink, and adds just a little more chai concentrate.)

Barista: *very condescending* “There, sweetie, I added an extra pump just for you. Y’all have a blessed day now, you hear?”

(In the American South, with that particular tone of voice, this is about as polite as you can ask someone to go f*** themselves without swearing, but still make sure they know what you’re thinking. If she wasn’t already making me late for class, I would’ve asked for a manager. My drink continued not to taste very much like chai, but I never saw her again anywhere on campus.)

If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again, Part 2
If At First You Don’t Succeed, Chai Again

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