Everyone Should Speak Vodka

, , , , | Working | September 15, 2017

(We’ve been out of a product all day, and I inform my coworker over the headset that I have just finished making some more.)

Coworker: “You said we’ve got cold brew again?”

Me: “Si.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Taco.”

Me: “Oui.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Croissant.”

Me: “Da.”

Coworker: “I don’t speak Vodka.”

Me: “Get out.”

You Wanna Get Hazelnuts? Then Let’s Get Hazel-Nuts!

, , , , , | Friendly | September 14, 2017

(I’ve had a horribly rough day at work and want one of my favorite drinks, a butterbeer blended ice drink, similar to a frappuccino, from my regular coffee shop. It’s a rarely-purchased item, because it takes a lot of extra syrup shots and costs close to $8, but I figure the day I’ve had is worth the cost.)

Me: *to barista* “Can I get a butterbeer frappe, please?”

Customer: *behind me* “Oooh, what’s that?”

Me: “It’s five shots of hazelnut, four of vanilla, and two of caramel; then you top it with whip cream and caramel sauce. You can do the coffee blend or the vanilla blend; it tastes good either way. But it’s expensive!”

Customer: “Is it on their secret list?”

Me: “No, but a friend of mine who works here made the drink up, and we’ve always come here when we need one.”

(I sit down to wait for my drink, which comes out at the same time as the one for the other customer I’d been talking to earlier. However, when I grab for my drink, I realize it doesn’t have my name on it and start to look around for the other cup.)

Me: “Hey, [Barista], I thought you said mine was ready?”

Barista: “It is… wait, d*** it. I made a point to set that other girl’s drink to the side for her, because she was eyeing yours. She grabbed your cup, didn’t she? D*** it. I’ll make yours up again, sorry.” *glares at the other customer, who is looking smug*

Me: *approaching the customer’s table* “You have my drink.”

Customer: *smiles as she puts her straw in the drink and sips from it* “I don’t think so. I think I got the right one, and yours is on the counter still.” *when she sets it down, I notice my name on it and all the markings which clearly indicates she grabbed the wrong one*

Me: “Your name is [My Name]?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Then you got the wrong drink. Maybe you should give it back and get the drink you actually ordered, instead of stealing other people’s drinks.”

Customer: “Oh my God, get over yourself. Just buy yourself another drink.”

(When she raises her drink again, I make a point to smack it so drops out of her hand and falls on the floor.)

Me: “Oops. Seems like you don’t get that drink, either. Yours might still be on the counter, though.”

(She screamed at me for knocking the drink out of her hand, but I was already in such a rage that I walked out without grabbing my drink. My friend called me later about the incident and said that the customer had been kicked out when she threw both her drink and my replacement drink at the barista. I got a card for five free butterbeer frappes from the owner of the place when I called her to apologize for my actions. She said she’d have done the same thing. I did get stuck with mopping the floors as a way of making up for my actions, though.)

Unfiltered Story #93693

, , , | Unfiltered | September 13, 2017

*Me and my roommate are in North Carolina on vacation. We stop in a local town for coffee. There is no Starbucks, but there is a small coffee shop that we go to instead*

Employee: What can I get you today?

Me: Just a black coffee, thanks.

Employee: *looking at roommate* And for you?

Roommate: *looking at phone* A vanilla frappuccino.

Employee: Excuse me?

Roommate: *still looking at phone* A vanilla frappuccino

Me: (Roomate), this isn’t Starbucks.

Roommate: *looks up, realizing that we are, in fact, not in Starbucks* Oh! I’m so sorry! I’m so used to Starbucks! Can I have a black coffee?

Employee: *smiling* Sure thing!

*(Roommate) apologized again when we got our coffee. Next time, look around!*

Having A Grande Old Time

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2017

Me: “Thank you for choosing your local [coffee shop]. What can I get started for you?”

Customer: *yelling* A grande vanilla latte!”

Me: “Okay, a grande van—”

Customer: *angrily* “I’m not done! I want that absolutely no foam, and with whipped cream!”

Me: “All righty, a gran—”

Customer: “I am not done! It has to have three honeys in it, with cinnamon and nutmeg!”

Me: “Would you like that sprinkled on top, or steamed into the milk?”

Customer: “On top! Steamed in is disgusting!”

Me: “You got it. A grande vanilla latte, with three honeys—”

Customer: *condescendingly* “I said, NO FOAM!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am repeating your entire drink order back to you to ensure that it is correct, and I was not finished. You have ordered a grande vanilla latte, with three honeys, no foam, with whipped cream, and cinnamon and nutmeg on top. Is that correct?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “Perfect. Is there anything else I can get you?”

Customer: “A venti peach citrus infusion with no ice!”

Me: “Did you want—”

Customer: “Make sure there’s no ice! I’m not drinking it now!”

Me: “Did you want that sweet, or unsweet?”

Customer: “Sweet! It’s not worth drinking if it isn’t!”

Me: “Absolutely. Is there anything else I can get for you tonight?”

Customer: “No!”

Me: “Fantastic, we’ll see you at the window with your total.”

Customer: “Repeat my drinks again!” *haughtily* “I don’t think you got them right!”

Me: “It’ll be [total], around the corner!”

(She keeps demanding her drinks repeated, but my baristas and I ignore her. Finally, she pulls up to the window.)

Customer: “You need to remake my drinks! You wouldn’t repeat them, and you have them wrong!”

Me: “I have a grande vanilla latte, three honeys, absolutely no foam, with whip, cinnamon and nutmeg sprinkled on top, and a venti peach citrus infusion, sweetened, but with no ice, because you aren’t drinking it now. Are these the correct drinks?”

Customer: “That’s what I ordered, isn’t it?”

Me: “Then it will be [total].”

(She grumbles, pays, and receives her drinks.)

Customer: “This can’t be mine! There are no stickers!”

Me: “I made them as you ordered them, ma’am, before the stickers were printed. I hope you enjoy your drinks, and have a lovely evening.”

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager! You have been rude, and you made my drinks wrong!”

Me: *smiling sweetly, as my patience has finally paid off* “Ma’am, I AM the manager.”

(She goes completely white, and speeds away. Five minutes later, I get handed the phone by one of my baristas.)

Me: “This is [Name], how may I help you?”

Familiar Voice: “You’re the manager?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Customer: “You have a horrific barista in your drive through, claiming to be you! She was so rude! She kept interrupting, and she made my drinks wrong, and I want a refund and an apology!”

Me: “Did you have the grande vanilla latte, with three honeys, absolutely no foam, with whipped cream, cinnamon and nutmeg on top, with a venti peach citrus, sweetened, with no ice, because you aren’t drinking it now?”

Customer: *somehow still oblivious* “Yes! So, she told you about me! I want her fired for gossiping about customers!”

Me: “Actually, ma’am, that was me in the drive through, and I am the one who made your drinks to your exact specifications.”

Customer: “I asked for the manager, not the rude b**** in the drive through!”

Me: “Ma’am, that ‘rude b****’ is still me, and I am still the manager. Given that you have now escalated to verbal abuse, I will be putting in a report to corporate, and I am terminating this call.”

Customer: *starts screaming unintelligibly*

Me: *click*

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ISIS = Insipid Sucrose Insurgent Sect

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2017

(I am one of many baristas working for a major name coffee brand that’s known throughout the world. Being located in the state where said brand was founded, we expect to see a lot of interesting things when folk come for their much needed java. That said, I don’t think we expected for two police officers to come in one day and ask for my manager to come to the counter. I’m manning the register next to him as the following takes place.)

Officer #1: “Yeah, um… okay, we’re still not sure how to take this, but we got a 911 call from someone at this location stating that the store was a terrorist cell working to murder its patrons.”

Manager: “Really?… wow… that’s… I don’t know what to say about that. I mean, you know us [Officer #1]. You come by pretty regularly on your patrol to get coffee from us.”

Officer #1: “I know; that’s why I’m letting you know, just in case this gets escalated further. We’re pretty sure it’s a prank but… well… I mean, it’s safe to say that this was the last thing we expected dispatch to ask us to check out.”

Officer #2: “Don’t worry, we’ll report that we’ve checked you out and all seems as it should be.”

(The two officers make to leave.)

Random Customer: “Wait! Where are you going?”

(We all turn to see a tiny old lady [who I served a little while ago] staring at us with a mix of fear and anger.)

Officer #1: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, can we help you with something?”

Lady: “I called you in here to stop these d*** terrorists from killing these poor, God-fearing Americans! Aren’t you going to do something?!”

Officer #1: “I’m sorry, ma’am, are you saying you’re the one who placed the call to 911?”

(The lady storms up and grabs the container of artificial sweetener on our condiments bar.)

Lady: “Look at this! Do you know what’s in these? Aspartame! Sucralose! Neotame! Chemical death in every packet! These people are terrorists, aiming to kill everyone who comes in here!”

(There is a pause as the sudden screaming causes the other customers to stop talking and see what’s going on. The lady starts pointing at random people.)

Lady: “You! You! YOU! You all put this in your coffee! You’ve let these heathens poison you! Every single one of these is death in a packet! You’re all going to die before the day is gone! This isn’t a coffee shop! It’s a d*** morgue!”

Officer #1: “Okay… well… now that we better understand what’s going on, perhaps you’d like to accompany us to our squad car, ma’am? We can put you in touch with the people who can help you further.”

Lady: “Yes! Get me the FBI! Get me the NSA! Every single one of these d*** coffee bars has these! Poisoning and killing Americans everywhere! They’re turning our country into a giant graveyard!”

Officer #1: “Yes, well, again, can you please accompany us outside?”

(The lady clings to our container of sweeteners.)

Lady: “I need this! Evidence of terrorism! Murder!”

(The officers look to us.)

Manager: “Uh… sure. Go ahead.”

Lady: “Yeah, I know who you are! You and your whole terrorist sect are finished! This will not go unanswered! All these packets! How many have you killed already?!”

(The officers finally get the lady out of the shop [with our sweeteners] and into the squad car. Officer #1 comes back in.)

Officer #1: “Okay, I am so sorry about that. We had no idea that was a serious call. We’ll make sure she doesn’t come back here again.”

Manager: “That’s fine just… wow…”

Me: “Yeah… well… it gets better.”

Officer #1: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I served her. She put four of those packets of death in her coffee!”

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