I am by no means a coffee snob or purist. I just like it light and sweet, while most of the coffee shops around me — both chain and individual — seem to start their roasts at “twice-burnt dirt” and go darker from there with no amount of milk or sugar saving it. I just get my favored light roast and make it at the office and pour in my own excessive amount of milk and sugar, as the only place I drink it is at work.

This particular day is different; it’s inventory day, which means we have to show up two hours early and get thrown right into the mix, with no time to sit down and make a cup. Good news: a new place has opened up just a couple of blocks from home on the road to work. Better news: the menu is in plain English, explaining what the different mocha-cappa-frappa things mean for plebs like me!

Bad news: they have eight different blends that all have different flavor notes and suggested foods to go with but nothing about how light or dark or strong or smooth they are. I resign myself to asking questions and being “that guy” as little as possible.

Me: “Hi, it’s my first time in here, so I apologize for this order.”

Barista: “Um, okay? Is there a problem?”

Me: “Nothing with you, I’m just in here an hour and a half before my alarm would go off, I’m sleep-deprived, I’ve got a headache, and I have no idea about the finer points of coffee. I’d like the biggest cup of whichever is your lightest roast, with extra cream and extra sugar, please.”

Barista: “Oof, that kind of day already?”

Me: “Once a year, yep.”

Barista: “Okay, well, you’ve described our breakfast blend. Do you like caramel or chocolate?

Me: “I like either, or both, but I’m on a bit of a budget; I’m not looking for any extra frills.”

Barista: “Okay.”

She takes a bit of extra time to get my simple cup together, and just as I’m about to ask about it, I hear the whipped cream going off.

Me: “Um, excuse me. I said nothing extra!”

Barista: “Don’t worry; whipped cream’s free!”

Well, that’s good to know. Then, she sets it down, and I notice the dark and light brown squiggles over the top and insides of the cup.

Me: “Okay, I know for a fact that the syrups aren’t free.”

Barista:“Technically, no, but it’s your first time here, you sound like you need it, and the boss says we each get one ‘good customer’ bonus per shift.”

Me: “Oh, my God, thank you, and thank the boss for me, too!”

Barista: *Laughing* “You just did!”

And that is how a good boss who covered the early shift during the grand-opening week ended up with a fairly regular customer until they had to shut down during the later waves of the health crisis — hopefully just temporarily!

My wife and I stop at a local coffee shop and order two coffees and two sandwiches. The barista brings us our coffees, and a moment later, the cook comes from the back and brings my wife her sandwich.

Cook: *To me* “Do you want a fresh pastry or anything?”

Me: “I’m all set, thanks.”

Ten minutes go by, and I realize she asked me about pastries because she probably didn’t realize I had a sandwich coming, too.

Me: *Politely, to the barista* “Is it possible that my sandwich has been forgotten?”

She goes into the back and I hear the cook yelling something like:

Cook: “I asked him if he wanted a sandwich, and he said he didn’t want anything!”

Then, she comes out and approaches us.

Cook: “What sandwich do you want?”

Me: “[Sandwich], please.”

Cook: “You should have told me earlier that you wanted one, too!”

Me: “You asked about pastries, and I thought you were trying to sell me one of those along with the sandwich I had coming.”

Cook: “You still should’ve mentioned it! The system is glitchy sometimes.”

She leaves, and a couple of minutes later, she comes out again.

Cook: *To my wife, rudely* “You need to give your sandwich back as it’s no longer fresh.”

I hear her in the back loudly telling a coworker how she’s so sick of difficult customers. It is so awkward to stand in the front and wait while listening to it.

Then, I hear her say to the barista:

Cook: “The sandwiches are done. Make sure to ask if they need anything else!”

She said those last two words in a loud, snarky tone. I could tell the barista was really uncomfortable as she came out and handed us our food.

I really wish I had said something, but we just left without saying anything. I’m not sure why it was such a big deal. I believe that we were nothing but pleasant. I might’ve seemed annoyed when she came back out to ask about my sandwich, but I wasn’t difficult or anything.

My wife tried to excuse the cook for maybe just having a bad day, but they had just opened like a half-hour prior. We try to support local places, and this was the only local coffee shop in the area at the time, but we won’t ever go back.

I was picking my coworker up for CPR and AED training in my hometown. I arrived early with the express purpose of being able to sit down at [Fast Food Place] and eat a full breakfast and relax before picking him up. It turned out that the local [Fast Food Place] hadn’t updated their hours (a constant problem for the location) and was closed.

I briefly wondered why so many people were at [Coffee Chain], especially since the design of their drive-thru clogs the parking lot and can end up gridlocking itself due to some form of brain damage the company had when designing it. After a quick drive around the small town, I, too, ended up at the coffee shop; all the other restaurants, which hosted twenty-four-hour locations in most places, were also closed.

When I got back to [Coffee Chain], I discovered that the drive-thru issue had only gotten far worse, so I parked at a nearby drug store, walked across to [Coffee Chain], and tried the door. To my delight, the location was actually allowing indoor seating at 5:00 am. I bought tea and some very overpriced breakfast items and sat down.

One episode of “Peaky Blinders” later, a woman burst into the location, screaming so loudly I could hear her through my headphones.

Customer: “WHAT THE F*** IS THIS?!”

I craned my neck to look. She had a small specialty drink with fruits and such floating around in it.

The manager wasted no time gliding into place with a smile that read, “It’s too early for this.”

Manager: “Ma’am?”

The customer threw the drink on the counter. Somehow, it landed on its side but popped back up onto the base, throwing the lid off but not spilling a drop.

Customer: “I SAID, ‘WHAT THE F*** IS THIS?!’”

Manager: “This is a Grande—”

Customer: “Bulls***! F*** you! I did not wait for a half-hour and pay five f****** dollars for something this small!”

The manager gestured to the cup sizes on the register.

Manager: “I would be happy to remake the drink in a larger size and charge you the difference, ma’am.”

Customer: *No longer yelling* “I want the size I paid for.”

Manager: “This is the size you paid for; Grande is our sixteen-ounce serving size.”

Customer: “For five f****** dollars I want one of those!” *Points at my tea* “What the f*** is that?!”

The manager and I made eye contact, and I could hear her apologizing through her eyes.

Manager: “That is a Trenta — a thirty-ounce drink.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah? And how much is that?”

Manager: “That’s going to be in the ballpark of $7 for a spe—”

Customer: “BULLS***!”

Manager: “Well, I would be happy to refund you.”

Customer: “D*** right!”

She slapped her receipt on the counter.

The manager got the money from the register and issued the refund. The woman grabbed the cash and then very clearly tried to grab the drink, but the manager swiped it off the counter and dunked it into the sink.

The customer sputtered, pointing at the sink.

Manager: “I refunded you. You don’t get to keep the drink.”

Customer: “But—”

Manager: “Maybe if you had decided to approach the situation a little better instead of coming in here with the intention of yelling at my staff, but as it stands, I have nothing for you. Have a good rest of your day, ma’am.”

The manager turned and left. I made the mistake of laughing out loud at the conclusion of this spectacle. The woman at the counter whipped her head around and glared at me before storming out.

I laughed more.

I was selling muffins at my job, and this guy asked for our last cranberry muffin to be grilled and wrapped up to go. When I got it back from the kitchen, all grilled and buttery and awesome, he tried one bite of the corner and said:

Customer: “It’s too dry.”

I just kind of stood there for a second thinking, “Yeah… you had it grilled,” but trying to be a good worker, I said:

Me: “If you try the center, it’s still very moist.”

Customer: “Stop being rude and fix it.”

I did what seemed logical and hit it with the steamer. I know that’s not what you’re supposed to do, but it was the middle of the Sunday brunch rush and I was tired and stressed. He saw this, grabbed a piece of paper, crumpled it, and threw it at my head while yelling at me that I was incompetent and a slur for disabled people.

Me: *Politely* “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Customer: “You need to personally pay for my meal!”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little, at which point he called me a dumba**, grabbed the rest of his muffin, threw at the wall, and stormed out. I had a sip of my coffee and went back to work.

Customer: “I want an iced mocha! I want it extra cold!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. We’ll add extra ice for you.”

Customer: “Fine, but make it extra cold.”

She pays and we give her the drink. She takes one sip and immediately starts moaning.

Customer: “This drink isn’t cold enough!”

Me: “Ma’am, your drink is mostly ice. We can’t make it any colder.”

She is silently frustrated for a moment while she still tries to blame us.

Customer: “Well… then… this ice isn’t cold enough!”

She did not get her cryo-drink.

Related:
Their Demands Cut No Ice