I work in a family-owned coffee shop. It’s pretty good, the customers are (usually) nice, and the pay is mostly okay. I am still in school so it’s different than the other people who work here.

I’m working in the front with the owner since I’m still in the “training” phase of my job. The owner excuses himself to go to the back to prepare some biscuits. I hear the front doorbell ring. I don’t immediately recognize the guy, so it takes a moment for me to start greeting him. Then, I see he’s holding a leash in his other hand.

Me: “Oh, sir, you can’t—”

I’m about to say, “You can’t bring a dog in here,” because I’m worried about a dog peeing on the books and allergies and whatnot. Then, my mind registers that it isn’t just a large dog… but a human woman with a collar around her neck.

Immediately, my mind stalls. Everything just disappears.

Customer: “Good afternoon!”

My mind stalls for another second, before nervously regaining my composure.

Me: “Uh… Y-Yeah, um… Good afternoon, sir.”

Customer: “Can I get a chai latte to go? Also, no milk, please.”

Me: “S-Sure…”

Throughout the whole interaction, I’m looking at the woman on the leash. It feels like she’s glaring straight into my soul and it’s almost like she has a gleeful look at my confusion. I make the latte for them as quickly as I can. I still can’t keep my eyes off the woman.

Me: “Um. H-Here you go, sir. have a nice day.”

Customer: “Thanks!”

He turns to his companion.

Customer: “How’s this, girl?”

He doesn’t hand her the drink. Instead, he holds the cup to her lips and she sips it. That’s when I notice she has some sort of gloves on her hands, like a paw.

Internally, I’m just praying for the owner to come back and end this uncomfortable interaction. Did I forget to mention that the tables inside our shop have patrons at them? The three other people in the shop are staring.

Customer: “All right, let’s get going!”

He scratched around her ears. Finally, they both left. I was left standing at the counter, my mind still reeling.

Even now, it’s been a few days and I still can’t forget this interaction. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.

I am serving a very agitated middle-aged woman.

Customer: “You have to remake this! I can’t have dairy!”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry. It’s actually just apple juice and syrup. There is no dairy.”

Customer: “No, there’s foam on it. That means there’s dairy.”

Me: “That’s just what happens when you steam apple juice, but sure, no worries. I’ll remake it.”

Customer: “And no sprinkles. They have dairy.”

Me: “It’s cinnamon.”

Customer: “That has dairy.”

Me: “Nope.”

Customer: “Yes, it does!“

Me: *Pauses* “All right, so no cinnamon powder, no whip, no caramel drizzle.”

Customer: “What? No, caramel is fine.”

Me: “Caramel absolutely has dairy.”

Customer: “No, it doesn’t.”

Me: “Caramel is made with sugar and butter, often with condensed milk, too. You can find vegan options pretty easily, but ours is not dairy-free. Most caramels aren’t.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s fine. I can have butter. I just can’t have dairy.”

Me: “Caramel. Has. Dairy. Butter. Is. Dairy.”

Customer: “Fine! Just give me the caramel on the side.” *Long, awkward silence* “Just please don’t tell me that fudge has dairy!”

Oh, my God…

Me: “Ma’am. Yes, fudge has dairy in it, too.”

Customer: “NO! IT! DOESN’T!”

There is a great little coffee shop I regularly visit. I’ve ordered and have stood to the side to allow the woman behind me order and move away from the tills.

Rather than do as I did and make room, she moves the food trays and leans over the counter. Clearly, she and common sense have never been formally introduced.

As I was first, my order is made ready and they call the drinks out, but she tries to take it instead, spilling a lot of them as she clumsily drags the tray toward her.

Me: “That’s my order.”

Customer: *Tuts* “What?”

Me: “Those are my drinks.”

Customer: “Oh, well, I thought this was mine, because of the hot chocolate.”

Me: “You thought that child’s drink was your hot chocolate, when it’s clearly chocolate milk? The fact that there are four drinks on there and you ordered two didn’t give you a clue?”

Customer: “Well, how was I supposed to know?”

Me: “Just give me my drinks.”

She clatters the rest back down, further spilling them.

Me: *To the worker* “Sorry, could you top these up, please? She spilt my drinks.”

She agrees and cleans the mess while the woman pretends to be oblivious.

Customer: “When will my drinks be ready? I’ve been waiting a very long time.”

Worker: “As you can see miss, we still fixing this gentleman’s order. I’m afraid you will have to wait.”

This annoys her more. She makes some comment under her breath, and my order is now ready. But the woman has moved back in front of the trays, desperately peering for her order, past the safety screen.

Me: “Excuse me.”

Customer: “Looks like you will be the one waiting now!”

Me: *Loudly* “Please can you move so I can get my order?!”

She didn’t; she pretended not to hear me. It was ridiculous as she was acting like a child.

It took one of the staff threatening to get the manager before she would move. We sat down and finally got to have our drinks. We got the full view of the woman spilling her own drinks and trying to get them remade, only to be refused and storm out.

I have a very Irish name that’s tough to spell, so I normally accept that “Mave” or “Maeve” will be written on my coffee orders, and honestly, that’s fine.

I order a coffee in the UK using my thick Irish accent.

Barista: “And the name?”

Me: “M is fine.”

Another customer behind me speaks up, definitely not Irish.

Customer: “You shouldn’t do that! It’s their job to get your name right; it’s not your job to make it easier for them.”

Me: “First of all… wow. Second, if you can spell my name right the first time, I’ll buy you your coffee.”

Customer: *All smiles* “Easy! What’s your name?”

I say the proper pronunciation of my name, and the customer looks all smug.

Customer: “M-A-E-V-E.”

Me: *Producing a student ID card* “Wrong. It’s M-E-A-D-H-B-H.”

The customer is staring at “Meadhbh” in disbelief. He then looks up at me and then at the barista smiling, and then he just slowly saunters out of the coffee shop.

Barista: “Wow.”

Me: “It’s okay. All those consonants. He didn’t have a chance!”

I have a very friendly regular who comes in super early every morning. They always order the same thing, and we always have a little talk.

Regular: “I just took one of those DNA test thingies.”

Me: “Oh, wow! Me, too!”

Regular: “It’s really cool.”

Me: “Yeah, the ancestry mix is amazing. My family is from so many places.”

Regular: “Yeah, but the family tree function is the best part. I found cousins and relatives I didn’t even know I had.”

Me: “Really? That’s on there?”

Regular: “Yes! You have to opt in. Want me to show you?”

Me: “Yes, please!”

Since it’s so early and quiet, the regular takes my phone and activates the “Relatives” section of the ancestry app. Straightaway, it highlights some distant cousins.

Me: “That’s so cool!”

The regular’s phone dings with a notification.

Regular: “Oh, would you look at that? I’ve got new relative matches, too!”

We both look at our phones for a moment to take in the new information, and then we both realize something. We look up at each other, shocked but smiling.

Me: “Your great-grandma was Nanna Beth from Brooklyn?”

Regular: “Hello, cousin!”

She’s no longer “just” my favorite regular now!

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