I’m working on set as an assistant director on a TV series. Part of my job is to keep the cast happy, and that sometimes includes getting coffee for them. One episode has us spending days across from a coffee shop that I frequent many times during our time there. A few days in, one of the actors — who is playing a guest-star bad guy — asks to come with me and I shrug sure.

As we enter the tiny, independent establishment, two patrons sitting lazily at tables, I approach the woman behind the counter who’s served me often before and her face suddenly changes to shock and horror as she looks over my shoulder.

I turn to see that my actor has pulled his massive prop gun from under his coat.

Actor: “This is a holdup!”

I leap at him, pressing the gun to his rather large chest — I’m a woman and not even close to his size — and yell:

Me: “No, no, no! He’s with me! This is not a holdup!”

I push him to the door, the gun still to his chest, kind of pointing at one of the patrons. Everyone is standing now and I can’t get him out the door myself, but he gives up his “joke” and heads outside.

Me: “What is wrong with you? Get back to the prop department and give them your gun!”

The actor slinks off and I turn back to everyone still in the small shop.

Me: “I am so sorry. I had no idea he brought his gun.”

The barista knew that what happened wasn’t my fault and took my order. The two patrons calmed down pretty quickly as it was really obvious that we were filming shoot-outs across the road, and they went back to their drinks.

The actor and I never talked about the incident, but who in their right mind thinks that waving a huge gun around in public is a good idea?

Customer: “I’ll take the same thing I had last time!”

Me: “Uh… that was two weeks ago, but I think it was a mocha, right?”

Customer: “Yeah! A mocha with milk.”

Me: “Not a mocha latte, just a regular mocha with milk and whipped cream, right?”

Customer: “Yes.”

I make the beverage and the customer takes it and sits down with her party. A few moments later, she comes back after eating the whipped cream off the top.

Customer: “This doesn’t taste like it did last time. It tastes… I don’t know… different. Bitter, kind of.”

Me: *Concerned* “Oh, I’m so sorry! Did you get it with extra milk or sugar last time?”

Customer: “No… just usual. Maybe it’s the coffee; it might be burnt or something.”

Me: *Horrified* “Oh, my gosh, I hope not! This is a fresh pot! Let me remake it for you with more milk and we’ll see if it’s better.”

I remake the beverage entirely. The customer returns again, sans whipped cream.

Customer: “No, it still tastes the same. I dunno, it just tastes burnt or bitter or something.”

Me: “Okay, let me try making a new pot with an entirely different machine.”

I make the mocha a third time with totally different coffee, this time opening a brand-new container of milk and adding a little extra mocha powder, just in case. I do not put the whipped cream on top, however.

Customer: *sipping* “No, still tastes the same. I guess it’s just me. It’s okay, though, now I’m used to it!”

She left happily.

I am working the night shift at a milkshake cafe when a clearly drunk man walks in.

Drunk: “YO, LADY! I want to order!”

Me: “Welcome to [Café]. What can I get you?”

Drunk: “Three vanilla with no whipped cream, five chocolate with whipped cream, and put cherries on them!”

I do so and ring him up.

Drunk: “Where’s the discount?!”

Me: “What discount? We only have senior discounts, child discounts, and employee discounts.”

Drunk: “I’m going to get your a** fired! I’m the owner’s brother! You will be fired!”

This is a family-owned café and he is clearly lying. I look at my family, and we all wink and play along.

Dad: “I have a brother?”

Grandma: “Uh-oh!”

Grandpa: “Did you cheat on me? I can’t believe you!”

Grandma: “Honey, I’m sorry. He was so awesome!”

Drunk: “I… Err…”

Dad: “I’m moving in with Dad because he doesn’t cheat! I’m moving out of your sinned house!”

The drunk ran out of the café, never to be heard from again.

My mom, my brother, his girlfriend, and I are attending a free live music evening at our town square. Unfortunately, rain starts pouring down once the band we came to see starts playing. We hang on for a while, but then my mom and I decide to seek shelter; my brother and his girlfriend stay behind.

We head to one of the surrounding cafés where I used to be a regular. Once we head in, drenched from the rain, I see that the café is quite full. I happen to stand next to a waitress.

Me: “Any seats for two left?”

Waitress #1: *Shrugs* “Dunno. You’ll have to look.”

She sounds rather snappy, and she immediately disappears. I look around and find a seat. Normally, the service here is pretty quick, even when the place is packed. But twenty minutes go by and still we don’t get served.

We do see two waitresses, including the one I spoke to earlier, serving the tables next to us, asking if they need refills, and even hanging around a while to chat with those patrons — who all happen to be attractive guys.

One of the waitresses seems bored and seemingly looks for stuff to do, and she starts cleaning a table near us, all the while ignoring our attempts to flag her down. After the fourth time they go past our table, my mom finally stands up and goes to one of them, who is again chatting to the guy at the table next to us. Once she sees my mom approaching, she scurries away.

I see another patron stopping her and pointing out that my mom was trying to talk to her. She turns around to face my mom.

Waitress #2: *Sighs* “May I help you?”

Mom: “Well, it’s about time! We have been trying to flag you down for a while. We’d like to order, please.”

Waitress #2: “What do you want?”

Mom: “A water, please, and a cup of tea for my daughter.”

Waitress #2: *Rolls eyes* “What flavor does she want?”

They are standing about two tables over, but I can still hear what they are saying. Eventually, the waitress stomps over to our table, where she stands with her arms dangling in front of her.

Waitress #2: *Snarky* “What flavor tea do you want?” 

I tell her, just hoping to get my tea. She stomps off, and within a minute we get our drinks. Mom’s water is in a plastic cup. Once I go to take my first sip, I look outside and see that the rain has stopped, and in the distance, I hear the band playing my favourite song. 

Me: “Well, f****** great! Now it stops raining! Just when we finally get served.”

I’m super pissed at this point. I drink half my tea as quickly as I can without burning my throat and go to the bar to pay. Another waiter comes to give me the bill.

Me: “Excuse me. Do you happen to be the manager over here?”

Waiter: “I am.”

The waitresses are both standing behind him, leaning on the bar, doing virtually nothing. I explain the situation to the manager, pointing at the girls and explaining how rude they were and how they were ignoring us. His eyebrows raise in astonishment. 

Manager: “I’m glad you told me this. I’ll make sure these girls are talked to. What drinks did you have?”

Me: “A tea and a water.”

He voids the transaction on the register. 

Manager: “It’s on the house. You ladies have a nice evening.” 

We managed to get back to the front row again, where my brother and his girlfriend were saving our spot. The band was awesome for the rest of the gig, but those waitresses really ruined a big part of our evening.

I am the acting manager on the floor. My general manager will often come to work on the weekends so he can be aware of how all shifts are running. During these times, he allows whichever manager-on-duty is scheduled to continue to act as manager while he works as a team member, working whatever position he needs to and deferring to us for decisions. My manager has worked all shifts all days of the week and knows all the regulars by name.

This particular Saturday, I am acting manager-on-duty while my general manager works the front register. A lady came running in with one of our cups.

Customer: “I just came through the drive-thru and my latte has froth on it! I’m here all the time and you always get it wrong!”

Outside the fact that a latte always has foam on it unless a customer specifically asks for no foam, this is a woman I have never seen before and, by the look on his face, my manager hasn’t, either.

Manager: “Well, ma’am—”

He can’t get anything else in edgewise as the woman keeps ranting, so he finally just waits for her to finish. She ends with:

Customer: “I am a regular here and this is ridiculous! I personally know the manager and will see you all fired.”

I look at my manager curiously, waiting to see what he does. He sighs.

Manager: “Actually, ma’am, I am the general manager at this location, and I have never seen you before.”

At this, the lady became very red and left quickly. My manager, the other workers, and I all burst out laughing.

Moral of the story: if you are going to play the “I know the manager!” card, make sure you aren’t talking TO the manager!