(I stop in my favorite coffee shop for an afternoon snack. There are two people working, and no customers in line; it’s very quiet. I hold the door for a woman in her 60s who’s leaving as I enter. While I’m waiting for my coffee, she comes back.)

Customer: “Excuse me. Is this a latte?”

Worker #1: *who made her order* “No, that’s a misto.”

Customer: “I wanted a latte.”

Worker #2: *who took her order, comes over* “You’d asked for steamed milk and regular coffee, which is a misto.”

Customer: “No, I asked for a latte with regular coffee. I can’t have espresso.”

Worker #1: “A misto is just steamed milk with regular coffee.”

Customer: “I wanted a latte.”

Worker #2: “A latte is espresso with steamed milk; you asked for regular coffee with steamed milk, which is a misto.”

Customer: “No, I asked for a latte. I wanted a latte with regular coffee.”

Worker #1: “A latte has espresso. A misto is the same thing but with regular coffee, instead; it’s just a different name.”

Customer: “I wanted a latte with regular coffee instead of espresso. Can you remake this?”

Worker #1: *slight pause* “Of course.”

Customer: “Steamed milk, regular coffee. A latte with regular coffee. And it needs to be decaf! I can’t have espresso.”

(I assume she made the exact same drink again. I go to leave, trying not to laugh.)

Customer: “I guess there always has to be one difficult customer, doesn’t there?”

(In my junior year of college, I sign up for a history class that fills a requirement for two different majors, as well as a general graduation requirement, so it hits the limit of thirty-five students very quickly. On the first day of class, the room is packed; clearly, someone had to drag in extra desks to fit in the tiny basement space.)

Professor: “Oh, dear, there are quite a lot of you. Anyway, I want you to read this book for next week’s class.” *holds up a 200- to 300-page book*

Student: “Which chapters?”

Professor: “All of it.”

(Things continue in this vein for the first half of the semester: reading a good-sized book a week, writing several essays that meet the professor’s demanding standards, participating in detailed discussions throughout the entire two-hour class period… you get the idea. All this is on top of the work we need to do for four to five other classes. One by one, people drop the course. By the time midterms roll around, there are only eight of us remaining. On the day of our midterm review, the professor sits down and looks around at the much-depleted class with the smuggest cat-that-ate-the-canary grin on his face.)

Professor: “So few… Much better.”

(I am checking out a customer one day. We now have the chips installed so it does get confusing, since people still swipe.)

Me: “Do you have the chip?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “All right, you can stick it in. It will ask one question first, and then ask a couple more.”

(The customer puts his card in, answers the first question, and then the machine starts beeping.)

Me: “Oh, you put it in the wrong way. Flip it around and then stick it back in.”

Customer: “I’ve been told that all my life. What’s a few more?”

(I’m a customer in this story. There have been a series of storms that have caused some significant flight delays into the Northeast. I’ve arrived almost eight hours late after what was supposed to be two-hour flight. It’s 2:38 am when I get to [Car Rental Agency]. There is a long line of beleaguered travelers who just want their d*** cars. Several customers in line are so-called preferred members who can ordinarily skip the line when the express counter is open. It is closed between 1:00 and 4:00 am. There is obviously some displeasure at the continued wait, but none are more pointedly accusatory towards the staff than one middle-aged man who is about twelfth in line.)

Customer #1: “Why can’t I get my car now if my name is on the board?”

Desk Agent #1: “Because the express counter is closed.”

Customer #1: “But why can’t I get my car now if my name is on the board?!”

Desk Agent #1: “I’m sorry, sir, but the express counter is closed until 4:00 am.”

(This repeats several times.)

Customer #1: “That’s great. That’s just f****** great.”

Customers #2 & #3: *to me, just loud enough for half the line to hear* “We’re on the board, too!”

([Customer #1] rants at various volumes for the next ten minutes, until finally, his inner seven-year-old comes out. In the warbling, modulated moaning whine that any parent or former child would instantly recognize, he starts repeating:)

Customer #1: “But I’m a preferred customer!”

(This went on for ten minutes. The staff was moving people through at the best rate that they could, but they now had to deal with this middle-aged man’s tantrum. Finally, they created a line just for him. Sadly, this was a year ago, and the voice of this forty-something child still haunts me.)

(I work in a popular chain restaurant known for its 100% clean food policy; basically, we don’t use artificial ingredients in our products. We even have a list of ingredients that aren’t allowed to be offered hanging up by our cash registers so customers can see. It’s that slow period just after the lunch rush, and a middle-aged woman walks up to my register.)

Customer: “Do you have gluten-free bread?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, ma’am, but we do have a few other gluten-free options. Do you have an allergy to gluten, or do you avoid it by personal preference?”

Customer: *turning red and puffing her chest* “I wouldn’t call it a personal preference to avoid putting toxic chemicals into my body! I shouldn’t’ve expected you to have gluten-free bread; all you people put poison in your food to make money!”

Me: “We actually don’t use any artificial ingredients; we even have a list of banned ingredients right here.”

Customer: “Then your bread is gluten-free?”

Me: “Gluten is a naturally occurring substance that exists in wheat. Our breads do not contain artificial ingredients, but they do contain gluten, because gluten is a natural part of certain types of grain.”

Customer: “No! You have to add the gluten; it’s a poisonous toxin and you people are killing everyone to make a buck! And don’t you tell me you ‘don’t use artificial ingredients’! You have to or else you’d be losing money!”

Me: “I’m sorry if you don’t believe me, but our restaurant took a pledge to never use artificial ingredients in its food. The only thing we serve with artificial ingredients is our fountain soda, which is not made by us. Gluten is not an artificial ingredient. Would you like me to tell you which menu items are gluten-free?”

Customer: *still in a huff* “Fine.”

Me: *listing off the menu items, as well as modifications that can be made* “I even have a book here with a list of ingredients if you would like to double-check for yourself, and I will alert my manager that you are ordering so our team will prepare your meal with extra care.”

Customer: “So… none of your sandwiches are gluten-free?”

Me: “Well, we can put the meat and cheese and everything in a dish or on a bed of lettuce. [Meats we serve] are gluten-free.”

Customer: “But I want bread. And it has to be gluten-free. Gluten will kill you, you know!”

Me: “We don’t serve gluten-free bread.”

Customer: “Why the h*** not? Can’t you just make the dough but not add the gluten?! I can’t believe you people add toxic chemicals to your food and lie about it!”

Me: *exasperated* “Pardon me. I’m going to get my manager.”

(She didn’t order anything, and when she left, she was screaming at all our customers that we put poison in our bread. My manager got her picture off the security cameras and forwarded it to the security office of the mall we are located in. I hope she never comes back!)

Related:
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 4
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 3
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 2