Wasting Precious Time And More Precious Coffee  

, , , , , | Right | August 16, 2019

I work as a barista at a chain known for getting tough customers with crazy customized drinks, but we’re used to it.

We have this regular who always orders this crazy drink with all kinds of additions; 8.5 pumps of caramel in his venti caramel frap instead of four, fewer coffee pumps but extra espresso, java chips but not as much as usual, and so on. 

He also has a thing for new baristas — he really likes to get on their nerves — and even though I’d worked there for at least eight months, this was my first time actually making his drink. It was my time to shine! 

So, I followed the exact, ridiculous instructions on the cup. When I was done pumping the syrup, this man said, “No, that’s six! There wasn’t any syrup coming from the first few pumps!” 

There was definitely syrup coming out of the first few pumps, but when you’re a barista at [Coffee Chain], the customer is basically a deity. 

So, I poured out the contents of the cup, rinsed the cup, and started all over again, making sure he could see what I was doing and that I was doing it right.

By this point, a whole-a** line of drinks had been built up and my bar support was nowhere to be found. 

I was ready to finish his drink by topping it off with whipped cream when he literally pulled out the cup from underneath and swirled the contents around and went, “Yeah, you know, I can already tell this has too much ice in it.” 

I was getting a bit tired of the guy, naturally, and a bit panicked about the number of customers waiting to get their drinks. But of course, I said, “Well, I can make it again for you if you like. I’d rather make sure you like your drink!” 

“No, never mind,” he said. “I don’t have time for this. Finish it up so I can leave.” 

As he requested, I finished the drink and handed it out to him, saying that I hoped he liked it and wishing him a nice day.

I continued making the other drinks in line as he walked over to the condiment bar to grab a straw and take a sip. He then looked over to me and basically yelled, “Well, I don’t know about you, but, this drink is awful and I hate it.” 

After that, he poured the contents of his eight-dollar frap into the trash can, followed by an empty cup, and left. 

I bet he still was thirsty, because he returned a few hours later, really noticeably shattered about the fact that my shift wasn’t over yet.

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