(no subject)
Annoy.
People who keep small dogs. My 14 year old cousin has a chihuahua named Chanel. It has multiple sweaters that say "I'M A REAL BITCH" and fucking awful things like that. These people are terrible.
People who bring small dogs into work. WE SELL FOOD. By the time you are old enough to care for another living being, no matter how rat-like it is, you should also be old enough to understand common sense things such as: dogs don't like to wear booties, and: live animals cannot come into a coffee shop, diner, eatery, or any combination thereof.
Self-Involvement. Of course we're all really self-involved because that's the nature of the beast. But, listen. No. LISTEN. Do not interrupt me. Do not talk over me. When you ask a question, let me answer it in full. Don't talk my fucking ear off. If I'm at work and you are visiting, a simple "Hey, don't work too hard" is all that is in order. If you are a fellow employee, DO NOT TELL ME ASININE, TEDIOUS THINGS WHILE I AM TRYING TO HELP CUSTOMERS. I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW EVERY DETAIL OF YOUR LUNCH BREAK OR YOUR FAMILY LIFE OR YOUR BLADDER INFECTION. I DO NOT.
While you are working with me, do not swear on the floor. Customers can hear this. The counter is not a sound-proof wall of glass. Quite the contrary.
Do not talk back to the customers in front of me. Do not call a customer a bitch when she is within earshot. When I tell you not to do these things, do not argue with me. Just fucking shut up.
If i call you to make plans to do something, say yes if you can/want to. Say no if you cannot/do not want to. This is very simple. This will not hurt my feelings. Do not ask me ten questions about the event i'm inviting you to so that you can have the opportunity to find a detail that you disagree with as an excuse for why you can't go. Concerts are usually in detroit. They usually start about 8 or 9. They usually last two hours or so. They usually cost about 10 dollars. This, if we are friends, should be common knowledge to you. Do not fucking bait me into saying "it costs 10 dollars" only so you can say "oh, i really can't spend that much money." Sweetie. No.
Do not have a weird, vaguely threatening, confusing meeting with me in the back room of my store. Especially do not do this if you are the general manager. Do not accuse me of doing or saying things that you KNOW are out of my character. When I deny them, trust me. When I ask you to clarify your point, please do so. When you kind of punish me, tell me why. Actually, better yet. Don't kind of punish me. Either do it or don't do it. Don't make me cry.
When you order a drink at my store, please. Please. Please. Please for the love of god.
Remember what you ordered.
When I call out a drink ticket, do not look blankly back at me and ask "Is that what I ordered?" I do not know what you ordered. You placed your order with a human being who is not myself. I am not telepathic, however badly you need me to be.
Do not tell me how to make a drink the "right" way. You are a customer. You are probably a 42 year old woman who wishes she was 21 and is probably living vicariously through your 13 year old daughter by buying her booze and condoms and telling her you'd rather her do it in the house than somewhere she could get hurt. You probably wear a lot of eyeliner and go to the salon every three weeks for a trim. You probably drink diet coke and listen to carrie underwood and rascal flats. You probably work in an office. You probably talk about the new girl at the office behind her back. You're probably overweight but always on a fad diet. You probably are unhappily married. You have probably lived in the same city your whole life. Your idea of exploring other cultures is eating at P.F Changs and going to Cancun once a year. I hate you. A lot. There is no type of person I hate more than you. You will walk into my store. You will order a cappuccino. I will make it for you and hand it to you. You will pick it up. You will pause, turn and say "There's not much in here." Or, "You know what? Could I get a little more coffee in here?" There is no coffee in your drink at all. I can't add more because there was none there to begin with. Do you mean espresso? Or expresso? You probably mean expresso. But let me tell you, there is no X in that word. You went to Baker College. You should know this. But let's back up a little. You are wrong. You are stupid. All of your worth as a person has just been eliminated because you are terrible. I have been making espresso drinks for 3 years now. I know how to make. a. goddamn. motherfucking. half-foam. half-milk. cap. pu. ccin. o.
I understand that you don't know what you were ordering. I understand that you like to say the word "cappuccino" because it sounds french or italian. You know, one of those nice-sounding languages that make you sound intelligent with just the inflection of the words. Like Mexican. I know, sweetie. I know. I also know that you probably think a cappuccino comes from that machine they have at the gas station where you fill up your sport-utility vehicle every morning before taking the kids to school with premium, unleaded, three dollars and twenty cents a gallon gasoline. I know, sugar. I know.
But, my love, you are going to take this cappuccino I made you. This perfect, textbook example of a cappuccino with its fresh espresso shot, its perfectly proportioned, piping-hot milk and creamy foam. You are going to take it. You are going to drink it. Or not. Or throw it away. You can throw it against the wall. Throw it at my aching head. Throw it down your gullet but i will NOT. I will not "add a little more coffee." I will not.
If you are my head, please stop hurting.
If we have plans, do not blow me off to play beer pong. Blow me off for a better reason.
People who keep small dogs. My 14 year old cousin has a chihuahua named Chanel. It has multiple sweaters that say "I'M A REAL BITCH" and fucking awful things like that. These people are terrible.
People who bring small dogs into work. WE SELL FOOD. By the time you are old enough to care for another living being, no matter how rat-like it is, you should also be old enough to understand common sense things such as: dogs don't like to wear booties, and: live animals cannot come into a coffee shop, diner, eatery, or any combination thereof.
Self-Involvement. Of course we're all really self-involved because that's the nature of the beast. But, listen. No. LISTEN. Do not interrupt me. Do not talk over me. When you ask a question, let me answer it in full. Don't talk my fucking ear off. If I'm at work and you are visiting, a simple "Hey, don't work too hard" is all that is in order. If you are a fellow employee, DO NOT TELL ME ASININE, TEDIOUS THINGS WHILE I AM TRYING TO HELP CUSTOMERS. I DO NOT NEED TO KNOW EVERY DETAIL OF YOUR LUNCH BREAK OR YOUR FAMILY LIFE OR YOUR BLADDER INFECTION. I DO NOT.
While you are working with me, do not swear on the floor. Customers can hear this. The counter is not a sound-proof wall of glass. Quite the contrary.
Do not talk back to the customers in front of me. Do not call a customer a bitch when she is within earshot. When I tell you not to do these things, do not argue with me. Just fucking shut up.
If i call you to make plans to do something, say yes if you can/want to. Say no if you cannot/do not want to. This is very simple. This will not hurt my feelings. Do not ask me ten questions about the event i'm inviting you to so that you can have the opportunity to find a detail that you disagree with as an excuse for why you can't go. Concerts are usually in detroit. They usually start about 8 or 9. They usually last two hours or so. They usually cost about 10 dollars. This, if we are friends, should be common knowledge to you. Do not fucking bait me into saying "it costs 10 dollars" only so you can say "oh, i really can't spend that much money." Sweetie. No.
Do not have a weird, vaguely threatening, confusing meeting with me in the back room of my store. Especially do not do this if you are the general manager. Do not accuse me of doing or saying things that you KNOW are out of my character. When I deny them, trust me. When I ask you to clarify your point, please do so. When you kind of punish me, tell me why. Actually, better yet. Don't kind of punish me. Either do it or don't do it. Don't make me cry.
When you order a drink at my store, please. Please. Please. Please for the love of god.
Remember what you ordered.
When I call out a drink ticket, do not look blankly back at me and ask "Is that what I ordered?" I do not know what you ordered. You placed your order with a human being who is not myself. I am not telepathic, however badly you need me to be.
Do not tell me how to make a drink the "right" way. You are a customer. You are probably a 42 year old woman who wishes she was 21 and is probably living vicariously through your 13 year old daughter by buying her booze and condoms and telling her you'd rather her do it in the house than somewhere she could get hurt. You probably wear a lot of eyeliner and go to the salon every three weeks for a trim. You probably drink diet coke and listen to carrie underwood and rascal flats. You probably work in an office. You probably talk about the new girl at the office behind her back. You're probably overweight but always on a fad diet. You probably are unhappily married. You have probably lived in the same city your whole life. Your idea of exploring other cultures is eating at P.F Changs and going to Cancun once a year. I hate you. A lot. There is no type of person I hate more than you. You will walk into my store. You will order a cappuccino. I will make it for you and hand it to you. You will pick it up. You will pause, turn and say "There's not much in here." Or, "You know what? Could I get a little more coffee in here?" There is no coffee in your drink at all. I can't add more because there was none there to begin with. Do you mean espresso? Or expresso? You probably mean expresso. But let me tell you, there is no X in that word. You went to Baker College. You should know this. But let's back up a little. You are wrong. You are stupid. All of your worth as a person has just been eliminated because you are terrible. I have been making espresso drinks for 3 years now. I know how to make. a. goddamn. motherfucking. half-foam. half-milk. cap. pu. ccin. o.
I understand that you don't know what you were ordering. I understand that you like to say the word "cappuccino" because it sounds french or italian. You know, one of those nice-sounding languages that make you sound intelligent with just the inflection of the words. Like Mexican. I know, sweetie. I know. I also know that you probably think a cappuccino comes from that machine they have at the gas station where you fill up your sport-utility vehicle every morning before taking the kids to school with premium, unleaded, three dollars and twenty cents a gallon gasoline. I know, sugar. I know.
But, my love, you are going to take this cappuccino I made you. This perfect, textbook example of a cappuccino with its fresh espresso shot, its perfectly proportioned, piping-hot milk and creamy foam. You are going to take it. You are going to drink it. Or not. Or throw it away. You can throw it against the wall. Throw it at my aching head. Throw it down your gullet but i will NOT. I will not "add a little more coffee." I will not.
If you are my head, please stop hurting.
If we have plans, do not blow me off to play beer pong. Blow me off for a better reason.