For those of you dealing with Hurricane Irene, as I am, good luck. Stay safe, and don't be stupid.
Dear customers -
Yes, we are closing early. We're about to have a motherfucking hurricane. We want to get the fuck out of here as soon as humanly possible. There's a fucking sign on the door that says we're closing early. Read the fucking sign.
If you plan on calling us to ask when we're closing, don't get all pissy with us. Again...motherfucking hurricane. Just because you're dumb enough to run around in this weather, that doesn't mean that we are.
As always, we lock the back door in the evenings for security purposes. You know we do this. Stop whining at me to unlock the back door so that you can run out to your car. If you didn't want to get wet, you shouldn't have gone out in a motherfucking hurricane. Stop being stupid.
And no, I don't have an umbrella I can give you. This is a coffee shop. We don't sell them here, and I'm not giving you mine. If you go outside, you're going to get wet, with or without an umbrella. God forbid you die of mild discomfort. Quit being a pussy.
Seriously, all this time you're spending hassling me - this is time you could be using to prepare for the storm. You know, like rational people would do. It's not a severe hurricane, but it's a hurricane nonetheless. Your time could be far better spent. Go sandbag your garage, and don't be a dick.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
This sums up everything.
Dear readers -
This...this is the holy grail of public restaurant etiquette. At least, it's a pretty fucking accurate example of what I have to deal with on a daily basis. Bonus porn shop points for the glory hole -
You've been warned.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
This...this is the holy grail of public restaurant etiquette. At least, it's a pretty fucking accurate example of what I have to deal with on a daily basis. Bonus porn shop points for the glory hole -
You've been warned.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Urine trouble...
Dear customers - specifically you men -
Riddle me this - why can't you pee IN the toilet? I'm assuming you've had a penis you're entire life, though I know there are always exceptions. Seriously, it's a little stream of urine. The toilet bowl is, in relation, a fairly large target, and you're shooting from close range. Still, every fucking time I go to clean the bathroom, there's piss all over the floor, and all over the seat...really? Really? If you can't figure out how to use your penis properly, you shouldn't be allowed to have one.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Riddle me this - why can't you pee IN the toilet? I'm assuming you've had a penis you're entire life, though I know there are always exceptions. Seriously, it's a little stream of urine. The toilet bowl is, in relation, a fairly large target, and you're shooting from close range. Still, every fucking time I go to clean the bathroom, there's piss all over the floor, and all over the seat...really? Really? If you can't figure out how to use your penis properly, you shouldn't be allowed to have one.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
There are no stupid questions...just stupid people.
Dear customers -
No, I don't have the phone number of the bakery next door. We're in the middle of our morning rush. We're fucking busy. I'm not going to look it up for you, nor will I go to the bakery to ask for their phone number. I don't care that your name is Saul, and your wife's name is Debbie. I don't care what temple you attend. Your life's story has no bearing on any of this. Somehow, you were able to track down our number, but not the number of the bakery. For fuck's sake, why?
No, I don't know the bus schedule. Don't call me and ask. If you need to know, New Jersey Transit has a phone number. They have a website, too. Just contact them, and leave me the fuck alone.
And yes, it's a holiday, but don't call and ask, "Are you open?" I answered the phone, didn't I? Of course we're not open. I just came in for the sole purpose of answering the phone to tell people we're not open. You can always call and ask what our hours are. You sound like less of an idiot that way.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
No, I don't have the phone number of the bakery next door. We're in the middle of our morning rush. We're fucking busy. I'm not going to look it up for you, nor will I go to the bakery to ask for their phone number. I don't care that your name is Saul, and your wife's name is Debbie. I don't care what temple you attend. Your life's story has no bearing on any of this. Somehow, you were able to track down our number, but not the number of the bakery. For fuck's sake, why?
No, I don't know the bus schedule. Don't call me and ask. If you need to know, New Jersey Transit has a phone number. They have a website, too. Just contact them, and leave me the fuck alone.
And yes, it's a holiday, but don't call and ask, "Are you open?" I answered the phone, didn't I? Of course we're not open. I just came in for the sole purpose of answering the phone to tell people we're not open. You can always call and ask what our hours are. You sound like less of an idiot that way.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The return of Gertrude.
Much to my surprise and dismay, Gertrude lives...
Dear Gertrude -
First of all, you are a horrible old woman. You've been a horrible old woman for as long as I've known you. From what I've heard, in addition to your multiple diabetic comas, you wrecked your car in front of our store a while back. Flipped it three fucking times. Walked away without a scratch. Seriously, do the world a favor and fucking die already.
I have no idea why you have decided to refuse to let me make your drink. I haven't seen you in a good five years. Why, all of a sudden, you don't want me to prepare your beverage. I'm not sure why, and none of my coworkers are, either. What the fuck.
Look. Here's the deal. We've got a fucking line, and you're holding that shit up. I don't care if you don't like me. I don't like you, and I still have to deal with you. Bitch, I'm making your drink, and you're going to fucking drink it. Take it and leave. Be glad I haven't spiked it with holy water. We're all convinced that you're Satan.
There's more of your bullshit I take issue with. The other day, I was kindly enough to hold the door for you...and you yelled at me. Your reasoning - you wanted to open it yourself because you're left handed. Um...what? On what plane of existence does that make any fucking sense?
And then today, you yelled at me for being in my shop all the time. Um...guess what? I fucking work here. If you don't want to deal with me, fucking go somewhere else. Or just die. That would be preferable, actually. Yeah. Do that.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
P.S. - Go fuck yourself. Seriously, go fuck yourself.
Dear Gertrude -
First of all, you are a horrible old woman. You've been a horrible old woman for as long as I've known you. From what I've heard, in addition to your multiple diabetic comas, you wrecked your car in front of our store a while back. Flipped it three fucking times. Walked away without a scratch. Seriously, do the world a favor and fucking die already.
I have no idea why you have decided to refuse to let me make your drink. I haven't seen you in a good five years. Why, all of a sudden, you don't want me to prepare your beverage. I'm not sure why, and none of my coworkers are, either. What the fuck.
Look. Here's the deal. We've got a fucking line, and you're holding that shit up. I don't care if you don't like me. I don't like you, and I still have to deal with you. Bitch, I'm making your drink, and you're going to fucking drink it. Take it and leave. Be glad I haven't spiked it with holy water. We're all convinced that you're Satan.
There's more of your bullshit I take issue with. The other day, I was kindly enough to hold the door for you...and you yelled at me. Your reasoning - you wanted to open it yourself because you're left handed. Um...what? On what plane of existence does that make any fucking sense?
And then today, you yelled at me for being in my shop all the time. Um...guess what? I fucking work here. If you don't want to deal with me, fucking go somewhere else. Or just die. That would be preferable, actually. Yeah. Do that.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
P.S. - Go fuck yourself. Seriously, go fuck yourself.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday(Monday edition) - Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to be perverts.
Dear customers -
Parenting really does seem like a huge inconvenience at times, and sacrifices do need to be made. I'm sure it isn't always easy to find someone to watch your kid when you want to go out and have a life, and sometimes, you need to drag them along. However, there are certain places that, under no circumstances, one should not bring their children. The porn shop is somewhere near the top of that list. No, the kid isn't going to remember this experience. He's busy drooling all over himself and crapping his pants. I have adult customers that do this. Your kid would fit right in. Still, a two-year-old has no place here. That's not a pacifier your kid pulled off the shelf and started sucking on. It's a butt plug(or, as we like to call it, an assifier). You might want to save the money you're spending on porn for your child's therapy later in life. If this is any indication, he's going to need it.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Parenting really does seem like a huge inconvenience at times, and sacrifices do need to be made. I'm sure it isn't always easy to find someone to watch your kid when you want to go out and have a life, and sometimes, you need to drag them along. However, there are certain places that, under no circumstances, one should not bring their children. The porn shop is somewhere near the top of that list. No, the kid isn't going to remember this experience. He's busy drooling all over himself and crapping his pants. I have adult customers that do this. Your kid would fit right in. Still, a two-year-old has no place here. That's not a pacifier your kid pulled off the shelf and started sucking on. It's a butt plug(or, as we like to call it, an assifier). You might want to save the money you're spending on porn for your child's therapy later in life. If this is any indication, he's going to need it.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Any port in a (shit)storm.
Dear customers -
I am still amazed by how many people seem to have problems using the bathroom like civilized human beings. Yes, we run out of toilet paper from time to time. Half the time, that's because some clown dick stole it. We've been over this. The logical thing to do in this situation would be to come to us and ask for more toilet paper. We'll be more than happy to get it for you.
Of course, some of you can't bring yourselves to talk to us about such delicate matters, because God forbid anyone know that you poop just like the rest of us. You just drank four cups of coffee. We all know that you poop. Well, do you see that cabinet over the toilet? Yeah. That's where the toilet paper lives.
In any event, stop wiping your ass with the paper toilet seat covers. If you insist on doing this, they are flushable. They are designed for that. We'd prefer not to find shitty toilet seat covers in the garbage, or even worse, scattered all over the fucking floor. Really? Seriously, do you do this at home, or does your mind devolve that much when forced to use a public restroom. Cut that shit out. I hope that toilet seat cover gives you a paper cut in a miserable place.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
I am still amazed by how many people seem to have problems using the bathroom like civilized human beings. Yes, we run out of toilet paper from time to time. Half the time, that's because some clown dick stole it. We've been over this. The logical thing to do in this situation would be to come to us and ask for more toilet paper. We'll be more than happy to get it for you.
Of course, some of you can't bring yourselves to talk to us about such delicate matters, because God forbid anyone know that you poop just like the rest of us. You just drank four cups of coffee. We all know that you poop. Well, do you see that cabinet over the toilet? Yeah. That's where the toilet paper lives.
In any event, stop wiping your ass with the paper toilet seat covers. If you insist on doing this, they are flushable. They are designed for that. We'd prefer not to find shitty toilet seat covers in the garbage, or even worse, scattered all over the fucking floor. Really? Seriously, do you do this at home, or does your mind devolve that much when forced to use a public restroom. Cut that shit out. I hope that toilet seat cover gives you a paper cut in a miserable place.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday(Monday edition) - Yarn Boobs.
This was one of my porn shop regulars. He requires his own post.
Dear Yarn Boobs -
Dude, seriously? You're a train wreck. If you want to cross dress, that's fine. You're welcome to do this if you see fit. But for fuck's sake, at least put a bit of effort into it. How do I say this...remember how Mr. Garrison from South Park got a sex change? Yeah, that's you. The resemblance is uncanny. You're a fucking cartoon character.
If you're going to go around wearing a bra stuffed with yarn, you might want to make sure the yarn is actually tucked into the bra. You're not convincing anyway, but your cups runneth over...and not in that fun, sexy way. It's just sad. That, paired with the mini skirt and the stockings...I assume you're going for thigh highs. Dude, those are surgical stockings. Not the same thing.
And while we do appreciate your business, I could do without the comments. We are all familiar with your affinity for grossly oversized butt plugs. Don't ask me if I've ever used one, and don't inform me that you have one in right now. I assume you're using one at the moment. Otherwise, I don't know if you'd be here. You might want to try shoving your head up your ass. It's about the same size as that Anal Punisher that you're buying, and it's free. I'm going to go ahead and say that it would be a perfect fit.
And please, for the love of all that's holy, after you come out of the booths, wash your hands before you start handling all the product. I don't know where your hands of been...actually, that's not true. I'm just in denial.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Dear Yarn Boobs -
Dude, seriously? You're a train wreck. If you want to cross dress, that's fine. You're welcome to do this if you see fit. But for fuck's sake, at least put a bit of effort into it. How do I say this...remember how Mr. Garrison from South Park got a sex change? Yeah, that's you. The resemblance is uncanny. You're a fucking cartoon character.
If you're going to go around wearing a bra stuffed with yarn, you might want to make sure the yarn is actually tucked into the bra. You're not convincing anyway, but your cups runneth over...and not in that fun, sexy way. It's just sad. That, paired with the mini skirt and the stockings...I assume you're going for thigh highs. Dude, those are surgical stockings. Not the same thing.
And while we do appreciate your business, I could do without the comments. We are all familiar with your affinity for grossly oversized butt plugs. Don't ask me if I've ever used one, and don't inform me that you have one in right now. I assume you're using one at the moment. Otherwise, I don't know if you'd be here. You might want to try shoving your head up your ass. It's about the same size as that Anal Punisher that you're buying, and it's free. I'm going to go ahead and say that it would be a perfect fit.
And please, for the love of all that's holy, after you come out of the booths, wash your hands before you start handling all the product. I don't know where your hands of been...actually, that's not true. I'm just in denial.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Great moments in work history - The devil is in the details.
Ah, my brief stint as a waitress. There's three weeks of my life I'm never getting back.
And yes, I said "waitress". I know the term now is "server", but I'd prefer to be known as a "waitress". I don't care what anyone says - "server" sounds so much more demeaning.
Dear customers -
See the caption on the photo of the steamed vegetables in the menu? See where it says "enlarged to show detail"? Yeah. It's enlarged to show detail. I don't think cauliflower grows that large without genetic modification. I don't think that would be something I'd care to eat, but that's just me.
I don't know how many times I need to say this - you aren't entitled to free shit because you're fucking stupid. You bitched to the manager enough that you got a second bowl of vegetables. You don't get a free rack of ribs because you have no common sense. Obviously, you are not a vegetarian, and you better not have any dietary issues if you're demanding free pork. Why you're going to a fucking steakhouse for steamed vegetables is beyond me.
Signed,
Your disgruntled waitress.
And yes, I said "waitress". I know the term now is "server", but I'd prefer to be known as a "waitress". I don't care what anyone says - "server" sounds so much more demeaning.
Dear customers -
See the caption on the photo of the steamed vegetables in the menu? See where it says "enlarged to show detail"? Yeah. It's enlarged to show detail. I don't think cauliflower grows that large without genetic modification. I don't think that would be something I'd care to eat, but that's just me.
I don't know how many times I need to say this - you aren't entitled to free shit because you're fucking stupid. You bitched to the manager enough that you got a second bowl of vegetables. You don't get a free rack of ribs because you have no common sense. Obviously, you are not a vegetarian, and you better not have any dietary issues if you're demanding free pork. Why you're going to a fucking steakhouse for steamed vegetables is beyond me.
Signed,
Your disgruntled waitress.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Foaming at the mouth.
Dear customers -
Over the years, I've noticed quite a jump in the number of people with food allergies. Gee whiz, I wonder how that happened. I'm not even going to get started on that. I'm just going to end up throwing things...again.
If you have a food allergy concern, feel free to let me know. I'm not out to get you. I'm willing to hold your hand and read you nutritional information so we can be sure there's nothing that's going to make your tummy sad.
However, you need to quit making shit up. If you don't like foam on your latte, I will make it without foam. It's a tremendous pain in the ass, and the milk never tastes as good if it isn't properly aerated, but I will make it without foam. Don't tell me you're allergic to foam. If you don't feel so hot after you consume your drink, maybe it has something to do with the eight shots of espresso and half gallon of milk you ingest on a daily basis. Go home and take a nice dump. I'm sure you'll feel better.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Over the years, I've noticed quite a jump in the number of people with food allergies. Gee whiz, I wonder how that happened. I'm not even going to get started on that. I'm just going to end up throwing things...again.
If you have a food allergy concern, feel free to let me know. I'm not out to get you. I'm willing to hold your hand and read you nutritional information so we can be sure there's nothing that's going to make your tummy sad.
However, you need to quit making shit up. If you don't like foam on your latte, I will make it without foam. It's a tremendous pain in the ass, and the milk never tastes as good if it isn't properly aerated, but I will make it without foam. Don't tell me you're allergic to foam. If you don't feel so hot after you consume your drink, maybe it has something to do with the eight shots of espresso and half gallon of milk you ingest on a daily basis. Go home and take a nice dump. I'm sure you'll feel better.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Get thee to McDonald's.
Dear customers -
I'm terribly sorry if the decaf coffee is too strong for your liking. I didn't grow the beans. I didn't roast the beans. I didn't determine the coffee to water ratio used in brewing the coffee. I just dumped it into the filter and hit "brew".
As I'm sure you may have noticed, this is a coffee shop, not a fast food joint. We serve coffee here. Real, honest-to-goodness coffee. We do not carry Sanka. We never have, and we never will. Sanka is not coffee. Thank you for asking. I just died a little.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
I'm terribly sorry if the decaf coffee is too strong for your liking. I didn't grow the beans. I didn't roast the beans. I didn't determine the coffee to water ratio used in brewing the coffee. I just dumped it into the filter and hit "brew".
As I'm sure you may have noticed, this is a coffee shop, not a fast food joint. We serve coffee here. Real, honest-to-goodness coffee. We do not carry Sanka. We never have, and we never will. Sanka is not coffee. Thank you for asking. I just died a little.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday Part II - Bicycle built for two...not so much.
Since the dawn of time, mankind has been devising new and horrific ways to destroy one another. This may be a new addition to that list.
The fact that a device like this exists is bad enough. The fact that it's meant for not one, but two orifices...no. We're not doing that.
Porn Shop Sunday - Personal hygiene is a very dangerous thing.
Dear customers -
So you were getting sexy in our lovely jerk off booths. That's just swell, and not in the slightest bit surprising. I'm sitting here now trying to think of where I can go with this. Those booths hold so many stories...and DNA samples.
I do appreciate the fact that, after a busy afternoon of anonymous hookups with married dudes, you might want to freshen up a bit. I'm sure that, if I had a penis, I'd want it to be all bright and shiny before I snuggle it into some random guy's clownhole. For washing your genitals, we all thank you, even if you are doing it in our bathroom sink.
As with washing any other body part, however, you may want to check the water temperature first. I'm going to go ahead and say you may want to use something other than your dick for this purpose. Getting scalded is never fun, especially in such a sensitive area.
And if you do happen to do this...no, we don't want to see your injuries. Trust me. We really don't.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
P.S. - If you were so inclined, this could make for on hell of a hilarious lawsuit.
So you were getting sexy in our lovely jerk off booths. That's just swell, and not in the slightest bit surprising. I'm sitting here now trying to think of where I can go with this. Those booths hold so many stories...and DNA samples.
I do appreciate the fact that, after a busy afternoon of anonymous hookups with married dudes, you might want to freshen up a bit. I'm sure that, if I had a penis, I'd want it to be all bright and shiny before I snuggle it into some random guy's clownhole. For washing your genitals, we all thank you, even if you are doing it in our bathroom sink.
As with washing any other body part, however, you may want to check the water temperature first. I'm going to go ahead and say you may want to use something other than your dick for this purpose. Getting scalded is never fun, especially in such a sensitive area.
And if you do happen to do this...no, we don't want to see your injuries. Trust me. We really don't.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
P.S. - If you were so inclined, this could make for on hell of a hilarious lawsuit.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
"Go fuck yourself" is not on their list.
I'll be posting more soon. It's been a rough couple of weeks. Anyway, I just came across this article, and it suits this blog. Enjoy!
13 Things Your Barista Won't Tell You
13 Things Your Barista Won't Tell You
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Hefty, Hefty, Hefty! Dumbass, Dumbass, Dumbass!
Dear customers -
If you want room for milk in your coffee, please let me know. If there's something(legitimately) wrong with your beverage, bring it back to me, and I'll make you a new one. I'm not sure exactly what plane of reality you happen to live on, but by no means is pouring scalding hot coffee into a plastic garbage bag a good idea. You probably didn't think this far ahead, but if you fill the garbage bag with liquids, particularly hot ones, it's going to leak. Then, I get to clean out the garbage can. Again. I wasn't annoyed enough by the nimrod disposing of their trash when there's no bag in the can.
In addition to this, I'm more than likely going to end up covered in coffee and sour milk when I take out the garbage. You just made my day so much better. I hope you've got the Mercedes parked(probably parked like an asshole) next to the dumpster. There's a good sporting chance that bag is going to blow out while I'm attempting to hammer throw it into the dumpster - which is necessary, considering it's bloated with all the beverages that were discarded throughout the course of the morning, and probably weighs almost as much as I do. When this happens, your car is going to be covered in skanky garbage water. Don't come bitching to me. You're the one that threw the hot coffee into the plastic garbage bag. You bought it on yourself. Now you know how I feel at the end of the day. Of course, the coffee washes off. The shame...not so much.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
If you want room for milk in your coffee, please let me know. If there's something(legitimately) wrong with your beverage, bring it back to me, and I'll make you a new one. I'm not sure exactly what plane of reality you happen to live on, but by no means is pouring scalding hot coffee into a plastic garbage bag a good idea. You probably didn't think this far ahead, but if you fill the garbage bag with liquids, particularly hot ones, it's going to leak. Then, I get to clean out the garbage can. Again. I wasn't annoyed enough by the nimrod disposing of their trash when there's no bag in the can.
In addition to this, I'm more than likely going to end up covered in coffee and sour milk when I take out the garbage. You just made my day so much better. I hope you've got the Mercedes parked(probably parked like an asshole) next to the dumpster. There's a good sporting chance that bag is going to blow out while I'm attempting to hammer throw it into the dumpster - which is necessary, considering it's bloated with all the beverages that were discarded throughout the course of the morning, and probably weighs almost as much as I do. When this happens, your car is going to be covered in skanky garbage water. Don't come bitching to me. You're the one that threw the hot coffee into the plastic garbage bag. You bought it on yourself. Now you know how I feel at the end of the day. Of course, the coffee washes off. The shame...not so much.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Monday, March 14, 2011
You're nobody till somebody loves you...or you actually buy shit.
Dear customers -
Actually no, not really.
You know who you are. Every day you come in, and ask for a cup of hot water. You bring in your own teabag, then prepare your tea and sit in the cafe for an hour. More often than not, you are reading a newspaper someone left behind, or better yet, one you swiped off the paper rack. In all this time, I don't think you've ever purchased anything.
Or maybe you're the lovely person who comes in and asks for an empty cup - and nothing else. You then proceed to fill it with half and half, chug it, grab a handful of sugar packets, and take off. No, you're not at all obvious about it, either.
Really, people? Really? Is your life that pathetic that you can't afford to boil your own water or buy your own paper? No surprise, you pulled up in a fucking Lexus. We've been over this.
And seriously, knock it off with the toilet paper already. You need to wipe your ass? Try using that newspaper you just stole.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Actually no, not really.
You know who you are. Every day you come in, and ask for a cup of hot water. You bring in your own teabag, then prepare your tea and sit in the cafe for an hour. More often than not, you are reading a newspaper someone left behind, or better yet, one you swiped off the paper rack. In all this time, I don't think you've ever purchased anything.
Or maybe you're the lovely person who comes in and asks for an empty cup - and nothing else. You then proceed to fill it with half and half, chug it, grab a handful of sugar packets, and take off. No, you're not at all obvious about it, either.
Really, people? Really? Is your life that pathetic that you can't afford to boil your own water or buy your own paper? No surprise, you pulled up in a fucking Lexus. We've been over this.
And seriously, knock it off with the toilet paper already. You need to wipe your ass? Try using that newspaper you just stole.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday - Don't be a dick.
Sorry it's been a bit since my last post - life does tend to get in the way sometimes. Life and Cuervo. Anyway, it's time once again for Porn Shop Sunday -
Dear customers -
I am well aware that human sexuality is at the heart of this business. That, and well, finding things to cram into your orifice of choice. I do take an interest in my job, and I do have an interest in sex. I'm not trying to deny that.
This does not, however, mean that I have any desire whatsoever to see your penis. I am surrounded by dicks all fucking day. Quite frankly, I'm a little tired of looking at them. Most, if not all, of the dicks I see on a daily basis are far more impressive than yours.
By the way, did it occur to you that, although this is an adult bookstore, you're still out in public exposing yourself to a complete stranger. I could call the cops, but I won't, because you're such a sad little man. So please, do us both a favor and keep it in your pants. There's plenty of things for me to laugh at around here without having to deal with your tiny penis.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish covering up the naughty bits on the DVD covers with price tags. Why? Because it amuses me.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Dear customers -
I am well aware that human sexuality is at the heart of this business. That, and well, finding things to cram into your orifice of choice. I do take an interest in my job, and I do have an interest in sex. I'm not trying to deny that.
This does not, however, mean that I have any desire whatsoever to see your penis. I am surrounded by dicks all fucking day. Quite frankly, I'm a little tired of looking at them. Most, if not all, of the dicks I see on a daily basis are far more impressive than yours.
By the way, did it occur to you that, although this is an adult bookstore, you're still out in public exposing yourself to a complete stranger. I could call the cops, but I won't, because you're such a sad little man. So please, do us both a favor and keep it in your pants. There's plenty of things for me to laugh at around here without having to deal with your tiny penis.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to finish covering up the naughty bits on the DVD covers with price tags. Why? Because it amuses me.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Monday, March 7, 2011
You say "tomato", and I say "fuck you".
Dear customers -
There is absolutely no difference between "nonfat" milk and "skim" milk. No fucking difference whatsoever. I don't know what you call it at home. I don't care. As long as I can figure out what the fuck you're asking me for, we're good. I am not going to make your drink again because you're clueless.
While we're at it, I don't care what color the cap on your milk at home is. It says "nonfat milk" on the jug. Last I checked, that means it's nonfat milk. Or skim milk. Whichever you prefer, because they're the same fucking thing.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
There is absolutely no difference between "nonfat" milk and "skim" milk. No fucking difference whatsoever. I don't know what you call it at home. I don't care. As long as I can figure out what the fuck you're asking me for, we're good. I am not going to make your drink again because you're clueless.
While we're at it, I don't care what color the cap on your milk at home is. It says "nonfat milk" on the jug. Last I checked, that means it's nonfat milk. Or skim milk. Whichever you prefer, because they're the same fucking thing.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday - Cock pumps!
Dear customer -
Seriously, these returns are getting worse and worse. It's one thing when they're just fucking stupid. It's another when I require gloves to handle them.
This is the third cock pump you have returned in the past two weeks. This is the third cock pump you have broken in the past two weeks. I'm fairly confident that this isn't a testament to your virility. Otherwise, you'd have a place to stick your dick other than inside a plastic tube. Sir, I believe there is something wrong with your penis. Perhaps you went a little too far, and wound up with an end product resembling a hot dog that exploded in the microwave. I'm not sure what your problem is.
No, I'm not going to accept a return on this product. You returned it saturated in K-Y Jelly, and who know what other fluids. You don't have your receipt. You don't even have the original packaging - your cock pump is in a fucking plastic grocery bag. In addition to it being the third one you've tried to return, no, we're not doing that.
I love the fact that you threatened to write a letter to the local paper about this business, and not allowing you to return the product. I hope you know that, if you do, we will write a rebuttal, informing them just what you were returning, the condition in which it was being returned, and the fact that this is the third cock pump you have broken. I work in an adult bookstore. I have no shame. You're trying to maintain the image of a respectable citizen. I'm not afraid to fight dirty. Let's see who wins.
Next time you need a hole to insert your penis into, try an electrical socket.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Seriously, these returns are getting worse and worse. It's one thing when they're just fucking stupid. It's another when I require gloves to handle them.
This is the third cock pump you have returned in the past two weeks. This is the third cock pump you have broken in the past two weeks. I'm fairly confident that this isn't a testament to your virility. Otherwise, you'd have a place to stick your dick other than inside a plastic tube. Sir, I believe there is something wrong with your penis. Perhaps you went a little too far, and wound up with an end product resembling a hot dog that exploded in the microwave. I'm not sure what your problem is.
No, I'm not going to accept a return on this product. You returned it saturated in K-Y Jelly, and who know what other fluids. You don't have your receipt. You don't even have the original packaging - your cock pump is in a fucking plastic grocery bag. In addition to it being the third one you've tried to return, no, we're not doing that.
I love the fact that you threatened to write a letter to the local paper about this business, and not allowing you to return the product. I hope you know that, if you do, we will write a rebuttal, informing them just what you were returning, the condition in which it was being returned, and the fact that this is the third cock pump you have broken. I work in an adult bookstore. I have no shame. You're trying to maintain the image of a respectable citizen. I'm not afraid to fight dirty. Let's see who wins.
Next time you need a hole to insert your penis into, try an electrical socket.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Friday, March 4, 2011
One day(and cup) at a time.
Dear customers -
I appreciate that you are visiting our establishment to purchase your coffee beans. However, is it really fucking necessary to buy a quarter pound at a time? A quarter of a pound. How far is that going to get you? Obviously, not very, considering that we see you two or three times a week.
You know, there are ways to store that coffee so that it stays fresh. On top of that, it's going to be less expensive in the long run if you buy the full pound. It's also going to save you a couple of trips a week, and it's less time that we have to screw around with your quarter pound of coffee while there's 15 people on line behind you. But, if you insist, you're more than welcome to buy a quarter pound at a time. Good job, dumbass. See you in two days.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
I appreciate that you are visiting our establishment to purchase your coffee beans. However, is it really fucking necessary to buy a quarter pound at a time? A quarter of a pound. How far is that going to get you? Obviously, not very, considering that we see you two or three times a week.
You know, there are ways to store that coffee so that it stays fresh. On top of that, it's going to be less expensive in the long run if you buy the full pound. It's also going to save you a couple of trips a week, and it's less time that we have to screw around with your quarter pound of coffee while there's 15 people on line behind you. But, if you insist, you're more than welcome to buy a quarter pound at a time. Good job, dumbass. See you in two days.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Boobs. They make dudes stupid.
Dear customers -
Yes, the girl at the cash register is gorgeous. I'm not going to argue with you on that one. And yes, it can get a little chilly in here. When one spends their day behind an espresso machine, it gets pretty warm. If you're planning on making thinly veiled sexual comments to your barista - i.e., "Well, it looks like somebody's cold!" - you may want to make sure that the customer on line behind you isn't her father. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that fathers don't like that sort of thing very much. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to round up the garbage. That way, I can justify taking out the trash, and hopefully watch you getting your ass kicked in the parking lot by an angry barista dad.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(yet thoroughly amused) barista.
Yes, the girl at the cash register is gorgeous. I'm not going to argue with you on that one. And yes, it can get a little chilly in here. When one spends their day behind an espresso machine, it gets pretty warm. If you're planning on making thinly veiled sexual comments to your barista - i.e., "Well, it looks like somebody's cold!" - you may want to make sure that the customer on line behind you isn't her father. Yeah. I'm pretty sure that fathers don't like that sort of thing very much. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to round up the garbage. That way, I can justify taking out the trash, and hopefully watch you getting your ass kicked in the parking lot by an angry barista dad.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(yet thoroughly amused) barista.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Great moments in work history - Crackers in bed.
I seem to be working on my whole damn resume here.
This one goes back to my days of living in the flaccid penis of America - Florida. I was there for a short stint, and in this time, I worked in a tattoo parlour. Florida seemed to have an abundance of morons...and drunks on bicycles.
I think I want to call this particular customer "Chuckie". The reason will be abundantly clear soon.
Dear Chuckie -
Sometimes, people regret tattoos some time after the fact. You get a tattoo of the name of your significant other. You break up. You're young and stupid, and you get something that reflects that. I see it all the time.
Sometimes, though, even I have to ask, "What the fuck, dude?"
You work with a bunch of black guys. Okay. They keep calling you a "cracker". Considering the fact that you look like Jim Henson's visualization of Charles Manson, and that poor, dumb girl you're fondling looks like she might be your sister, I'm not surprised. However, this isn't exactly something that I think one would want to advertise.
And yet, you have made a conscious - and inexplicably sober - decision to get a tattoo of the word "Cracker". On your neck. Good job, pal. Now I'll be able to identify you when I see you on America's Most Wanted.
Signed,
the apprentice.
This one goes back to my days of living in the flaccid penis of America - Florida. I was there for a short stint, and in this time, I worked in a tattoo parlour. Florida seemed to have an abundance of morons...and drunks on bicycles.
I think I want to call this particular customer "Chuckie". The reason will be abundantly clear soon.
Dear Chuckie -
Sometimes, people regret tattoos some time after the fact. You get a tattoo of the name of your significant other. You break up. You're young and stupid, and you get something that reflects that. I see it all the time.
Sometimes, though, even I have to ask, "What the fuck, dude?"
You work with a bunch of black guys. Okay. They keep calling you a "cracker". Considering the fact that you look like Jim Henson's visualization of Charles Manson, and that poor, dumb girl you're fondling looks like she might be your sister, I'm not surprised. However, this isn't exactly something that I think one would want to advertise.
And yet, you have made a conscious - and inexplicably sober - decision to get a tattoo of the word "Cracker". On your neck. Good job, pal. Now I'll be able to identify you when I see you on America's Most Wanted.
Signed,
the apprentice.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
That's not a maternal glow. You're hopped up on espresso.
Dear customers -
I am all too aware of the influx of pregnant women that have been coming in as of late. When the shopping center across the street has no less than three overpriced maternity clothing boutiques, a lactation clinic, and a restaurant that for some reason serves sushi and hamburgers, that's going to happen.
There's always new studies coming out regarding pregnant women and caffeine - some say to cut it out all together; others say that it's okay in moderation. I've never been pregnant. I have no desire to get pregnant. This information is of little use to me.
However, if you are obviously pregnant, I'm more than likely going to ask if you would like your beverage decaffeinated. I don't know for sure as to whether or not you can have caffeine, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. Your response should be either "yes" or "no". Rolling your eyes and informing me that your doctor says you can have caffeine - not an appropriate response.
And yes, maybe your doctor did tell you that caffeine is okay. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you weren't told that four shots of espresso every morning is they way to go. I'm sure your child is going to grow up to be an annoying little fucker, and run around my store breaking shit while you yap on your cell phone. I'm sure your caffeine intake isn't the only factor at work, but that quantity really can't be good for your unborn child. Yeah, your ass is getting decaf. You really need your coffee that badly? Maybe that should have been a consideration before you got knocked up. Hopefully, you were at least able to give up the booze. Go have fun whining about your stretch marks.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
There's always new studies coming out regarding pregnant women and caffeine - some say to cut it out all together; others say that it's okay in moderation. I've never been pregnant. I have no desire to get pregnant. This information is of little use to me.
However, if you are obviously pregnant, I'm more than likely going to ask if you would like your beverage decaffeinated. I don't know for sure as to whether or not you can have caffeine, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. Your response should be either "yes" or "no". Rolling your eyes and informing me that your doctor says you can have caffeine - not an appropriate response.
And yes, maybe your doctor did tell you that caffeine is okay. I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure you weren't told that four shots of espresso every morning is they way to go. I'm sure your child is going to grow up to be an annoying little fucker, and run around my store breaking shit while you yap on your cell phone. I'm sure your caffeine intake isn't the only factor at work, but that quantity really can't be good for your unborn child. Yeah, your ass is getting decaf. You really need your coffee that badly? Maybe that should have been a consideration before you got knocked up. Hopefully, you were at least able to give up the booze. Go have fun whining about your stretch marks.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Monday, February 28, 2011
A slip of the...
Dear customers -
It's six in the morning. I can appreciate not wanting to get out of your pajamas to get a cup of coffee. Believe me, if I had my druthers, I'd still be in my pajamas sipping coffee, too. By all means, you do what you need to do.
However - gentlemen, this part pertains to you - if you plan on patronizing this establishment in your pajamas, for fuck's sake, make sure the fly of your pajama bottoms is buttoned. You're not awake yet. I get it. Neither am I, and 6:00 AM is no time for me to come to the realization that I am looking at your penis. I assure you, that even when I am sufficiently caffeinated, I won't want to see it. Hell, I could be drunk, and not want to see it. I worked in an adult bookstore. I have seen far too many dicks in my lifetime. I assure you, yours is not memorable.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is too sleep-deprived for this shit).
It's six in the morning. I can appreciate not wanting to get out of your pajamas to get a cup of coffee. Believe me, if I had my druthers, I'd still be in my pajamas sipping coffee, too. By all means, you do what you need to do.
However - gentlemen, this part pertains to you - if you plan on patronizing this establishment in your pajamas, for fuck's sake, make sure the fly of your pajama bottoms is buttoned. You're not awake yet. I get it. Neither am I, and 6:00 AM is no time for me to come to the realization that I am looking at your penis. I assure you, that even when I am sufficiently caffeinated, I won't want to see it. Hell, I could be drunk, and not want to see it. I worked in an adult bookstore. I have seen far too many dicks in my lifetime. I assure you, yours is not memorable.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is too sleep-deprived for this shit).
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Vote early, and vote often!
Dear readers -
I just added a survey in the sidebar - so go and vote? Which features would you like to see more of? If you've seen any I forgot to mention in the poll, or have any other ideas for me, let me know! This poll closes on March 13th.
And now, because it seemed like a good idea at the time -
I just added a survey in the sidebar - so go and vote? Which features would you like to see more of? If you've seen any I forgot to mention in the poll, or have any other ideas for me, let me know! This poll closes on March 13th.
And now, because it seemed like a good idea at the time -
Porn Shop Sunday - Technology's bitch.
Dear customers -
Returns, people! Why is this concept so fucking difficult?
You purchased a DVD from us, like you do every two or three days. You told us it doesn't play in your DVD player, like you do every two or three days. There's just a couple problems with this. First off, we tried it on three different DVD players here at the porn shop, and it plays just fine, just like all the other movies you returned, or attempted to return. Second, you already told us that it plays just fine on your machine at home. The problem, you say? It doesn't play on the DVD player in your car. Did it occur to you that it might be that particular machine? It's not like it's a factory installed player. I've seen your car. You drive a Geo Metro. A fucking Geo Metro, for fuck's sake. Chances are, you have a portable DVD player plugged into your cigarette lighter. Chances are, you bought it for $20 at Big Lots. Not exactly a quality product.
So yes, you can watch "White Jocks and Monster Cocks" or "Granny Gang Bang" or whatever the fuck you've been buying. It works. the problem...yeah, I'm pretty sure the problem is you, clown dick. My guess is that the problem involves you going home, burning the DVDs, and attempting to return them. We're all very disappointed in you. Here's a fun idea for you - go home and disappoint your wife. I know you can manage that.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Returns, people! Why is this concept so fucking difficult?
You purchased a DVD from us, like you do every two or three days. You told us it doesn't play in your DVD player, like you do every two or three days. There's just a couple problems with this. First off, we tried it on three different DVD players here at the porn shop, and it plays just fine, just like all the other movies you returned, or attempted to return. Second, you already told us that it plays just fine on your machine at home. The problem, you say? It doesn't play on the DVD player in your car. Did it occur to you that it might be that particular machine? It's not like it's a factory installed player. I've seen your car. You drive a Geo Metro. A fucking Geo Metro, for fuck's sake. Chances are, you have a portable DVD player plugged into your cigarette lighter. Chances are, you bought it for $20 at Big Lots. Not exactly a quality product.
So yes, you can watch "White Jocks and Monster Cocks" or "Granny Gang Bang" or whatever the fuck you've been buying. It works. the problem...yeah, I'm pretty sure the problem is you, clown dick. My guess is that the problem involves you going home, burning the DVDs, and attempting to return them. We're all very disappointed in you. Here's a fun idea for you - go home and disappoint your wife. I know you can manage that.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Great moments in work history - The eight year itch.
About 10 years ago, I had a job in a housewares store. As is the case with virtually all retail establishments, the customers do stupid shit, ask stupid shit, and of course, try to return stupid shit.
Dear customers -
I don't know how many times I have to day this. I really don't. Certain things are not meant to be returned. If an item is damaged, of course, return it - within a reasonable amount of time.
Let me put this into simpler terms...a day, a week, hell even a month - this is a reasonable amount of time. More often than not, you need to present your original receipt at the time of the return. If you come to me with a basting brush with a retail value of $8.00 - not exactly a great expenditure here - that you purchased eight fucking years ago, fuck you, you don't get a refund. Yes, I see that it has exactly four bristles left. You admitted that you bought it eight years ago. After that amount of time, that basting brush doesn't owe you a fucking dime, and neither do we.
And no, you can't exchange it for a new one. We don't even carry that one anymore. No, I don't know why. Maybe because the bristles spontaneously fall out after eight years. Either we stopped carrying them, or you bought it someplace else. That would be my guess, but that's just me.
Signed,
Your disgruntled retail associate.
Dear customers -
I don't know how many times I have to day this. I really don't. Certain things are not meant to be returned. If an item is damaged, of course, return it - within a reasonable amount of time.
Let me put this into simpler terms...a day, a week, hell even a month - this is a reasonable amount of time. More often than not, you need to present your original receipt at the time of the return. If you come to me with a basting brush with a retail value of $8.00 - not exactly a great expenditure here - that you purchased eight fucking years ago, fuck you, you don't get a refund. Yes, I see that it has exactly four bristles left. You admitted that you bought it eight years ago. After that amount of time, that basting brush doesn't owe you a fucking dime, and neither do we.
And no, you can't exchange it for a new one. We don't even carry that one anymore. No, I don't know why. Maybe because the bristles spontaneously fall out after eight years. Either we stopped carrying them, or you bought it someplace else. That would be my guess, but that's just me.
Signed,
Your disgruntled retail associate.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Conversations at Work - This better not be the Jerky Boys.
And now, for something a little different.
Occasionally, the interactions we have with our customers don't really seem to work in letter form. Sometimes, the conversation itself needs to tell the story.
This was a phone conversation between Shannon, one of my former coworkers(as well as a long-time friend of mine) and a customer. Now, Shannon has a certain way with words, especially when dealing with customers. This guy had a rather prominent New Jersey accent, which sells it. Think of Carl, the neighbor from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, while you read this one. As I recall, it went something like this -
Shannon - How may I help you?
Customer - Yeah. I was just in there, and a got a coffee.
Shannon - Was there a problem, sir?
Customer -Yeah. The damn top came off. I spilled it on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Shannon - Excuse me?
Customer - Yeah. I spilled it on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Shannon - Wow. That must have sucked, sir.
Customer - You're damn right it sucked!
Shannon - Well, sir, is there anything you'd like us to do?
Customer - No. I just wanted to let you know I spilled my coffee on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Occasionally, the interactions we have with our customers don't really seem to work in letter form. Sometimes, the conversation itself needs to tell the story.
This was a phone conversation between Shannon, one of my former coworkers(as well as a long-time friend of mine) and a customer. Now, Shannon has a certain way with words, especially when dealing with customers. This guy had a rather prominent New Jersey accent, which sells it. Think of Carl, the neighbor from Aqua Teen Hunger Force, while you read this one. As I recall, it went something like this -
Shannon - How may I help you?
Customer - Yeah. I was just in there, and a got a coffee.
Shannon - Was there a problem, sir?
Customer -Yeah. The damn top came off. I spilled it on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Shannon - Excuse me?
Customer - Yeah. I spilled it on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Shannon - Wow. That must have sucked, sir.
Customer - You're damn right it sucked!
Shannon - Well, sir, is there anything you'd like us to do?
Customer - No. I just wanted to let you know I spilled my coffee on my shirt, and my trousers, and my crotch.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Driving Miss Daisy Part II - Daisy's Revenge.
Dear customers -
You've all experienced the wonders of our parking lot. Yes, it's awful. We've established that. Of course, since you all know just how bad it is, taking caution is always the best course of action.
Once again, however, some of you are just too fucking old to be driving. I don't see any indication that there's actually a person operating the vehicle except for a pouf of blue hair barely peeking over the steering wheel.
If you hear another car honking while you're pulling out of your spot, you might want to stop and see if someone is behind you - not drive faster. Didn't see them? I'm not surprised.
In the likely event that you do hit another vehicle, don't just fucking drive away. That shit didn't fly when you got your license a century ago. Just because you're practically mummified doesn't change that any.
And to the old fart in the silver Toyota - I saw you hit that parked car. I was taking out the garbage. You took the time to get out and see the damage. I told you to get your sorry ass inside and find the owner, but you ignored me and took off. Yeah, you. I know who you are. I got your license plate number, clown dick.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista - not the fucking parking lot attendant.
You've all experienced the wonders of our parking lot. Yes, it's awful. We've established that. Of course, since you all know just how bad it is, taking caution is always the best course of action.
Once again, however, some of you are just too fucking old to be driving. I don't see any indication that there's actually a person operating the vehicle except for a pouf of blue hair barely peeking over the steering wheel.
If you hear another car honking while you're pulling out of your spot, you might want to stop and see if someone is behind you - not drive faster. Didn't see them? I'm not surprised.
In the likely event that you do hit another vehicle, don't just fucking drive away. That shit didn't fly when you got your license a century ago. Just because you're practically mummified doesn't change that any.
And to the old fart in the silver Toyota - I saw you hit that parked car. I was taking out the garbage. You took the time to get out and see the damage. I told you to get your sorry ass inside and find the owner, but you ignored me and took off. Yeah, you. I know who you are. I got your license plate number, clown dick.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista - not the fucking parking lot attendant.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Driving Miss Daisy Part I.
Dear customers -
It has come to my attention that, much like our pal Gertrude, many of you are far too fucking old to drive. There are several indicators that can point you to this conclusion. However, since common sense escapes so many of you, here's just a couple off the top of my head.
The other day, I found a license plate in the parking lot. This isn't the first time it's happened. Those concrete humps at the end of the parking spot? Yeah. That's where you want to stop. Otherwise, you fuck up your bumper something awful, and may rip off the license plate in the process. Of course, this doesn't occur solely because the driver is too old. Quite often, there is a fucking cell phone involved. However, these are usually the people who come back at bitch that our parking lot fucked up their car.
Some of you, however, take it even further. The handicapped parking sign? That needs to stay there. It doesn't work if you run it over. That goes for the pay phone, too. Not going to function if it's wedged into the radiator of your Cadillac.
And then somehow, one of you managed to do all three - jump the parking hump, take out one of the handicapped parking signs, and plow straight into the pay phone. Not only did you have to jump the curb to do it, but make a full-blown left turn after running down the sign. That, my friends, takes fucking talent.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
It has come to my attention that, much like our pal Gertrude, many of you are far too fucking old to drive. There are several indicators that can point you to this conclusion. However, since common sense escapes so many of you, here's just a couple off the top of my head.
The other day, I found a license plate in the parking lot. This isn't the first time it's happened. Those concrete humps at the end of the parking spot? Yeah. That's where you want to stop. Otherwise, you fuck up your bumper something awful, and may rip off the license plate in the process. Of course, this doesn't occur solely because the driver is too old. Quite often, there is a fucking cell phone involved. However, these are usually the people who come back at bitch that our parking lot fucked up their car.
Some of you, however, take it even further. The handicapped parking sign? That needs to stay there. It doesn't work if you run it over. That goes for the pay phone, too. Not going to function if it's wedged into the radiator of your Cadillac.
And then somehow, one of you managed to do all three - jump the parking hump, take out one of the handicapped parking signs, and plow straight into the pay phone. Not only did you have to jump the curb to do it, but make a full-blown left turn after running down the sign. That, my friends, takes fucking talent.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Happy(belated) President's Day!
As happens all too often, this song was stuck in my head again today. Since the video is just so appropriate(a.k.a. inappropriate) for President's Day, I had to share.
I hope you all enjoyed purchasing mattresses yesterday. If you can tell me why they go on sale for President's Day, tell me in the comments.
I hope you all enjoyed purchasing mattresses yesterday. If you can tell me why they go on sale for President's Day, tell me in the comments.
No, you can't phone home...or the nail salon.
Dear customers -
No, you can't use our phone. That phone is necessary for our business. It's not an emergency. You're calling the nail salon across the street, and I can see your cell phone in the holster on your belt.
You have other options, you know. If your battery died, I understand. While you were out in the parking lot yammering away on your cell phone, you were standing right next to a pay phone. Remember those? Back in the olden days, people would use them to talk to other people. I'm sure you won't feel as cool using a phone that's attached to a wire instead of your face, but trust me, it works.
Of course, if you're too cheap to spend the fifty cents to use the pay phone, here's a novel idea for you. Hear me out on this one. Maybe...just maybe...you can trot your happy ass across the street to the nail salon. It's not that far. I can see it from here. It's over by the liquor store.
And no, you can't borrow my cell phone. Stop asking. I don't even bring it with me half the fucking time.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
No, you can't use our phone. That phone is necessary for our business. It's not an emergency. You're calling the nail salon across the street, and I can see your cell phone in the holster on your belt.
You have other options, you know. If your battery died, I understand. While you were out in the parking lot yammering away on your cell phone, you were standing right next to a pay phone. Remember those? Back in the olden days, people would use them to talk to other people. I'm sure you won't feel as cool using a phone that's attached to a wire instead of your face, but trust me, it works.
Of course, if you're too cheap to spend the fifty cents to use the pay phone, here's a novel idea for you. Hear me out on this one. Maybe...just maybe...you can trot your happy ass across the street to the nail salon. It's not that far. I can see it from here. It's over by the liquor store.
And no, you can't borrow my cell phone. Stop asking. I don't even bring it with me half the fucking time.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Return to sender - insufficient brain activity.
Dear customers -
As we've previously discussed, you don't get free shit for being stupid - "the ice cubes are too big" is not a reason for me to give you a free drink. I think I should let you know that you can't return shit because your stupid, either.
I will be happy to refund your money if there is something wrong with the sandwich you just purchased. However, you can't return the sandwich you just bought because we're out of paper bags. It doesn't work that way. I think you can manage carrying it 50 feet to your car.
You can't return your bagel because we won't put the cream cheese on it for you. I already sliced and toasted it for you. You have a little cup of cream cheese. You have a knife. I assure you, the mechanics aren't hard to figure out.
And no, you can't return that coffee mug. You didn't even buy the fucking thing here.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
As we've previously discussed, you don't get free shit for being stupid - "the ice cubes are too big" is not a reason for me to give you a free drink. I think I should let you know that you can't return shit because your stupid, either.
I will be happy to refund your money if there is something wrong with the sandwich you just purchased. However, you can't return the sandwich you just bought because we're out of paper bags. It doesn't work that way. I think you can manage carrying it 50 feet to your car.
You can't return your bagel because we won't put the cream cheese on it for you. I already sliced and toasted it for you. You have a little cup of cream cheese. You have a knife. I assure you, the mechanics aren't hard to figure out.
And no, you can't return that coffee mug. You didn't even buy the fucking thing here.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Porn Shop Sunday - look at the package. And the package on it.
One of my previous jobs was in an adult bookstore. With all the stories this job provided me, it warrants its own special day(with the emphasis on "special"). Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you - Porn Shop Sunday!
Dear customers -
This really, really isn't the kind of business in which we can accept returns. Naturally, we can take returns on defective products, such as vibrators that begin to smoke during use.
However, "This isn't what I thought it was" is not an acceptable reason to return a product. I was working when you purchased the product. You came in with your hat pulled down, asked me where we kept the blow-up dolls, and grabbed the first one off the shelf without so much as looking at the package.
In this case, had you taken the time to read the package, you would have discovered that your Mystery Date for the evening was none other than the Foxy Angel Transsexual Love Doll. See the dick in the photo? Yeah, the doll has one of those. Next time, you may want to check and see if your doll has a penis before you blow it up.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Dear customers -
This really, really isn't the kind of business in which we can accept returns. Naturally, we can take returns on defective products, such as vibrators that begin to smoke during use.
However, "This isn't what I thought it was" is not an acceptable reason to return a product. I was working when you purchased the product. You came in with your hat pulled down, asked me where we kept the blow-up dolls, and grabbed the first one off the shelf without so much as looking at the package.
In this case, had you taken the time to read the package, you would have discovered that your Mystery Date for the evening was none other than the Foxy Angel Transsexual Love Doll. See the dick in the photo? Yeah, the doll has one of those. Next time, you may want to check and see if your doll has a penis before you blow it up.
Signed,
Your friendly local rubber dick saleswoman.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Great moments in work history - I believe the children are our future(Darwin Award winners).
I've had a number of different jobs over the years. I've sold everything from rubber dicks to women's shoes, and I have plenty of stories to tell about these jobs as well. Right now, I'm thinking that weekends may need to be devoted to letters to the patrons of these former places of employment. It can't hurt to change things up a little here and there.
Today, we have a letter to the customers of a craft store I worked in a number of years back. I visited one the other day, and sadly, this letter is still applicable.
Dear customers -
I can't stress enough the importance of supervising your children when you venture out into the world. They're kids. Kids have a tendency to do stupid shit. It is your job as parents to teach them not to do stupid shit, and not merely expect the employees of whatever retail establishment they happen to be terrorizing to do it for you.
What it all boils down to is this - the fake fruit we sell? Yeah. It's fake. I know it looks yummy, but it's not food. Every single night that I clean that particular section of the store, I find at least half a dozen pieces of plastic fruit sporting teeth marks. It never fails. I'd tell you to feed your damn kids before you leave the house, yet for some strange reason, I get the feeling that they don't do this at the supermarket. You've taught them not to eat things there, but not at the craft store. There's something wrong with this picture. Just because it looks like food doesn't mean that it's food. Have fun when your little bastard poops out a bunch of plastic grapes.
Signed,
Your disgruntled retail associate.
Today, we have a letter to the customers of a craft store I worked in a number of years back. I visited one the other day, and sadly, this letter is still applicable.
Dear customers -
I can't stress enough the importance of supervising your children when you venture out into the world. They're kids. Kids have a tendency to do stupid shit. It is your job as parents to teach them not to do stupid shit, and not merely expect the employees of whatever retail establishment they happen to be terrorizing to do it for you.
What it all boils down to is this - the fake fruit we sell? Yeah. It's fake. I know it looks yummy, but it's not food. Every single night that I clean that particular section of the store, I find at least half a dozen pieces of plastic fruit sporting teeth marks. It never fails. I'd tell you to feed your damn kids before you leave the house, yet for some strange reason, I get the feeling that they don't do this at the supermarket. You've taught them not to eat things there, but not at the craft store. There's something wrong with this picture. Just because it looks like food doesn't mean that it's food. Have fun when your little bastard poops out a bunch of plastic grapes.
Signed,
Your disgruntled retail associate.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Ode to Gertrude.
As I mentioned a while back, I will occasionally write a letter to a specific customer. Of course, the names will be changed to protect the innocent...or in this case, the incontinent.
This letter is to Gertrude. Many years ago, she was one of my regular customers, and she was always...um...interesting.
Dear Gertrude -
It's been quite some time since I've seen you. My guess is that you aren't allowed to drive anymore. Still, you've been in the back of my mind. People like you are hard to forget.
I still recall one incident in particular. You received your drink and your usual four brownies, and as per usual, headed over to the condiment bar to dump 47 packets of Equal into your americano. As you did this, I noticed the dark spot slowly growing and creeping down the leg of your pants. Anyone else would have been mortified, and would have taken the next logical step - get their ass home and change into clothes not soaked in urine. But not you, Gertrude, not you. No, you proceeded to sit down in the cafe to consume the beverage, as well as all four of the brownies. I have to ask - do you realize that you were sitting there, basting in your own juices, for a good 45 minutes? Somehow, I doubt it. Please, please, please...invest in some Depends. We'll all be so much happier for it.
On a final note - I know you told me about lapsing into a diabetic coma. For some reason, you seemed completely surprised by this. I may not have a medical degree, but those four brownies you'd eat on a daily basis? My guess is those had something to do with it. My diagnosis is a terminal case of stupid.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who does not get paid nearly enough to clean up your bodily fluids).
P.S. - If you happen to run into that old lady who took a dump in our hallway, tell her to stop stealing the damn toilet seat covers.
This letter is to Gertrude. Many years ago, she was one of my regular customers, and she was always...um...interesting.
Dear Gertrude -
It's been quite some time since I've seen you. My guess is that you aren't allowed to drive anymore. Still, you've been in the back of my mind. People like you are hard to forget.
I still recall one incident in particular. You received your drink and your usual four brownies, and as per usual, headed over to the condiment bar to dump 47 packets of Equal into your americano. As you did this, I noticed the dark spot slowly growing and creeping down the leg of your pants. Anyone else would have been mortified, and would have taken the next logical step - get their ass home and change into clothes not soaked in urine. But not you, Gertrude, not you. No, you proceeded to sit down in the cafe to consume the beverage, as well as all four of the brownies. I have to ask - do you realize that you were sitting there, basting in your own juices, for a good 45 minutes? Somehow, I doubt it. Please, please, please...invest in some Depends. We'll all be so much happier for it.
On a final note - I know you told me about lapsing into a diabetic coma. For some reason, you seemed completely surprised by this. I may not have a medical degree, but those four brownies you'd eat on a daily basis? My guess is those had something to do with it. My diagnosis is a terminal case of stupid.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who does not get paid nearly enough to clean up your bodily fluids).
P.S. - If you happen to run into that old lady who took a dump in our hallway, tell her to stop stealing the damn toilet seat covers.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Can I help you - or rather, can you be helped?
Dear customers -
A large portion of my day consists of making small talk. This small talk usually involves having the same conversation over...and over...and over again. Chances are, I know what you're going to say before you say it.
When I ask if you'd like anything else, that could mean a multitude of things - room for milk in your coffee, a copy of your receipt, something to eat, more toilet paper in the bathroom. Actually, there's a good sporting chance that toilet paper will be your answer.
If I ask you this question, don't tell me "A stack of hundreds". You say the same fucking thing every day. It wasn't funny the first time. It damn sure isn't funny now.
Another inappropriate answer to this question - "Did I ask for anything else?" No, you didn't. You were too busy on your fucking cell phone for me to get a word in edgewise. Would you like me to punch you in the tit? That can be arranged.
And finally, there's that old chestnut, "To take you out to dinner?", or something of similar ilk. Really? Dude, you're 60, and your wife is ten feet away putting way too much Equal in her coffee. There's really no good reason to ask the question when we both know what the answer will be.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is starved for intelligent conversation).
A large portion of my day consists of making small talk. This small talk usually involves having the same conversation over...and over...and over again. Chances are, I know what you're going to say before you say it.
When I ask if you'd like anything else, that could mean a multitude of things - room for milk in your coffee, a copy of your receipt, something to eat, more toilet paper in the bathroom. Actually, there's a good sporting chance that toilet paper will be your answer.
If I ask you this question, don't tell me "A stack of hundreds". You say the same fucking thing every day. It wasn't funny the first time. It damn sure isn't funny now.
Another inappropriate answer to this question - "Did I ask for anything else?" No, you didn't. You were too busy on your fucking cell phone for me to get a word in edgewise. Would you like me to punch you in the tit? That can be arranged.
And finally, there's that old chestnut, "To take you out to dinner?", or something of similar ilk. Really? Dude, you're 60, and your wife is ten feet away putting way too much Equal in her coffee. There's really no good reason to ask the question when we both know what the answer will be.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is starved for intelligent conversation).
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Why can't baristas teach their clients how to speak?
Dear customers -
The beverage is known as a "caramel macchiato". It is not a "caramel match-iato", a "caramel Macchio", nor a "caramel machismo". You've been ordering the same drink for ten years now, and you've heard us properly pronounce it for ten years. I'm not sure it's possible to be that oblivious. Calling it a "caramel mariachi", a "caramel Maui Wowie", or a "caramel mecca-lecca-hi-mecca-hiney-ho" - we don't care what you think, it's not cute. You sound like a blithering idiot.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
P.S. - While we're at it, it's a "chai tea latte"...not a "tai chi latte".
The beverage is known as a "caramel macchiato". It is not a "caramel match-iato", a "caramel Macchio", nor a "caramel machismo". You've been ordering the same drink for ten years now, and you've heard us properly pronounce it for ten years. I'm not sure it's possible to be that oblivious. Calling it a "caramel mariachi", a "caramel Maui Wowie", or a "caramel mecca-lecca-hi-mecca-hiney-ho" - we don't care what you think, it's not cute. You sound like a blithering idiot.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
P.S. - While we're at it, it's a "chai tea latte"...not a "tai chi latte".
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
I see you rollin'. I'm hatin'.
Dear customers -
Yes, our parking lot is God awful. I've been saying this for years, and I'm fairly confident that it won't get better any time soon. However, if you want your coffee that badly, it's something you're going to have to deal with. You might want to try to do so like a civilized human being.
First of all - I can't stress this enough - put down the fucking cell phone. You know how I feel about those things. You can't handle talking on the phone and throwing away your garbage at the same time. How the fuck do you think you can handle talking on the phone while pulling your Escalade into a parking spot? You can barely see over the steering wheel as it is, and I'm sure the sunglasses that take up half your face don't help matters.
Of course, looking where you're going might help, too. You don't know how many times some bimbo soccer mom has almost backed over me while I was taking out the garbage, all because she couldn't put the phone down for two seconds to fucking pay attention.
And then, don't fucking honk at me because I'm in your way. I'm trying to do my job. All you're doing is trying to set up a "play date"(a term I hate with a passion) for little Dylan or Madison or whatever the hell people call their little bastards nowadays. Remember - just because you drive a luxury car doesn't entitle you to right of way. I know it's difficult to comprehend, but if you pulled your head out of your ass once in a while, I'm sure you could figure it out.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is surprised she hasn't become roadkill yet).
Yes, our parking lot is God awful. I've been saying this for years, and I'm fairly confident that it won't get better any time soon. However, if you want your coffee that badly, it's something you're going to have to deal with. You might want to try to do so like a civilized human being.
First of all - I can't stress this enough - put down the fucking cell phone. You know how I feel about those things. You can't handle talking on the phone and throwing away your garbage at the same time. How the fuck do you think you can handle talking on the phone while pulling your Escalade into a parking spot? You can barely see over the steering wheel as it is, and I'm sure the sunglasses that take up half your face don't help matters.
Of course, looking where you're going might help, too. You don't know how many times some bimbo soccer mom has almost backed over me while I was taking out the garbage, all because she couldn't put the phone down for two seconds to fucking pay attention.
And then, don't fucking honk at me because I'm in your way. I'm trying to do my job. All you're doing is trying to set up a "play date"(a term I hate with a passion) for little Dylan or Madison or whatever the hell people call their little bastards nowadays. Remember - just because you drive a luxury car doesn't entitle you to right of way. I know it's difficult to comprehend, but if you pulled your head out of your ass once in a while, I'm sure you could figure it out.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is surprised she hasn't become roadkill yet).
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy V.D., everybody.
Dear customers -
This isn't so much a rant about you as it is about this bullshit holiday. Don't worry - I'm still going to bitch about you, too.
Yes, it's Valentine's Day. I get it. This holiday is supposed to be about love. Considering the fact that so many of you seem to be in marriages of convenience, or just plain old trophy wives, I don't see why it matters. All I care about is chocolate going on sale tomorrow. This fucking holiday is about chocolate. If you bring me chocolate, perhaps I won't be tempted to punch you in the uterus.
I know that tonight, we're going to get a fuckload of teenagers coming in on "dates". We'll get the girls who aren't old enough to realize that it's a bullshit holiday. You'll grow out of your pink and red glitter heart phase soon enough. And then there's the boys, who are just old enough to realize that they can use Valentine's Day as an excuse to get down their girls' pants. Ladies - it doesn't matter how old you are. Some things never change, and men looking for any reason to get laid is one of those things. You're all idiots. That will probably never change, either. This will probably not be the great romance of your life, but I think you deserve each other.
I'm not big on public displays of affection. Never have been. But please, for the love of all that's holy, we serve food here. Get your tongue back in your own mouth, get off your douchebag boyfriend's lap, and get your hands out of that poor stupid girl's panties before I feel the need to call the CDC.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(and thankfully single) barista.
This isn't so much a rant about you as it is about this bullshit holiday. Don't worry - I'm still going to bitch about you, too.
Yes, it's Valentine's Day. I get it. This holiday is supposed to be about love. Considering the fact that so many of you seem to be in marriages of convenience, or just plain old trophy wives, I don't see why it matters. All I care about is chocolate going on sale tomorrow. This fucking holiday is about chocolate. If you bring me chocolate, perhaps I won't be tempted to punch you in the uterus.
I know that tonight, we're going to get a fuckload of teenagers coming in on "dates". We'll get the girls who aren't old enough to realize that it's a bullshit holiday. You'll grow out of your pink and red glitter heart phase soon enough. And then there's the boys, who are just old enough to realize that they can use Valentine's Day as an excuse to get down their girls' pants. Ladies - it doesn't matter how old you are. Some things never change, and men looking for any reason to get laid is one of those things. You're all idiots. That will probably never change, either. This will probably not be the great romance of your life, but I think you deserve each other.
I'm not big on public displays of affection. Never have been. But please, for the love of all that's holy, we serve food here. Get your tongue back in your own mouth, get off your douchebag boyfriend's lap, and get your hands out of that poor stupid girl's panties before I feel the need to call the CDC.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(and thankfully single) barista.
Friday, February 11, 2011
You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.
Dear customers -
Please stop getting pissy with me when I don't remember your drink off the top of my head. I probably make a couple hundred drinks a day - at least, it feels that way. While I do remember a great deal of them, I don't have the superhuman ability to recall every single one. Your iced coffee really doesn't stand out in my head.
Typically, if I do remember your beverage, it's for one of two reasons - either you're one of my regular customers who has the decency to treat me like a human being, or you're such a fucking clown dick that I make absolutely certain to memorize your order. That way, I never have to talk to you again. I can simply make your drink and move on with my life, instead of listening to you whining how there isn't enough decaf in your drink. You ordered half-caf. It's half decaf, and half regular. You want two-thirds decaf, fucking ask for it.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Please stop getting pissy with me when I don't remember your drink off the top of my head. I probably make a couple hundred drinks a day - at least, it feels that way. While I do remember a great deal of them, I don't have the superhuman ability to recall every single one. Your iced coffee really doesn't stand out in my head.
Typically, if I do remember your beverage, it's for one of two reasons - either you're one of my regular customers who has the decency to treat me like a human being, or you're such a fucking clown dick that I make absolutely certain to memorize your order. That way, I never have to talk to you again. I can simply make your drink and move on with my life, instead of listening to you whining how there isn't enough decaf in your drink. You ordered half-caf. It's half decaf, and half regular. You want two-thirds decaf, fucking ask for it.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Change is good...just not at 8 AM.
Dear customers -
We're in the middle of the morning rush. It happens at more or less the same time every day. You come in at more or less the same time every day. Therefore, you should know by now that there's going to be 15 people on line behind you. You had plenty of time to fuck around with your wallet while you were waiting for us to help the 15 people that were on line ahead of you. It makes everyone's life easier if you have your fucking money ready. Quit fumbling around with all the other crap in your wallet.
Handing me your gym membership card, library card, PBA card, or whatever the fuck else is in your wallet isn't going to pay for your coffee. You know where your credit card is. Hell, you've got six of them. Fucking pick one.
The morning rush is also not the time to pay with loose change. I know how it is. It's one thing when you have to use the pennies in your car's cup holder to pay for shit. It's another when you've got plenty of cash on hand, and just want to get rid of your change. Go to the fucking bank like a normal human being.
And finally, once you're done fucking around and holding up the line, don't leave all the receipts and gum wrappers and shit from your wallet on the counter. We've been over this. That can over there? Yeah. That's where the garbage lives.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista - not the fucking Coin Star machine.
We're in the middle of the morning rush. It happens at more or less the same time every day. You come in at more or less the same time every day. Therefore, you should know by now that there's going to be 15 people on line behind you. You had plenty of time to fuck around with your wallet while you were waiting for us to help the 15 people that were on line ahead of you. It makes everyone's life easier if you have your fucking money ready. Quit fumbling around with all the other crap in your wallet.
Handing me your gym membership card, library card, PBA card, or whatever the fuck else is in your wallet isn't going to pay for your coffee. You know where your credit card is. Hell, you've got six of them. Fucking pick one.
The morning rush is also not the time to pay with loose change. I know how it is. It's one thing when you have to use the pennies in your car's cup holder to pay for shit. It's another when you've got plenty of cash on hand, and just want to get rid of your change. Go to the fucking bank like a normal human being.
And finally, once you're done fucking around and holding up the line, don't leave all the receipts and gum wrappers and shit from your wallet on the counter. We've been over this. That can over there? Yeah. That's where the garbage lives.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista - not the fucking Coin Star machine.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The best part of waking up...
Dear customers -
Please stop stealing supplies from the bathroom. You're driving a Mercedes. I saw it when you almost ran me over while I was taking out the garbage. I think you can afford to purchase your own toilet paper. If not, your $20 a day coffee addiction probably has something to do with that. Having the ability to wipe your ass is slightly more important than espresso. Yeah. Just a little bit.
As for the paper toilet seat covers, I'm not sure I want to know what you need those for. Is your bathroom at home so disgusting that you require them? Maybe you should try cleaning it. Radical idea, I know. I have those once in a while.
I know who you are. I saw you and your handful of purloined toilet seat covers running for the door. No surprise, this was immediately after I found the steaming pile of shit in the hallway by the bathrooms. Now, I can't say that we've all taken a dump in public, but I can see how embarrassing it might be. However, I would greatly appreciate it if you would either make an effort to clean up after yourself, or at the very least, inform one of the staff members so we can take care of it. I'm not sure when leaving the pile of shit in the hallway for another customer to find seemed like the appropriate way to handle the situation. I can assure you that walking into one's favorite local coffee shop and stepping in human fecal matter is not a good start to the day.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is ready to procure a hazmat suit).
Please stop stealing supplies from the bathroom. You're driving a Mercedes. I saw it when you almost ran me over while I was taking out the garbage. I think you can afford to purchase your own toilet paper. If not, your $20 a day coffee addiction probably has something to do with that. Having the ability to wipe your ass is slightly more important than espresso. Yeah. Just a little bit.
As for the paper toilet seat covers, I'm not sure I want to know what you need those for. Is your bathroom at home so disgusting that you require them? Maybe you should try cleaning it. Radical idea, I know. I have those once in a while.
I know who you are. I saw you and your handful of purloined toilet seat covers running for the door. No surprise, this was immediately after I found the steaming pile of shit in the hallway by the bathrooms. Now, I can't say that we've all taken a dump in public, but I can see how embarrassing it might be. However, I would greatly appreciate it if you would either make an effort to clean up after yourself, or at the very least, inform one of the staff members so we can take care of it. I'm not sure when leaving the pile of shit in the hallway for another customer to find seemed like the appropriate way to handle the situation. I can assure you that walking into one's favorite local coffee shop and stepping in human fecal matter is not a good start to the day.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is ready to procure a hazmat suit).
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
You don't get a free drink because you suck at life.
Dear customers -
I will be more than happy to remake your drink if I made it incorrectly, or if I made the incorrect drink. I won't give you a free cup of coffee because it's too hot. It's a freshly brewed pot of coffee, dumbass. It's supposed to be hot. I'm not making your drink again because you let it sit for 45 minutes. If I've said it once, I'll say it again - get off your fucking cell phone already. I sure as hell won't give you a free drink because "the ice cubes are too big". I don't even know where to begin with that one. Getting free shit is always a good thing. I'm not going to deny that. For fuck's sake, quit abusing the system.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who's seriously sick of your shit).
I will be more than happy to remake your drink if I made it incorrectly, or if I made the incorrect drink. I won't give you a free cup of coffee because it's too hot. It's a freshly brewed pot of coffee, dumbass. It's supposed to be hot. I'm not making your drink again because you let it sit for 45 minutes. If I've said it once, I'll say it again - get off your fucking cell phone already. I sure as hell won't give you a free drink because "the ice cubes are too big". I don't even know where to begin with that one. Getting free shit is always a good thing. I'm not going to deny that. For fuck's sake, quit abusing the system.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who's seriously sick of your shit).
Monday, February 7, 2011
Thank you for your patience...oh, wait. never mind.
Dear customers -
You see that I'm changing the garbage in the condiment bar. While I appreciate your efforts, and applaud you for finally figuring out that this is where the garbage lives, there are currently no trash bags in the can, nor is there a trash can in the condiment stand. As it is, I spend the majority of my life cleaning up after you. I'm really not in any mood to hose out the garbage can, or spend the next 20 minutes wiping down and sanitizing the condiment stand I just finished cleaning. Perhaps, if you got off of your fucking cell phone for two seconds and paid attention to your surroundings, this wouldn't be an issue.
Signed,
Your disgruntled, latte-saturated barista.
You see that I'm changing the garbage in the condiment bar. While I appreciate your efforts, and applaud you for finally figuring out that this is where the garbage lives, there are currently no trash bags in the can, nor is there a trash can in the condiment stand. As it is, I spend the majority of my life cleaning up after you. I'm really not in any mood to hose out the garbage can, or spend the next 20 minutes wiping down and sanitizing the condiment stand I just finished cleaning. Perhaps, if you got off of your fucking cell phone for two seconds and paid attention to your surroundings, this wouldn't be an issue.
Signed,
Your disgruntled, latte-saturated barista.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Stupid question time - thank you, come again...or don't. Yeah, that one.
Dear customers -
This is a coffee shop. We sell coffee here. We not sell French fries here.
If you want to buy beer, there's a liquor store across the street. We do not sell cigarettes. You can buy those at the liquor store, too. No, I don't have one I can give you.
If you want toilet paper, there's a drug store next to the liquor store. We don't sell it. Please don't steal it.
We do not sell stamps. the post office is two doors down. No, I don't have any I can sell you.
We do not sell ice cream. No, I can't make you a chocolate soda. We really don't sell ice cream. Asking the manager isn't going to make ice cream magically appear.
And I'm not sure why you think we sell tennis balls, but please put on some pants.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is half tempted to ask you to buy her a fifth of Cuervo when you go across the street).
This is a coffee shop. We sell coffee here. We not sell French fries here.
If you want to buy beer, there's a liquor store across the street. We do not sell cigarettes. You can buy those at the liquor store, too. No, I don't have one I can give you.
If you want toilet paper, there's a drug store next to the liquor store. We don't sell it. Please don't steal it.
We do not sell stamps. the post office is two doors down. No, I don't have any I can sell you.
We do not sell ice cream. No, I can't make you a chocolate soda. We really don't sell ice cream. Asking the manager isn't going to make ice cream magically appear.
And I'm not sure why you think we sell tennis balls, but please put on some pants.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who is half tempted to ask you to buy her a fifth of Cuervo when you go across the street).
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Today's PSA for birth control - teenage girls are vile creatures.
Dear customers -
No, you can't have a children's size hot chocolate. I know you're at that delicate age where you want Mommy and Daddy to treat you like an adult, but you're still a child. However, in this particular scenario, you do not qualify as a child. You drove here. I saw you. I'm guessing that's Mommy's Lexus. In case you can't read - put down the cell phone, little girl - the menu board clearly says "12 and under". If you're old enough to give a blowjob, you're too fucking old for a children's hot chocolate. There's a fun idea for you - just don't do it in our bathroom.
And don't sit on my fucking tables. I don't know where your skanky ass has been. Two minutes ago, you were practically giving your boyfriend a lap dance in the cafe, so I'm sure I don't want to know. But it damn sure doesn't belong on my fucking tables. You wouldn't do that at home, would you? Fuck you, and fuck your parents for raising you to be spoiled brats.
Now go the fuck home. We close at 10. Don't call to ask when we close, show up at 9:58, and just hang out without buying anything. Get the fuck out of my store. Go loiter in front of the 7-11 like normal teenagers.
Signed,
The disgruntled barista who never would have behaved that way when she was your age.
Friday, February 4, 2011
The (real) official State Bird of New Jersey.
Dear customers -
Yes, we lock the back door at night. You can handle using the front entrance. It's an extra 25 feet to the parking lot. Considering how much you were whining about the caloric content of that beverage - yes, I'm talking to you with the extra caramel and extra whipped cream - your fat ass could use it. We lock it for our own personal safety, not to inconvenience you, so don't flip us off when we make you use the front door.
Same goes for when you show up after closing. The hours are very clearly posted on the door. Learn to fucking read, or maybe get off the fucking cell phone. We're still there because we have to clean up after obnoxious teenagers, not to taunt you. Don't show up 20 minutes after we close and expect us to stop what we're doing, reboot our computers, open a cash register, brew a fresh pot of coffee and/or wait 15 minutes for the boiler in the espresso machine to heat up again, effectively putting us another half an hour behind schedule. If you do, once again, don't flip us off. At that point in the evening, someone might just give the finger right back to you.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista who just wants to go the fuck home.
Same goes for when you show up after closing. The hours are very clearly posted on the door. Learn to fucking read, or maybe get off the fucking cell phone. We're still there because we have to clean up after obnoxious teenagers, not to taunt you. Don't show up 20 minutes after we close and expect us to stop what we're doing, reboot our computers, open a cash register, brew a fresh pot of coffee and/or wait 15 minutes for the boiler in the espresso machine to heat up again, effectively putting us another half an hour behind schedule. If you do, once again, don't flip us off. At that point in the evening, someone might just give the finger right back to you.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista who just wants to go the fuck home.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Can you read, or do we need to start using the buddy system?
Dear customers -
For the last time, I do not have a cash register at the espresso bar. One of the reasons I'm always behind the espresso bar is so I don't have to talk to you - partly because I can't hear you, and partly because you're probably an asshole. See the sign that reads "Line begins here"? Yeah. The line begins there. If you didn't place your order at the register, chances are I don't have your order. Therefore, that drink on the counter is not yours. That is for someone who actually paid for their drink, and is probably going to get pissed off at me if you walk off with it. Ultimately, I will have to remake that person's drink, which will hold up the line, and will piss off all the other people waiting for their drinks. In turn, this will piss me off, which will lead to me drinking on the job.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(and surprisingly sober) barista.
For the last time, I do not have a cash register at the espresso bar. One of the reasons I'm always behind the espresso bar is so I don't have to talk to you - partly because I can't hear you, and partly because you're probably an asshole. See the sign that reads "Line begins here"? Yeah. The line begins there. If you didn't place your order at the register, chances are I don't have your order. Therefore, that drink on the counter is not yours. That is for someone who actually paid for their drink, and is probably going to get pissed off at me if you walk off with it. Ultimately, I will have to remake that person's drink, which will hold up the line, and will piss off all the other people waiting for their drinks. In turn, this will piss me off, which will lead to me drinking on the job.
Signed,
Your disgruntled(and surprisingly sober) barista.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Potty training - not just for children anymore.
Dear customers -
What I find even more repulsive - and slightly more unsettling - is the dirty diaper left on the changing table in the bathroom. Really? See the big black can next to the changing table? That's where the garbage lives. I know it's gross, but you found the intestinal fortitude to spawn the little bastard. I think you can handle discarding a poopie diaper.
Signed,
Your disgruntled, thoroughly grossed-out barista.
P.S. - While we're on the subject - as I just mentioned, there is a changing table in the restroom. Please, for fuck's sake, stop using the tables in the cafe for this purpose. I don't even know where to begin with that one.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Stupid question time - tea and apathy.
Dear customers -
Yes, there is caffeine in green tea. No, chamomile tea does not have caffeine. No, it does not contain trace amounts of caffeine. It's herbal tea. There are no tea leaves in herbal tea, and therefore, no caffeine. Yes, the green tea has caffeine. We already discussed this. No, the mint tea does not have caffeine. Once again, the herbal teas do not have caffeine. Yes, I understand that you have vertigo and can't have caffeine. Yes, the green tea is caffeinated. No, the chai latte does not come in decaf. No, it never did. Yes, there is still caffeine in the green tea. Go fuck yourself.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who needs something stronger than caffeine at this point).
Yes, there is caffeine in green tea. No, chamomile tea does not have caffeine. No, it does not contain trace amounts of caffeine. It's herbal tea. There are no tea leaves in herbal tea, and therefore, no caffeine. Yes, the green tea has caffeine. We already discussed this. No, the mint tea does not have caffeine. Once again, the herbal teas do not have caffeine. Yes, I understand that you have vertigo and can't have caffeine. Yes, the green tea is caffeinated. No, the chai latte does not come in decaf. No, it never did. Yes, there is still caffeine in the green tea. Go fuck yourself.
Signed,
Your disgruntled barista(who needs something stronger than caffeine at this point).
Monday, January 31, 2011
My two cents.
Dear customers -
You just spent what I make in an hour on a cup of coffee. You come into my store every day, sometimes twice a day, and you know exactly how much that beverage costs. Somehow, you don't seem to have figured out that the container sitting on the counter is our tip jar. If you don't want to tip us, that's fine - you aren't required to do so. It's your prerogative. But for fuck's sake, stop using the tip jar as your own personal "Take a Penny" dish. If you're short by a couple of cents on occasion, I understand. It happens to the best of us, and in that situation, it really isn't a big deal. But every single fucking day? We're all fucking sick of it. Just for that, I'm Crazy Gluing a penny to the floor, for the sole purpose of watching you try in vain to retrieve it. Don't be a dick.
Signed,
Your disgruntled, depressingly underpaid barista.
You just spent what I make in an hour on a cup of coffee. You come into my store every day, sometimes twice a day, and you know exactly how much that beverage costs. Somehow, you don't seem to have figured out that the container sitting on the counter is our tip jar. If you don't want to tip us, that's fine - you aren't required to do so. It's your prerogative. But for fuck's sake, stop using the tip jar as your own personal "Take a Penny" dish. If you're short by a couple of cents on occasion, I understand. It happens to the best of us, and in that situation, it really isn't a big deal. But every single fucking day? We're all fucking sick of it. Just for that, I'm Crazy Gluing a penny to the floor, for the sole purpose of watching you try in vain to retrieve it. Don't be a dick.
Signed,
Your disgruntled, depressingly underpaid barista.
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