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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)