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.

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.