The Coffee House
Welcome to caffeinated hell. You're either a barrista or somebody who patronizes Starbucks or other coffeehouses, and I want to hear about all the jerks you've encountered while coffeeing up.
Here's my most recent:
They're so nice at the Starbucks I go to on Sundays, taking super care of my friend Tom, who's in a motorized wheelchair, and being really friendly and kind to all the customers.
If they aren't busy, and you order some kind of heated sandwich, they'll pop over and give it to you. But, a couple days ago, this man snarled, "Where's my bagel?!" to one of the employees (not the one who took his order, apparently, either).
She told him it was probably on the counter by the oven, and then went and got it for him. He barely looked up when he took it from her.
"I was under the impression you don't have table service here," I said, wink-wink.
"We don't," she said.
You've got to love a guy who buys a $2.95 breakfast sandwich and expects snap-snap table service, too, like he's at Alain Ducasse.