Second verse, same as the first...

Even MORE Ways to Piss Off Your Barista

Since the first one was so popular (enough to elicit angry comments at least), I'm back again with hate-filled advice for the average coffee drinker. This was actually largely composed over a month ago, but I've felt like sun-baked shit for a little while now. Please to enjoy. As it's been said, you haven't seen it, so it's new to you!

1. Don't make me gag. Okay, so you're only breaking your diet this one time... That's none of my goddamn business. Still, if the first question in your mind is whether caramel or chocolate syrup (or both) will best compliment the heavy cream in your drink, try again. Maybe I should start printing directions to the nearest emergency room on the bottoms of the cups.

2. No bullshitting. Let's review some of the more fanciful claims from customers:

-Soy milk curdles in hot coffee.

-Higher lactose content in heavy cream makes it healthier.

-In a half-caff, regular should go on top of the decaf because it's "heavier."

-"I got that last time I was here..." (unless that was over four years ago, I can say with confidence that you're wrong).

-Oily beans taste better (this, in fact, probably means they're old).

3. We're not gonna do it. A few helpful customer suggestions:

-Install a roaster in every store.

-Use cold-brew coffee.

-Carry [insert small-time baker]'s [insert unsellable item].

-"You should have live music!" You're going to be in charge of setting that up? Fantastic!

-"You need to change your business strategy. There was a line out the door at Starbucks!" Sign me up for a subscription to the Wall Street Journal and Business Advice from Know-all Dicks immediately!

-Let you put stacks of fliers on our counter for your fucking band or anti-Bush rally or Vegan Carob Muffin sell-off.

4. There are stupid questions. Pick any item in the store, and you can come up with a stupid question about it. Examples: Croissant - "Is that a bagel or a scone?" Single Origin Coffee - "What's in this blend?" Muffins - "Do you bake your own muffins?" [maybe not such a strange question, but I've had people insist the sanitizer was, in fact, an oven.]

5. Fresh is a relative term. No, not everything behind the counter "just came in." There's a thing called shelf life, and I believe we do our best to stay well below it. Here's what I don't want to hear:

-"You don't have anything fresh today?" That's just an asshole thing to say. Neither yes nor no appropriately answers it.

-"How old is this muffin?" Is there somewhere that it's acceptable to say something like this?

6. You can't have it. I've had people ask for money from my tip jar. People have asked for 62 cents worth of coffee. I don't have a cigarrette for your broke ass, and neither do my customers. And please stop trying to apply for my job; as far as I know I'm not in immediate danger of being replaced.

7. Taste the coffee. We offer samples of the coffee. I will also give detailed descriptions. If you then take the sample and add cream/sugar or ask for half-caff, you've just insulted me. Do you ask for the $25 fillet & then cover it with Heinz 57? No, because that's ass-stupid.

8. I don't want to smell you. Coffee has a strong aroma. Maybe it doesn't always cover my BO, but I like to think it gives me an enchanting musk. If, on the other hand, your walking into the door turns us into a 19th century French brothel, it's time to cut back on the Au de Assflower. One guy, and I suppose no one's ever told him this (I sure as hell wasn't about to), smelled like sex all the time. Maybe this is judgmental of me, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't because he was getting laid. What does sex smell like, you ask? Umm... sweat and pollen? Boiled cabbage on the cattle ranch? Fine cheese and raw salmon? I expect answers in the comments.

9. It wasn't funny when the first guy said it, either. Examples? You bet!

-"Looks like you need your coffee this morning too!" [I still say this sometimes anyway, so I guess I'm a hypocrite]

-"Can I get a mocha-whata-frappa-dappa-lappa-ccino?"

-"Do you even have just regular coffee?" [try to imagine the amount of incredulity that goes into a question like this]

10. Place your goddamn order. If people are always asking you to repeat yourself, it's probably because you need to speak the fuck up. If you pay for a cappuccino & watch me make it, I don't want that look of surprise and insistence that you said "cuppajoe." After your order, if you see me just smiling and nodding even when you ask me a question, it's because (like your Kindergarten teacher told you) you need to take your hand out from in front of your mouth & fucking enunciate (okay maybe she didn't use those words exactly. Most 5 year olds can't pronounce "enunciate").

11. We don't have it. Actual things people have asked me for.
-"You got hot dogs?" This is inevitably followed shortly by "You sure?"
-"You have Kirkland Colombian Coffee?" No, we don't carry Costco's pre-bagged coffees.
-"Can you put together Starbuck's Christmas blend?" This was in June, mind you.
-"You got Coke?" This leads to a brief check of our drink refrigerator just to be sure.

12. Shut up. No, it's not a library, but...
-Nobody wants to hear the latest music upload on your Myspace page through your tinny iMac speakers, ya hoser.
-Don't shush the other customers. No seriously, don't.
-Kids should be neither seen nor heard. Maybe you should carry them around in a box with you. That way people will assume the "live animal inside!" is a puppy and think better of you generally. This doesn't extend to rattling the box if it starts making noise. Nobody likes a shaken puppy. If your children are too big for the box, I issue but the following requests that they not: 1) yell your name 20 goddamn times before you respond 2) try to come behind the counter, 3) walk around slamming the cabinets, 4) leave the majority of a muffin in a slobbery pile on some crinkled plastic wrap, 5) write on the fucking wall (yes this happened).
-Take the call outside Dr. Awesomeface. And set your phone to silent - it's more erotic that way.

13. I don't want it. Someone who doesn't approach the counter is trying to sell me something.
-Something from your bag of suspicious jewelry. You'd be surprised how many of these otherwise non-English speakers understand the word "soliciting."
-That $20 inspirational jazz CD. The guy that offered me this ended his lengthy, breathless explanation with "How many would you like?" Maybe he's an RIAA goon? And I was planning to make copies for all my friends...
-Your baked goods. A guy once explained to me he gets a commission (no shit) from every new account he gets. Unless you're planning to shift some of that my way you can go ahead & get fucked.
-Your coffee. What? Do you walk into Biscuit King & try to sell them some McMuffins? No. No you do not.
-Your résumé. Graduating from Connecticut Business Law Economics College University & 5 years of sales consulting for United Paper Concern do not qualify you for a job at our coffee shop.

That's all I can think of for now. Working in food service means I should have plenty more nuggets for next time!

Just stop it.

A few inane things from the past week or so:
-This morning, a balding man holding his hat in his hands in front of him. It was a beret or a working cap or whatever, and it made him look like he'd come in to tell me he was awful sorry he'd run over my dog.
-A fairly nice customer in every other way but... snorts his phlegm at the counter every morning. So of course after writing that sentence he comes in and gives occasion to observe. He'll do it after saying something to me, like "...and a croissant *SNORT*" So people clear their throats all the time & I don't take a second notice, but if you must expectorate, I'd appreciate if it would occur in the privacy of your own home. Even in the bathroom - there was this guy in Hillsborough who would hock one up every morning, so loud you could hear it through the store - it's just gross.
-Just now, a guy walking down the sidewalk with a bike tire. Strange, though not as strange as the old black dude cruisin' down Markham with some fine shades and a killer smile... on an electric wheelchair. There's a sidewalk, sure, but I suppose it is a motor vehicle. I believe he makes the trip pretty often, and I wonder how well that battery holds out for these sojourns.
-A young couple, the guy hunches a bit at the counter to sign a receipt or whatever & his girlfriend discretely begins humping him from behind. Hilarity.

And the big one, where I won't be using any names, just happened last week.
Customer: Americano.
This is a customer I've seen many times before. He's always gotten an americano but not always in the same size. Often times people come in looking sour - I imagine they're in need of caffeine - but he was working a mean scowl.
Me: A double? ...Large, medium?
Cust: Medium.
Me: Anything else this morning? ...$1.99.
Cust: What are you always fucking smiling about?
Me: Uh... I'm sorry?
Cust: Why are you always fucking smiling?
Me: [Thinking he might be taking the piss] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: What?
Me: [A bit more dramatically] To hide the deep sadness within.
Cust: Just make the coffee.
Me: Uh... well I'm sorry you feel that way.
Cust: I can't even come in here anymore because of you.
Me: And why is that?
Cust: You're just so... smarmy.
Me: Alright...
As I finished the drink I thought about the chances I had to turn this around, all the sinister things I could say. After all, it's not often one is openly insulted first thing in the morning... without provocation. I decided quickly that none of that was worth it, and he works nearby anyway. I don't know what he's saying to other people about me, but I certainly don't need to give him ammunition.
Me: [Without sarcasm, if you can believe it] Your americano. Have a good one!
Cust: Just stop it, [my name].

Because seven eight nine!

Customer: A medium Americano.
Me: Okay, anything else?
Cust: That's all.
Me: It'll be one ninety-nine.
Cust: One ninety-eight?
Me: Uh... one ninety-nine.
Cust: Alright.

Maybe this was only funny to me?

The Roar

My first job was at Food Lion when I was the ripe young age of 16. Although too early for diagnosis of many major mental illnesses, but not for early onset misanthrope!

When I first asked for an application, the incredulous cashier asked me how old I was. This was discouraging enough to delay me until my parents made an ultimatum of some sort. I discovered that crippling boredom sets in fairly quickly when all your friends have Summer jobs to complain about. See, ultimatums tend to have the opposite of the desired effect on me... like my jackass within wants to defy someone on the principle that they want me to do something. Anyway, I doubt my parents had much luck enforcing whatever punishment they had devised considering I was home alone all day.

After returning the now months-old application (not like any work experience was going to appear on there during that time), I received what I had thought would be an interview & turned out to be "see where you can put yourself on this schedule." In fact, I immediately got a clock-in number and was set before the break room television with a training video. This thing was so insipid and outdated that it wasn't even funny. A despondent employee recommended I stop the video and read the paper in the span of time it would take to watch (an hour), but all I could find was The Lion's Roar, featuring winners from the Cashier's Olympics. No, that is not shit you can make up. Incidentally, I continued receiving The Lion's Roar by mail for years after my employment there.

My job description was one I have not witnessed before or since, "Front End." Most grocery stores, including other Food Lions, separate this into three separate jobs.
1) Cashier: More important than anything is your IPM (items per minute). Let me tell you that my IPM was so distressingly low that management frequently talked about it. Let me also tell you that your manager telling the elderly lady that it was okay to go back home to get more money in the middle of a transaction will tick down your IPM rapidly and keep you from beginning new transactions. I would, however, like to be the one trying to figure out why it took 45 minutes for some kid to ring up Mueslix and adult diapers.
2) Bagger: I will say that many people, upon realizing I'm the only employee in the front of the store, will start to bag their own groceries. Still, a fair percentage will glare at you the entire transaction with a look that says "When is the goddamn bag boy going to show up?" These same people will ask for help getting their groceries to the car as other customers line up. Yes, of course I was later chided by management for not providing this service for them. Sometimes there was a bagger manchild who would offer anyone with a bag or more help to their car, but generally I was unable to spontaneously asexually reproduce so I could help some yuppie asshole squeeze her groceries in next to the bike in her trunk. Always a bike in the trunk.
3) Stocker: Whenever we had a free moment, we were meant to be "blocking." Blocking consisted of arranging items near one's register to be aesthetically pleasing. Whenever I was alone in the front (most of the time), I was not supposed to move more than one register away. Those three aisles of candy were always fucking gorgeous. Whenever some jerkoff kid would toss the shit around I'd be there to put it back. Other times, when there might be another employee around, I'd take a cart with misplaced items around. I'll talk about that more later...

So I have a crush on you... still!

After my last post about crushing on customers, I have bolstered my confidence level. With a little time and encouragement, I am ready to become the bear. Or take on the bear, or successfully evade the bear, I don't remember how it goes exactly. Just keep one thing in mind; have no fear ladies, I am not actually a bear.
BECOMING THE BEAR
I recently watched the movie Grizzly Man, and let me tell you... being a bear is tough! I'm not sure if I'm prepared for the ramifications of defecating in my crush's territory. I'm willing to give it the old college try! If I am accused of anything, it will be of taking the metaphor too far. Or assault. Anyway the point is I have to step it up if I want anything to develop. No more pussyfooting around! No more using words that contain "pussy" either! The ladies only like that if you're talking dirty to 'em, or so I've been told. The closest I've gotten was "I haven't showered in six days," but she didn't go for that. I even told her that bears don't shower. You know she managed to work that into the restraining order! That lawyer was a real bear of a wordsmith.
So if I've learned anything from this (aside from all that cool stuff about bears), it's that ladies like a man of action.
SUBMITTING TO THE BEAR
Any survivalist can tell you that an encounter with a bear is potentially fatal. Most women respond to a bear confrontation in the following ways:
1) Running in fear, obstructing the bear's path with mobile objects and small children (let me tell you this one is pretty irritating).
2) Mace (okay this one is more irritating I guess). Tip: don't fire mace into the wind.
3) Dropping to the floor and pretending to be dead. Most bears will fall for this and leave you alone. As far as I know, there have been no cases of ursine necrophilia.
4) Embracing the bear. This will so confuse the bear he may be unable to act. Or he will kill you instantly with a hug of his namesake. At the very least that would make a kickass obituary.
5) Distracting the bear with bells or bits of string. Bears can be quite playful. They may also mistake you for a woodland trolley, which is of no interest to the bear (except maybe during rush hour).
MOVING ON FROM THE BEAR ANALOGY
There comes a time in every relationship where a man has to stop pretending to be a bear. I forget who it was who said, "Stop that. It went from endearing to creepy like, really fast." Maybe it was that blond girl... I don't remember her name; I haven't seen her in awhile. Here are some signs that the guy who is crushing on you (me) is trying to express interest without anthropomorphisms:
1) I appear to be avoiding looking at your chest. Now I'm not the kind of guy who stares at breasts wantonly, but let's call to mind the "Don't push the button" scenario. When I start finding a girl attractive, a part of my mind tells me not to screw it up by staring at her chest. Now you've done it! Stupid mind. If all else fails, I may pretend to be reading the text on your shirt (which is fucking cruel). Additionally, I frequently worry that transferring change or beverages across the counter will be mistaken for a sly boob-look. Not so!
2) I check your hand for a wedding ring. There's no way I'm gonna ask you about your boyfriend, so if you have one you might as well try to work it into the conversation somehow.
3) The following takes place one or more times:
Me - You live or work around here?
Gal - Oh yeah.
Me - On your way to work?
Gal - Yeah.
Me - Cool, where do you work [again]?
Gal - Oh just up the street.
Me - Cool, cool... uh... have a good one!
Gal - Yeah.
4) In the course of trying to converse with you, I forget to give you your coffee.
5) I put a heart on your latte. Truthfully I do this pretty much every time, but it's cool if you want to take it as a gesture of flattery.
NOT CALLING THE BEAR AWKWARD, BECAUSE HE'S SENSITIVE
There it is, ladies. Call me!

I must have picked up the wrong phone

A few things have been troubling me.
First, there's Qweta. Simple misspelling of QWERTY or something far more sinister? You decide.
Saturday night. Begin scene. I'm checking my phone for missed calls again (none!) when I discover a new message. 919 area code, but a number I don't recognize. I've given my number to countless ladies at the clubs, to be sure, but this is on my private number. Somebody is serious about getting a hold of some Vitamin R.
Rec 8:12 - U better tell ya lil friend 2 keep my name out her mouth.
My little friend... Instantly Scarface comes to mind, but having not shot anyone recently I put that out of my head. Still, looking back, that would be a pretty badass way to tell somebody they were going to die. "My little friend here just can't keep your name out of his mouth." Then the kiss of death puns begin and we have one clusterfuck of a mixed metaphor. Movie goodness! Right, so I respond politely:
Sent 8:15 - I bet the person you meant to send this to would feel pretty threatened right now. I however am having a nice laff
Rec 8:37 - If this is samone then i dnt feel stupid. However da chic im referenin 2 is tish. So i figured u a get da mesage across!
[ed NOTE: names and spelling have not been changed. Texting has no innocents.]
Rec 8:49 - Bein dat u pregnant im not tryna stress u cuz dats a beautiful thng.
Sent 8:53 - Turns out I wasn't pregnant. Just gas.
Rec 9:01 - Dats cute! But its so weird how i saw sum pics of u n yo man on myspace? I wud tel u who but u might beat her ass again
Sent 9:20 - I'm on my way there now. sumbody's bout ta get cut!
Rec 9:20 - Who gurl
Sent 9:30 - Tish or that bitch b fuckin wit my boo
[At this point I had assistance with my messages from a room full of people]
Rec 9:36 - What? Who is ur boo?
Rec 9:39 - How did we change da conversation. Do u even knw who dis is?
Sent 9:43 - Whatevs i lost all my numbers dropin da phone in th toilet
Rec 9:47 - Like i said b4 it aint no beef wit u. Its dat bitch tish dat keep runin ha trap. Dis is qweta
Rec 10:34 - Nicole aint got shit 2 do wit dis so when u c her wit me 2nite dnt let up or whoop ha ass again CUZ I SAID SO.
Sent 10:36 - we straight
Rec 10:45 - What? Yo what da fuck dat mean. Im not 4 dat bs jus let ur bitch ass friend tish knw we gon b at da pool hog n efland.

Aaaand I left it at that.

Good Grief!

I've been struggling to come up with a concept for a new post. I have a few more work stories to tell, but it was running a bit dry. Recently, though, I began to ponder a concept which has always plagued me - why do people think Cathy is funny?
Then I went to the site & the new post material was solidified:
In case you're not wearing your monocle right now, let's just cut to the last frame. "Once I was 'large'. Now I am 'Venti'."
As her girth expands in each frame, so do the grammatical errors. Punctuation goes inside the quotation marks, people. Also, is her mirror (frame 4) on top of her desk (frame 2)? Oh I see, her torso is forming out of the floor as in Hellraiser. As the cellulite ripples over the newly formed bone, we hear the distinct sounds of both... "Flip flip click click." Shit, that is funny! Maybe I was wrong about Cathy!



Okay let's pause to reflect a bit. What is humor? I sound like a right ponce with that question don't I? My answer to that, simply, is the opposite of what is expected, as in irony. Let's examine, for instance, the Alanis Morissette song "Ironic." In the song, several situations are presented as ironic. To wit:
-A black fly in your chardonnay
-Rain on your wedding day
-A free ride when you've already paid
Before you ask, yes I'm doing that from memory. Shut up. Anyway, each situation there is an unfortunate circumstance to be sure (though the last one is lacking any sense whatsoever), but not ironic. Sorry Alanis. I'm not the first person to point this out, I know, but I'm proving a point here. The irony in a song called "Ironic" is that it contains no ironies. That's funny! Let's apply that then to Cathy. The humor in a strip meant to be comic is that it contains no humor. It's all making sense now!
Now we are presented with a puzzle - which line is bigger? Is it
a) the countertop
b) Cathy's mouth
c) They're both the same size, silly!
If you've ever read an optical illusion book, you'll know the answer is c. It's the opposite of what you'd expect! See, the way the lines are drawn, you're meant to assume the counter space is larger. That's a thing we artists (and by "we" I mean the royal "we," or not me) call perspective. If you pull out a ruler you'll see they are actually the same length. No, don't measure your computer screen, silly idiot! Take my word for it. In the next panel, surely Cathy will devour the counter! I think you'll join me in saying, "SHIT dude, that's funny! Cathy, you so ca-ray-zeeee!"


For you monoclely challenged, the final frame reads
Cathy: "We used to 'pig out'. Now we 'bird out'."
Cathy's mom or possibly older friend: "I crave hulled millet!"
SHIT dude, that's fu- HOLD IT! Yes, I know "hulled millet" sounds pretty silly, but let's look at this like the professional humorologists we are. Here's the situation:
1) Cathy takes a common idiomatic phrase and makes it her own.
2) Cathy's older friend (whom they bring along to appear younger and more fertile) interprets the new idiom literally.
Using our basic definition of humor, let's do some interpretating of our own!
Expectation: To have made it to such a ripe old age, Cathy's friend/mom must have an ounce of sense.
Irony: The woman is a blathering idiot!
Everybody now, "SHIT dude, that's funny!"
Artificial zoom!
Cathy: Listen to me tell you about woman things!
[Cathy's friends snap each other's bra straps]
Cathy's friends: Lip Augmentation! Eyelash tattoo! Botox!
This is an excerpt from a much longer comic, but I assure you no context is lost in the summation. It's time to apply life skillz...
Expectation: Cathy has ten portly, possibly gay friends.
Ironic reversal: These women would rather have voluntary surgery than listen to Cathy speak.
Before we jump in with hearty guffaws, this shit is layered!
Expectation: Cathy's call to maintain confident womanhood will be looked upon with admiration by the countless female readers who revere her.
Ironic reversal: Cathy is a pathetic mockery of feminism through its vapid adulation of bourgeois excess. I'm usin' big ol' words!

Okay that's all I got for today. I looked at a picture of the author and felt intense pity. Also, she apparently won the Reuben Award in 1992. The criteria for that seems to be... to have not won it before. Unless you're Gary Larson.

IMAGES USED UNDER FAIR USE, REVIEW. CATHY IS COPYRIGHTED 2008 CATHY GUISEWITE. HELLRAISER IS COPYRIGHTED 1987 NEW WORLD PICTURES.