‘The Dreadful Parentals’

There were some fine contenders for Arsehole Customer of the Week this week, and it was a tough choice. Did I go for Mr ‘Aahm a Real Businessman, see, and you’re takin’ advantage of my good nature’? What about Mr (assume Gap Yah voice) ‘I just fucking love the brand, yah’? Or even that sour-faced bitch who’s just always a bit of a sour-faced bitch.

Nope, because what I had planned to write today got thrown out of the window when this happened.

‘The Dreadful Parentals’

Starting with ‘Mrs ME ME ME’

Also known as ‘That frappuccino bitch. You know, the one with the whole milk. Who brings her own plastic cup in. Looks like she’s got a stick up her arse and botox in her cheeks. Yeah, that one.’

To be fair, she would have merited her own post at some point, just because of her drink, which is this:

‘A grande in my own cup, decaf-triple-shot coffee frappuccino with whole milk, three pumps of sugar-free vanilla, four pumps of base, double blended, whipped cream on top…and could you put any left over into an extra cup for me. Cheers.’

Fucking. Kill. Me. Now.

She’s always been a bit uptight, especially since it ‘never seems thick enough’ and then I try to add ice she complains that I’m watering the drink down. Sadly, physics has not occurred to this woman. You put a lot of liquid in a blender, it doesn’t necessarily matter how many times you blend it, it’s still liquid. And EVERY time she tries to double check that I’ll do my darndest to make it thick. But HOW can I do that, when you keep adding liquid to a drink that has been created by what I presume are food scientists to reach the right consistency?

Yes, you’re very fucking special. You’re a unique snowflake who has a drink unlike any other. This also makes us hate you.

What’s worse is, today, she brought in her children. This was shocking in itself. Someone who has enough time to devote to making other people miserable through her drink choices usually doesn’t have time for children. What I’m saying is that she is not maternal. That is an understatement.

So she orders two medium eggnog lattes with whipped cream for her children. Firstly, what is it with people giving their children caffeine? Sure, when it’s hidden in a milkshake-type drink, of course. But a grown-up drink? Why?

Secondly, I have become convinced that every time a customer orders an eggnog latte, it’s because they hate me. They want to punish me for being such a horrible human being. That’s the only explanation. Eggnog sucks.

She then, in her annoying ‘chav with money’ (baaaaaabe) voice tells me she needs ‘the calorie leaflet thingy’. She’s been having wholemilk with whipped cream four times a week, I doubt she needs to start worrying about the calories now.

‘Naao, it’s my son. He’s diabetic, so I have to know how many carbs are in an eggnog latte, and how many in the cream.’

Erm. What? I’m no expert on diabetes, but surely it’s the sugar content you’re looking for. Is this all some desperate ploy to make your child lose weight? Convince him he has a life-long disease?

Also, you could have figured this out before you ordered. Or you would know about these things because, erm, let’s think…You’re his MOTHER. Most mothers tend to know what their diabetic kids can and cannot eat.

AND you ordered him an extra pot of whipped cream whilst you were waiting for us to figure it out. We are not carbohydrate calculators. If we were, we would probably be working in a juice bar, or a gym.  

Whilst this would have made me have a coronary usually, I’ve been rather relaxed. It’s Christmas! Also, this is just more strange than anything else. Was she lying about diabetes? Was she just dumb? Is diabetes really about carbs and I’m the stupid one? What is the meaning of life, and what the hell actually is eggnog?

None of these questions will be answered next week.

Onto the next mad bitch.

Mrs…I Don’t Even Know What

‘My daughter wants a little coffee…like, for kids’

I look down at the child. She appears to be about five.

‘Oh, you mean a babychino?’

She pauses, thinking deeply.

‘It’s warmed foam milk, like the top of a cappuccino, for kids.’

‘No! No, I want actual coffee. Black coffee, like mine, but in a small cup. Like an espresso cup.’

This is the madness that leads me to making a one-shot-decaf-black-Americano in a espresso cup. For a five year old. Her mother didn’t even ask for decaf. The little girl then asks for chocolate. The mother replies ‘No more sweets, you’ve already had enough today.’ It was nine in the morning. It’s entirely possible that this is a mum-type lie to stop a child eating rubbish. But in this case, I’m not so sure.

She then let the kid finish off the rest of her caffeinated Americano. After putting more sugar in it. What is WRONG with these people? Who WANTS a caffeinated five-year-old? Why not just give her a pint of Redbull and be done with it?

Mrs ‘MUM MUM MUM MUMMY MUMMY MUM’

 Finally, again returning to the mothers who bring in their children, buy them something sugary and then spend the rest of the time ignoring them, we have the demon children. It’s not their fault they’re demon children, they’re literally yelling for attention. And banging on the windows, laughing, screaming, scraping chairs, running back and forth and other things that make the little old lady in the corner suddenly cry out:

‘They’re savages! Savages!’

Here endeth the rant. Lock up your kids. Or your parents. And a little bit of advice, in this festive season? A child is for life, not just for Christmas. So try not to fuck them up too much as young children. That’s what the teenage years are for.