‘Oh, Grandma, Look How Big Your Mouth Is!’
Now, in general, I’m not a granny-basher. Grandmas are nice to have around, you know, when they wear cardigans and bake cakes. Not so much when they’re ordering around staff and treating people like crap. That’s not what Grandmas are for.
So this particular Granny (and I must paint the picture before you accuse me of being too mean. She didn’t look like a Granny. She looked like a faintly older woman. She just happened to have grandchildren. So give me a break, I’m not picking on an enfeebled OAP) brought in her whole brood. Two daughters, three grandchildren. Three loud grandchildren.
But whatever, family outings to a coffee shop, good for you. And when there’s a whole bunch of people trying to order, and she’s telling me that the cappuccino HAS to be skinny, and ignoring every question I ask so she can constantly refer to her kids across the store. Loudly. And then the grandkids pick things up, put their sticky fingers on my pretty glass counter. It’s generally a bit hectic.
She then asks for babychinos. For those of you who are not accustomed to strange made-up words for milk products, babychinos are teeny cups of warm foam for kids. Ours are free, and come in espresso cups. She then insists that we make her the larger size. I point out that if she wants three large ones, I’m meant to charge her, but I’ll only charge for one. I smile, I’m polite. I’m doing her a favour. She then complains loudly about how I’m taking her money, she’s spending enough as it is, and forget the babychinos. She then instead takes three small cups, flounces off and fills them up with milk from the condiment bar.
There is only one response to this: Cheapskate.
So time passes by, they speak loudly, the children scream, but, you know what, it’s fine. Really. Until she calls loudly and waves me over to her table, whilst I’m in the middle of serving a customer. She clicks her fingers at me. Yes. Yes she did. I know, I can’t believe it either.
‘Oh you, excuse me, you! Yes! My granddaughter’s spilled her milk. Can you come over and sort it out?’
Erm, well, sure. The majority of lovely people come over and get some napkins, or ask for some paper towel, or apologise. A few wonderful people even ask for the mop. But yes, that is my job, that’s fine.
So I go over to clean up the liberally spilled STOLEN milk- except that they won’t move out of the way. So I’m on my knees cleaning up around their feet whilst the kids are kicking each other and the adults are talking over my head. Granny Dearest says ‘Oh, I suppose we should move out of your way! Haw Haw!’ and then continues talking.
So really, my response, after getting kicked in the head by kiddy Converse, is screw this for a laugh. I wiped up as well as I could, and got out of there sharpish. Until five minutes later, when she’s signalling for me again, an imperious twitch of the wrist inherited only by the filthy rich.
‘Excuse me! Young Lady! Come back here! You didn’t do a proper job! It’s still wet over here! Is it too much to ask that you come back over here and actually finish the job correctly?’
Now, this sent me into a rage so blinding that I vibrated as I fetched the mop and took very little care about whose shoes got touched with the dirty mop head. And I usually show great respect for designer heels.
She then, of course, complained that I was not doing it right.
This kind of customer can ruin your day. But luckily, once I rage and whine a bit, I forget about these horrible creatures and get on with my day. And I was quite sad that I forget about her, because I wanted to mock her on the interwebs. And then she returned! Again, with grandchildren! Again, quibbling about price! Again, stealing milk, and then letting her descendants spill it. Again calling me over to clear it up.
And this time, I calmly took over a pile of napkins, plastered on a smile, said ‘There you go!’ and ran away. When I returned, the table was empty, and the napkins unused. Watch out Grandma, this Big Bad Wolf’s got teeth. And a blog.