“I worked at a quick-service restaurant where the mascot is a cow and the meat we sell is chicken. Not going to lie, I actually enjoyed my job. Managers were awesome, except the one I was terrified of, and the woman who managed it all in place of the actual owner/operator man is the sweetest woman I’ve ever met. That said, even the customers weren’t so bad. Most of them were your run o’ the mill college town folks; minimal screaming and whining here (not counting the students, of course). However. I’d been working for about half a year here, had gotten used to the filling of orders, and where everything was, and it was a busy afternoon. I should also mention it was a football day. For my town and basically anywhere else with a college football stadium, the customers were here in full force, the line was out the door. Naturally, I’m completely freaking out on the inside (first jobs tend to make you do that), but handling it pretty well. I didn’t knock anyone over that day. So this lady comes in, and already I can smell trouble. She had the Louis Vitton-Prada-Coach-Versaille designer gear all over.
I said: ‘Welcome, how may I serve you today?’
Her order is to-go. Fine. Meal meal meal meal, a meal with wacky changes that have to be keyed in by hand, what? You want five shakes? Right now? To go? And you want five cherries in all of them? Shakes take for-bloody-ever.
Luckily, Jay, the awesome manager, made four of them for me, and I just had to deal with the one. I went back up to the register, put it in the cardboard drink holder, and got ready for the next customer. No dice. The woman would not leave the front counter. Then, she looked at the strawberry shake and takes the bloody lid off.
When you make a shake with that fancy dome lid, it tends to end up a little fuller than the lip of the cup. So naturally, the whipped cream, shake mix, and cherries started to fall out. The woman pushes it away like it’s diseased (please note that she didn’t even put the lid back on, so it’s still oozing everywhere).
‘I don’t like how this one looks. Make it again,’ she tells me.
What. The. Heck.
Her order was incredibly crazy, to begin with, she made us put in four extra cherries, which we are not supposed to do, by the way, and then her and her stupidity ruin its ‘looks’–and she wants me to help her more? Ugh. Have I mentioned that the line is still out the door?
I ran over to the shake machine, and got a weird look from Jay until she saw the woman I’m helping. Jay patted my shoulder and made the shake again for me. Finally, the woman leaves, and I can take care of the other, less awful customers. I hate morons. I especially hate arrogant, rich, entitled morons who think the world revolves around them. She pretty much fits the bill.”
