Alright motherfuckers, I have officially met my most irritating customer. I should say, I’ve technically handled much worse situations at work than this one, but I was having a particularly bad day when good ol’ Judy from California came into the picture.
Judy from California was fine at first, we small talked a bit, mostly about the insane weather. I don’t know what Judy was doing in Minnesota during the Hell Month we call April, but I assume she was visiting grandchildren or something. Judy wanted a grande caramel frappucino, no whip, extra caramel. I asked if she wanted extra caramel syrup or drizzle and she said both. Easy enough, it’s an irritating order, especially since this happened at about ten in the morning, but its definitely not hard. My coworker comes back from break. I turn to start Judy’s drink. I start pumping frapp roast into the cup
“Excuse me, are you putting coffee in that?!” Judy yells from across the counter, having not moved an inch despite my coworker’s insistence that her drink will be brought out over there, you know, at the hand off station.
“yup, we make the caramel frappucino with coffee, but it’s no problem to make it creme based instead.”
“I don’t want coffee in it, I want a caramel frappucino.”
“I understand completely.” I didn’t, but I make the stupid drink without the frapp roast and use the creme base instead of the coffee base. Now, since this drink is just milk, ice, clear syrup, and more clear syrup, it comes out looking as white as the snow outside. I hand it to Judy. She looks alarmed.
“I thought I asked for no whipped cream? Why is it white?”
“There is no whipped cream in there, ma’am, the coffee is what gives the frappucino it’s brown color.”
Judy sputters for a bit, clearly under the impression that I have insulted her and fucked up her drink. “In California we make it differently. I’ve never seen the drink made before, but this is not how it looks.”
I turn on my Minnesota Nice (it’s actually Minnesota Passive Aggressiveness but coast people apparently can’t tell the difference with us inscrutable midwesterners). “That’s the standard recipe, but if you don’t like it I’d be happy to make you another drink.”
Judy gives me a glare, says, “No I’ll drink it, that’s just not how we do things in California,” and walks away to her table.
When she’s out of earshot, my coworker, whom I’ve never heard talk shit about anyone, goes “Yeah, well in California, it isn’t 70 degrees one day and snowing the next, so welcome to fucking Minnesota”