Hello y’all. I hope everyone had a good week, and for those of you that celebrated it, a wonderful Chinese New Year. It’s Monday, which means, I procrastinated and didn’t get a post to you yesterday night. Unfortunately, the opportunity to re-watch Trevor Noah slay the stand-up game was too good of one to pass up, hence why you’re getting this post today. Apologies.
Today’s post features Daynah, a woman who makes you wish mute buttons actually worked in real life.
I first meet Daynah over the phone. It’s 4:45 in the morning, the store has yet to open, and I am setting up the pastry display when the phone begins to ring incessantly. As I answer it, the customer on the line (who later gives her name as Daynah) begins demanding I set aside a box of our “gingerbread square things.”
Given that we don’t sell those, I was particularly confused.
“Sorry,” I say. “We don’t sell gingerbread squares. We do have gingerbread loaves – ”
“NO!” she shouts, cutting me off. “I don’t want gingerbread loaves. It’s a box of gingerbread somethings.”
“The gingerbread cookies?” I suggested.
She grunted in annoyance. “I can’t believe you don’t know what I’m talking about. The box of squares with gingerbread you can buy and share with a lot of people?”
Already annoyed at her rudeness and impatience, I took a wild guess. “The berry bars?” I suggested.
YES! THOSE!” She shouts in exasperated triumph.
Let’s just stop there. There’s absolutely no correlation between gingerbread and berries. How do you even mix those things up? Those are TWO DIFFERENT THINGS and do not sound REMOTELY the same. At all.
She tells me to hold a box for her and informs me that she will be coming by in a few minutes to pick it up.
Ten minutes after hanging up with Daynah, she walks into the store.
For those of you that have worked in service or retail before, this is the customer that has the “I need to speak to a manager” face permanently plastered on. With scraggly brown hair, plastic red-rimmed glasses, a naturally frowning mouth, and a witch-like nose, I knew the moment I laid eyes on Daynah that our encounter would be unpleasant.
I was right.
“Hi, I called in earlier about the gingerbread squares,” she says to me.
“Yeah. I’ve got them here, the berry bars.” I replied.
“Whatever,” she retorts and waves her hand in annoyance.
I ring in the bars and ask her if she wants anything else. She nods, and tells me she’s getting a coffee.
Then she opens her mouth.
“I’m getting a 1/3 decaf, nonfat, half sweet, no foam, no whip, extra sprinkles, cinnamon latte.”
Repressing the urge to roll my eyes, I write down her order and head over to the bar to make it. I prompt the debit machine for her before I leave, and inform her she can pay.
As I’m halfway from finishing her drink, she requests that I place her “latte” (if we’re going to call this concoction a latte), into one of the reusable cups we sell. However, considering I have nearly finished her drink and have poured the milk halfway into the cup already, it seems rather moot to put the latte into a reusable cup and have to throw out the paper one.
In the same instant that she is asking I place her drink into a reusable cup, she begins to lecture me about the use of paper cups.
“I just disagree with your store policy about paper cups. I hate paper cups. That’s why I buy so many reusable cups.”
A) Did I ask for your life story? No. No I did not.
B) She may have bought a lot of reusable cups, but she sure as heck has not been using them, especially since she walked in that morning without one.
I get it. I hate that my store does not yet use compostable paper cups. I hate that our waste is so high. I go through our recycling and compost bins when it is not busy to make sure people are properly throwing their trash and waste away into the proper corresponding bags. BUT. How self-unaware can you be to reach this level of idiocy?
At the end of her lecture, she realizes that I have finished making her drink, and decides against getting the reusable cup.
“It’s pointless now anyway. You’ve already put my latte in the garbage cup.”
If you have such a moral objection to our store… WHY ARE YOU HERE? GO HOME! I sure as heck didn’t want to start my shift off with a long-ass lecture from a hypocritical customer.
Since Daynah seems to dislike coming into my store so much, I expect to never see her again.
Daynah Won’t Go:
I see her twice that same week. Both times, I get the same exact lecture about environmental responsibility. Both times, she grabs a plastic cup of water, downs it, and proceeds to throw it into the garbage.
Our cups are number five plastics. They’re recyclable.
One day, she lectures my co-worker about our cup policy, I interrupt to tell her that our plastic cups are recyclable.
“So?” She snorts.
“Well, you’ve been throwing your water cup in the garbage, so I just thought I would let you know.” I reply.
“Whatever. Your paper cups are still not compostable. So I don’t agree with your cup policy. You guys should be ashamed of yourselves.”
Then she leaves the store in a huff.