As a small kiosk of a GJ's coffee house in a small suburb shopping centre, most of our sales come from regulars. I could pretty much give you a rough timeline of who will come at what time on what day.
To be honest, I generally love my regulars - we chat, they understand when I dart away from them to quickly prepare their food, they don't bitch when I accidentally cock up and drop their change. Most of the time. For most of the regulars.
A perk that comes from being a regular is you can (generally speaking) pretty much walk up to the counter, and one of us will greet you by name and prepare your order without you having to say a word. While this is all good and fun for both the customer and us workers when it's a nice regular, being a regular can also turn a cool person into an Entitlement Bitch. Too often have I accidentally wiped the smug grin off a regular's face when I've accidentally forgotten to give them their 'Centre Discount' - "Uh, no that's not the right price. I always pay less than that." they'd snap.
So today, along comes Marie. I have only ever served her once before, and she was as rude and cranky as she was then as she is now. She's leaning on her trolley, her face is completely covered in wrinkles and I can barely see any crows feet around her eyes. She also looks like she constantly smells an unpleasant smell. I can tell she's a happy chappy.
"Hey, how are you today?" I chirp generically.
"Just the usual," she hisses.
Okay, so I did say that our regulars can generally stand at a counter without speaking and we'd know what they want. But they also generally have common sense and are nice enough to will tell you what they're after in the event that their order has slipped your mind.
So, having only served her once, I wasn't sure what her regular was. "I'm sorry, ma'am, what were you after today?"
I'm still grinning, expecting her to hiss "CAPPUCCINO" or something at me. But no, she chucks a fit.
"My usual. My usual!" she spits, leaning forward at me with this intense look of what I suspect was distaste in her eyes. "I want my usual!"
Well fuck, I wasn't aware there was a drink called "my usual" for sale at my store.
At this point, I have no idea what to do so I look to J, the barista for help. "Small cappuccino for the lady!" he bellows, and I ring up her order. She throws the money on the counter for me to pick up, while growling, "you must be new."
No I'm not, lady. In the 6 months I've been working here, I haven't seen your batshit ass until last week.
While becoming a Regular is obviously a strongly sought after title in this shopping centre, would it really kill to just realise that once in a while, ordering like a normal person wouldn't hurt?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Now I don't mean to be racist...
He was balding, had greasy black hair and looked like he was trying to grow out a mullet but male pattern baldness destroyed his dreams. He was bug-eyed and wore glasses too large for his face. His black t-shirt was half-assedly tucked into his jeans that belonged in the late 80s. He speaks with this deep, radio announcer-like voice. I'd probably like speaking with him if I had my eyes closed and he weren't such a pompous bastard.
It was just L and I running GJs at this point, and L was serving him. I was busy cleaning the cabinets, but as per usual, I had my ears perked, just in case I needed to prep the food. Bug-eyed-friar-looking-dude (we'll call him Bug Eyes for short) was asking us about how we made our iced coffees.
"How many pumps of syrup do you put in your iced coffees?"
"We don't use syrup, we use shots." L replies, looking slightly confused.
Bug Eyes' face twitches a little bit. He repeats his question, slower this time.
I think I should point out the fact that L is very clearly Asian, and has a bit of a Chinese accent. It's not ridiculously heavy, and her English is fluent. It's noticeable, but it's just like any other person out there speaking English. We all have our own unique accents anyway.
Back to the story.
After Bug Eyes repeats the question, L replies again. "We use shots, not syrup. We put in 3 shots."
Bug Eyes now looks visibly annoyed. "Oh okay, whatever the hell you put in there. So you put your syrup in with your milk together do you? Is it made on demand?"
At this point, I'm standing next to L, listening to his drivel. I have no idea what he's asking, and I try to clarify. "Our iced coffee is pre brewed, sir, and we use three shots of the brewed coffee in our iced coffees, along with ice and milk."
He stops looking at L and looks at me. He nods. "Well, alright," he sighs, as though I've forcibly convinced him to get the damned drink. "I'll take the large iced coffee, but with 2 pumps of syrup."
L goes off to prepare the drink and I type his order in. "So that was a large iced coffee with 2 shots?"
"Yes, whatever you bloody well call it! Shots, syrups, whatever!" he spits, flailing his arms.
I stretch my smile. "That will be $5.60, thank you."
He grabs the money and tosses it into my outstretched hand. He looks at me for a second, and leans forward. "Now, I don't mean to be racist..." he begins. "... but I think your colleague should take some English lessons."
I want to break his face.
But I am also ridiculously flustered because that shit just came out of nowhere. A million responses fly through my head, ranging from rude to snarky, to indifferent. But all I manage to fumble out is an "okay." I drop the money in his pudgy hand and flee to my cabinets. I glance over to L to see if she heard. Her face looks kind of sad, but she does always look sort of wistful.
I spend the rest of my shift thinking up of comebacks. And imagining myself staring him down and saying "Now I don't mean to hurt you..." and kicking his teeth in.
Does anyone honestly believe the phrase "Now I don't mean to be ____" is a valid disclaimer for hurting someone's feelings or saying a rude, discriminatory comment? I mean, really?
It was just L and I running GJs at this point, and L was serving him. I was busy cleaning the cabinets, but as per usual, I had my ears perked, just in case I needed to prep the food. Bug-eyed-friar-looking-dude (we'll call him Bug Eyes for short) was asking us about how we made our iced coffees.
"How many pumps of syrup do you put in your iced coffees?"
"We don't use syrup, we use shots." L replies, looking slightly confused.
Bug Eyes' face twitches a little bit. He repeats his question, slower this time.
I think I should point out the fact that L is very clearly Asian, and has a bit of a Chinese accent. It's not ridiculously heavy, and her English is fluent. It's noticeable, but it's just like any other person out there speaking English. We all have our own unique accents anyway.
Back to the story.
After Bug Eyes repeats the question, L replies again. "We use shots, not syrup. We put in 3 shots."
Bug Eyes now looks visibly annoyed. "Oh okay, whatever the hell you put in there. So you put your syrup in with your milk together do you? Is it made on demand?"
At this point, I'm standing next to L, listening to his drivel. I have no idea what he's asking, and I try to clarify. "Our iced coffee is pre brewed, sir, and we use three shots of the brewed coffee in our iced coffees, along with ice and milk."
He stops looking at L and looks at me. He nods. "Well, alright," he sighs, as though I've forcibly convinced him to get the damned drink. "I'll take the large iced coffee, but with 2 pumps of syrup."
L goes off to prepare the drink and I type his order in. "So that was a large iced coffee with 2 shots?"
"Yes, whatever you bloody well call it! Shots, syrups, whatever!" he spits, flailing his arms.
I stretch my smile. "That will be $5.60, thank you."
He grabs the money and tosses it into my outstretched hand. He looks at me for a second, and leans forward. "Now, I don't mean to be racist..." he begins. "... but I think your colleague should take some English lessons."
I want to break his face.
But I am also ridiculously flustered because that shit just came out of nowhere. A million responses fly through my head, ranging from rude to snarky, to indifferent. But all I manage to fumble out is an "okay." I drop the money in his pudgy hand and flee to my cabinets. I glance over to L to see if she heard. Her face looks kind of sad, but she does always look sort of wistful.
I spend the rest of my shift thinking up of comebacks. And imagining myself staring him down and saying "Now I don't mean to hurt you..." and kicking his teeth in.
Does anyone honestly believe the phrase "Now I don't mean to be ____" is a valid disclaimer for hurting someone's feelings or saying a rude, discriminatory comment? I mean, really?
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Power Trip
Power trips and relationships of power will always be the main lifeblood of running a business, I suppose.
At most places, time equals to seniority in status, which makes sense; being at Cotton On for almost two years, I've seen pretty much all there is to see, though I wouldn't be surprised if the crazies got a whole lot crazier. I've been working at my store in particular for longer than most other casuals in the store, but I haven't been officially trained in cashing up or opening the store, even though I know how. Just last Sunday, I opened with a new casual, who'd been working for 2 months - and he opened. He didn't know what he was doing half the time, he was nervous, and he kept screwing up. I could've been bitter and just been an all-round bitch to him but I decided to play nice and help him out, rack up as much as I could, etc. All in all, it felt odd. He didn't seem too comfortable in the shoes of the person running the shift. I ended up stepping up for him, and it still felt odd. I worried - was I stepping on his toes too much? Did he feel inadequate and insulted now? Is he gonna bitch to Bill, the new manager? But he was too all over the place and I had no choice. I still feel kind of shitty about it.
As for working at GJ's - although I'm being trained to be shift supervisor, I'm somewhat apprehensive. I'm the newest staff member right now, and I'd feel so odd allocating tasks to people who've been around for longer than me - once again, that feeling of 'seniority'. Why should I, the newbie, overtake their climb up the totem pole? Obviously they have no intention to stick around forever - neither do I, for that matter - but that would still sting a little. But what can I do? Time does equal to some sort of seniority, I guess, but so does the position and the way you are trained. The shit part about all this is that the person who's been here longest will always feel mildly offended about a newbie overtaking them whether they like to admit it, and it'll create bumps in the future. I can just feel it.
Speaking of power trips, the boss' wife, L, always wields her power like a rusty sword the moment J steps out. It's annoying, but then I see how wearing it is to be J's wife and I understand. Sometimes I want to club her over the head with a 2L bottle of milk, but that's a punishment I'll reserve for my customers.
In lighter news, I got the lead role in the short film I mentioned two posts back. I am a happy chappy.
At most places, time equals to seniority in status, which makes sense; being at Cotton On for almost two years, I've seen pretty much all there is to see, though I wouldn't be surprised if the crazies got a whole lot crazier. I've been working at my store in particular for longer than most other casuals in the store, but I haven't been officially trained in cashing up or opening the store, even though I know how. Just last Sunday, I opened with a new casual, who'd been working for 2 months - and he opened. He didn't know what he was doing half the time, he was nervous, and he kept screwing up. I could've been bitter and just been an all-round bitch to him but I decided to play nice and help him out, rack up as much as I could, etc. All in all, it felt odd. He didn't seem too comfortable in the shoes of the person running the shift. I ended up stepping up for him, and it still felt odd. I worried - was I stepping on his toes too much? Did he feel inadequate and insulted now? Is he gonna bitch to Bill, the new manager? But he was too all over the place and I had no choice. I still feel kind of shitty about it.
As for working at GJ's - although I'm being trained to be shift supervisor, I'm somewhat apprehensive. I'm the newest staff member right now, and I'd feel so odd allocating tasks to people who've been around for longer than me - once again, that feeling of 'seniority'. Why should I, the newbie, overtake their climb up the totem pole? Obviously they have no intention to stick around forever - neither do I, for that matter - but that would still sting a little. But what can I do? Time does equal to some sort of seniority, I guess, but so does the position and the way you are trained. The shit part about all this is that the person who's been here longest will always feel mildly offended about a newbie overtaking them whether they like to admit it, and it'll create bumps in the future. I can just feel it.
Speaking of power trips, the boss' wife, L, always wields her power like a rusty sword the moment J steps out. It's annoying, but then I see how wearing it is to be J's wife and I understand. Sometimes I want to club her over the head with a 2L bottle of milk, but that's a punishment I'll reserve for my customers.
In lighter news, I got the lead role in the short film I mentioned two posts back. I am a happy chappy.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Exams are finished! Life is relatively good.
Last Saturday I worked a closing shift at Cotton On and it was ridiculous - it was full as hell, the store looked like shit and we had 2 casuals + 1 other casual from another store, covering a shift. Naturally, he didn't know where anything went, and spent most of his time slowwwwly folding the polos at the back wall and ignoring his zone (fitting rooms), which slowed things down even more.
I was at POS, doing the usual happy happy grin, greeting customers, scanning items and giving them my spiel about the latest charity bag. It had been a pretty calm evening. Then, this kind of loud, cocky looking British Guy rocks up with his Vintage Tee. I do my routine, scan his stuff through and take the tags off so he can put it on in the fitting rooms. Next customer comes along. Everything seemed all good and well.
Afterwards, R (the other casual) comes up to me and tells me he asked Shift Cover Boy if he was "smashing that" (referring to me), and remarked that I had "amazing nipples."
My tank under my shirt was pretty damn high cut so there was pretty much no way could have seen my nipples. But I couldn't help glancing down at my chest every few minutes after that, just in case my nipples had actually figured out a way to escape my top.
Last Saturday I worked a closing shift at Cotton On and it was ridiculous - it was full as hell, the store looked like shit and we had 2 casuals + 1 other casual from another store, covering a shift. Naturally, he didn't know where anything went, and spent most of his time slowwwwly folding the polos at the back wall and ignoring his zone (fitting rooms), which slowed things down even more.
I was at POS, doing the usual happy happy grin, greeting customers, scanning items and giving them my spiel about the latest charity bag. It had been a pretty calm evening. Then, this kind of loud, cocky looking British Guy rocks up with his Vintage Tee. I do my routine, scan his stuff through and take the tags off so he can put it on in the fitting rooms. Next customer comes along. Everything seemed all good and well.
Afterwards, R (the other casual) comes up to me and tells me he asked Shift Cover Boy if he was "smashing that" (referring to me), and remarked that I had "amazing nipples."
My tank under my shirt was pretty damn high cut so there was pretty much no way could have seen my nipples. But I couldn't help glancing down at my chest every few minutes after that, just in case my nipples had actually figured out a way to escape my top.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
I just booked an audition for an agent next month and I've got an audition for a short film this weekend. Wish me luck?
No idea on the monologue to prepare though. Trying my absolute best to steer away from the emo... but I bet you I'll end up running to it like a n00b child.
No idea on the monologue to prepare though. Trying my absolute best to steer away from the emo... but I bet you I'll end up running to it like a n00b child.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Say My Name
Christmas is coming - the decorations are out and I have a feeling that The Crazies are coming. Expect them to pop up in future posts.
Today there was a cute moment at work. This sweet middle-aged man, we'll call him Courier Guy - he's a regular - pops by GJ's every Tuesday, to pick up a flat white for himself, and a cold espresso frappe drink for his daughter. It's his personal mission to see how many GJ franchises he can visit in a day (because he travels everywhere all the time.) I believe his record stands at 4.
Anyway, every time he comes to get his coffee, he always greets me by my name, even when I'm not wearing my nametag, which is sweet. So as per usual, as I'm walking up to take his order from the other side of the kiosk, he greets me.
He then proceeds to tell me about how he embarrassed himself the other day by calling the girl serving him at a GJs in another suburb M, because he hadn't seen me for about a week and he "really appreciated the good service" here and "had [me] on [his] mind."
I found it sweet, but after typing this entry out, I realise it sounds slightly creepy.
As a side note - this is a pet peeve of mine:
To those who come up to my register and order a "standard-sized coffee", I have no idea what your idea of standard is, nor do I understand what you mean by "coffee". There are many types of coffees, which one do you want? Latte? Cappuccino? Flat white? Macchiato? WHAT?
Okay, so I guess the medium size is called 'regular' for a reason, and a flat white is about the closest you can get to the white coffee you'd make at home with instant coffee or a plunger or something. So, I'll always either ask "what kind of coffee were you after?" or "so was that a regular sized flat white?"
Believe me when I say I'm only asking these questions because I want you to get the drink you want because I like my customers to be happy with their product. I just want to make sure I've got everything right. Is it really necessary to glare at me, huff and say "I wanted a small cappuccino!" in this really obnoxious rude voice? And then proceed to state arrogantly that "that's the standard coffee."
Well, I don't know, who decided this and why wasn't I told?
Today there was a cute moment at work. This sweet middle-aged man, we'll call him Courier Guy - he's a regular - pops by GJ's every Tuesday, to pick up a flat white for himself, and a cold espresso frappe drink for his daughter. It's his personal mission to see how many GJ franchises he can visit in a day (because he travels everywhere all the time.) I believe his record stands at 4.
Anyway, every time he comes to get his coffee, he always greets me by my name, even when I'm not wearing my nametag, which is sweet. So as per usual, as I'm walking up to take his order from the other side of the kiosk, he greets me.
He then proceeds to tell me about how he embarrassed himself the other day by calling the girl serving him at a GJs in another suburb M, because he hadn't seen me for about a week and he "really appreciated the good service" here and "had [me] on [his] mind."
I found it sweet, but after typing this entry out, I realise it sounds slightly creepy.
As a side note - this is a pet peeve of mine:
To those who come up to my register and order a "standard-sized coffee", I have no idea what your idea of standard is, nor do I understand what you mean by "coffee". There are many types of coffees, which one do you want? Latte? Cappuccino? Flat white? Macchiato? WHAT?
Okay, so I guess the medium size is called 'regular' for a reason, and a flat white is about the closest you can get to the white coffee you'd make at home with instant coffee or a plunger or something. So, I'll always either ask "what kind of coffee were you after?" or "so was that a regular sized flat white?"
Believe me when I say I'm only asking these questions because I want you to get the drink you want because I like my customers to be happy with their product. I just want to make sure I've got everything right. Is it really necessary to glare at me, huff and say "I wanted a small cappuccino!" in this really obnoxious rude voice? And then proceed to state arrogantly that "that's the standard coffee."
Well, I don't know, who decided this and why wasn't I told?
Orientation
Hey! How're you going today? :)))))))!!!!!!"
Imagine a really short girl with a huge cheesy smile greeting you like that. That's pretty much what I do at 2/3 of my jobs. My natural speaking voice is relatively low, but somehow, when I'm in customer service mode, my voice raises by two or three octaves.
Here's the rundown - I work at a coffee house franchise called Gloria Jeans, a chain clothing store called Cotton On and I also tutor classes of children at a local tutoring college. On the side, I will shamefully admit that I also promote for a relatively popular nightclub. I live on minimum wage.
I'm currently studying Film at university and aspire to either have a career in acting or film production.
This blog is basically a little corner for me to rant about anything and everything that's work or uni related - which is basically my entire life at the moment, because I barely have time for anything else.
As I type this entry, the clock counts down to my final uni exam tomorrow. I haven't started studying yet... perhaps I should.
Imagine a really short girl with a huge cheesy smile greeting you like that. That's pretty much what I do at 2/3 of my jobs. My natural speaking voice is relatively low, but somehow, when I'm in customer service mode, my voice raises by two or three octaves.
Here's the rundown - I work at a coffee house franchise called Gloria Jeans, a chain clothing store called Cotton On and I also tutor classes of children at a local tutoring college. On the side, I will shamefully admit that I also promote for a relatively popular nightclub. I live on minimum wage.
I'm currently studying Film at university and aspire to either have a career in acting or film production.
This blog is basically a little corner for me to rant about anything and everything that's work or uni related - which is basically my entire life at the moment, because I barely have time for anything else.
As I type this entry, the clock counts down to my final uni exam tomorrow. I haven't started studying yet... perhaps I should.
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