By Maude Perkins
Now that Thanksgiving 2006 is but a glowing, tryptophanic wino reminiscence, Christmas is officially around the chronological corner! Aww, hell – November may as well be over, let’s just turn the calendar now so we can see the exciting announcement typed permanently into the 25th box!
Knock off all that unmarketable thankfulness bullshit; it’s time to celebrate warm tidings and peace on Earth – with just a dash of religious undertone in place to anchor and justify the actual horror of what Christmas has become, including the tragic irony of such peaceful tidings in the first hateful place! I mean, can’t you just feel the love knowing that holiday shopping is now a high-risk undertaking, sometimes resulting in human casualty? God, I love peace.
And the holiday spirit only continues to spread – like an irritating rash on your ass that would probably subside if it wasn’t an essential part of your daily routine to wincingly assist its expansion.
But the good cheer is spreading nonetheless. Our merchandise sales are through the roof and we can hardly keep our felt gift card holders stocked, because, my goodness, has my company outdone themselves this year with the felt gift card holders! But even aside from all the cheer that is for sale at my store, I am feeling extra appreciated by customers these days.
One morning, not having heard all the mumbled elements of an order, I asked a woman to repeat her drink to me – the middleman between register and bar who ensures the proper translation of her double-short decaf roomy Americano; a person who can give that bitch four shots of regular espresso in a caffeinated heartbeat if so inspired.
Obviously upset at this inconvenient and unexpected bout with ignorance, she rolled her eyes and repeated her order with abundant frustration, but left out the main detail I needed to clarify. When I asked again, just for the size this time, she only got more steamed (heehee), and responded incorrectly again by answering, “Double.”
I re-clarified my size-specific inquiry to her, with an ever-so-subtle attitude rebuttal, and so commenced a two-minute peripheral stare-down between us. As I pulled her three small coffees from the urns, I kept her in my eye’s corner while I smirked annoyingly, having just made an ass of her without being so blatantly rude that I could be reported or have to award her with a service recovery coupon. I also deliberately filled her coffees to a dangerous spillage level, as I imagined her covered in all 36 fluid ounces of scalding coffee, flipped over in a ditch somewhere.
I can’t wait for her to visit again so I can inconvenience her day by intentionally being as ignorant as she supposes I am.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering how our intense interaction ended, she did not even have the courtesy to say thank you. Imagine that. She must have already been on the fast track to Christmas warmth, bypassing the more modest and gracious-spirited Thanksgiving holiday. Hey, why not, at least Christmas has presents! And peace on Earth to boot.
Maude Perkins is The Beachwood Reporter‘s pseudononymous service industry affairs editor currently serving time as a store supervisor for a large, publicly-held corporate coffee chain. Catch up with the rest of her heartwarming stories here.
Posted on November 23, 2006