Who are these people and why are they in my coffee shop?
(A bit about different customer types.)

I've been thinking about some of the different types of customers, wondering, just what is it that drives them to them to such a sad state of deranged madness? Why do they get mad at me for charging $2 for ice tea? Why do they talk so much about being coffee connoisseurs, yet spend so much time adding sweet-n-low to their coffee? I will attempt to analyze these types, disecting them, exploring them, and yes, of course, mocking them.

The 50 year old male, obviously well off, who loudly complains about coffee prices and about how it's criminal to tip a barista: Well, there's not much to say after that title. This type is very common, and definitely my least favorite type to serve (not counting beligerently drunk and angry 47 year old women, but they're less common). Dude, you are obviously doing well in life--no shortage of money. Your Infiniti tells me that. Your clothes tell me that. So why are you so cheap? And why are you so mad and loud? Just be quiet and cheap. That's much less likely to get you beaten in some alley. Not by me. I'm just saying someone might...

The 40-something (pre-menopausal to menopausal) buisness woman: You are successful. You are pretty. And you are mean. You are pretty mean. And you only drink grande nonfat lattes. They are always called "grande," even when you are at a store that deliberately doesn't call them "grande." They should always be called "grande," just like they do at your favorite Starbucks. You will quench all attempts at humor with an icy stare. When you leave, my only thought is, "Your poor, poor husband."

The fake nice (male or female): Who knows what you really think? Clearly you are insincere in your compliments, which you lay on by the dozen. Your facade crumbles though, if things don't go your way. What, the store is out of your favorite cookie?! You get a pissy look in your eyes and your mouth wrinkles up before you regain your composure, and put that fake smile back on. You are an enigma. And I can't quite shake the lingering fear that you are going to walk into the shop with a loaded gun someday--Psycho Killer psuedo nice guy.

The awed customer: You have a look of awe in your face whenever I'm working on the espresso machine. When I hand you a drink with a rosetta on top, you can barely speak. Stop it. You are scaring me. I know me: I'm not impressed; You shouldn't be either. Or maybe you're really just the psuedo-nice guy described above, only you're pulling it off much, much better. Either way, you are freaking me out.

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