Here's the deal... I won't expect you to know the italian names for drinks, if you won't expect me to know the candy bar names for drinks.
We have a bathroom key to keep you from ruining my day.
"Can I have the heaviest cinnamon roll?"
We don't have flavored creamer because this isn't a waiting room at JiffyLube.
"You're out of stir-sticks and I don't want to use a spoon..."
"I'll have my mocha" -- it's not yours yet, and unless you're wearing a crown, that's a completely inappropriate way to order.
That's not a macchiato and you should kill yourself.
Wait, you're gonna pay me minimum wage, AND I get 30% off the food I make for myself? Holy f*ck, where do I sign up?!
Do you really think that the person who decides the prices is the same person who is here at 6 am listening to you complain?
"I'll be on the patio." -- Well, your panini will be on the counter.
If your name is not Jill, and you did not order a large vanilla latte, then this large vanilla latte for Jill is not yours.
Is this a Discover Card? What the f*ck am I supposed to do with this?
Bus tubs. Like, f*ck em, right?
The next time you order extra-hot-no-foam, I'm putting that sh*t in the microwave.
Lemme know where you work and I'll be sure to stop in early tomorrow morning to tell you how to do your job too.
How come everyone else on the internet gets to be mean? I'm so confused.
I mean, at some point it makes sense for me to just give you the bottle of vanilla with a straw.
You came here to offer career advice? At 2 pm? On a Wednesday?
Soy milk containers: carefully engineered to ensure that no more than half the milk ends up in the pitcher. Brilliant.
I just wrote the sentence, "I've been a barista for 10 years," but I had to delete it because it read too much like a suicide note.