I only have a few minutes to write this, because I'm going out for a well-deserved end of the week drink with a good friend from karate.
There's a regular at work who everybody hates. The Austrian. That's not a psydonym; we all actually call him that - well, it's often The Angry Austrian - because nobody knows his real name.
Me and The Austrian had a go-around yesterday, when I told him there were no more ham and cheese croissants. (It's a bakery! Deal with it!) I then had to bring out an order of croissants to the couple sitting next to him. They ordered the last one! The Austrian was quite upset that he couldn't have one, seeing as he'd 'sat down first'. Sitting down first doesn't undo twenty minutes of reading the menu. Sorry. He was getting so angry at me yesterday that I eventually sent my boss over to deal with him. Fuck if I'm putting up with that.
Like a moth to a flame, The Angry Austrian sat in my section again today. We divide sections differently every day, based on who's working and how busy it is, so there's no reason other than cruel fate that I should be stuck with him all. the. time.
First, he sent back his glass of water because I'd brought him too much. He wanted a small glass. Too much! Water! You're not even paying for it!
"I like a small glass. Remember that next time."
After that, he interupted me while I was talking to the table next to him to say he wanted a san pelegrino, like the one I'd brought the man he interupted, instead. Don't think the table he interupted wasn't pissed, either; they asked to be moved to another table - oh, like that one - which meant I had to toss a table of six, half ordered, to a coworker's section when the poor guy was already bogged down. Coworker was then pissed at me, and the kitchen was pissed at Coworker for subsequently swapping table numbers on the orders that had already gone in. Thanks, Austrian!
I asked him how his meal was, and he grumbled, "fine, I guess."
Austrian was then pissed because we have a new barista who was going to make his cappucino after his meal. "Why isn't T. here? I only like T.'s cappucino."
Well, Austrian, I hate to break it to you, but your favourite barista doesn't actually live here. We have other baristas. T.'s cappucino does kick ass, but C.'s is nothing to complain about - much better than anything you'll get at the cafe up the road - so deal with it. Ugh!
I've gotta go. Nothing drives me to drink like this guy. And the knowleadge that I'll probably serve him tomorrow.