"Hello, we are Those People Who Keep Pestering the Baristas for Free Food."

I'm the man who spent a few hours in the coffee shop one night up until closing, and was offered a free pastry by a barista who was cleaning up, seeing as the danish would have to be thrown out and I had been a polite customer. However, I have interpreted this gracious act as setting a precedent for all subsequent visits, rather than a one time gesture of kindness. Rather than seeing the free food as a privilege, I now believe I am entitled to a free snack, regardless of the time, the price, or how busy the establishment is at the moment.

Now I sit at the bar, close to the display of muffins and bagels, and ask the employees for something free of charge every time they open the display. I am never daunted by a reply of "No," regardless how firm, repeating my request a dozen or so times during every visit to the coffee shop. Hey, they never should have offered me something free if they can't deliver every time I come!

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Pretend to be Coffee or Tea Snobs, But Really Aren't."

I'm the man who diligently looks over the various coffee bean selections, quietly reciting their names to myself: "Hmm, I don't think I want Ethiopian today... Could be a good day for Celebes..." and so on. I'm putting on the front that I can discern the nuances in flavor between the various blends, but it's obvious that I don't really know what I'm talking about since I pronounce "Celebes" as "celebs" and I always end up purchasing the house blend of the day. I would never admit this, however, instead declaring, "You know, I think I'm up for the smokey flavor of a light cup of Sumatran today," a sentence full of coffee-sounding jargon that makes no sense.

Or, I'm the woman who has to look through every packet of tea in the coffee shop premises, describing why each variety would or would not be good for today. "Hmmm, Earl Grey would suit me well for a rainy day, but I really don't think that Chamomile would put me in the right kind of mood." In the end, I just pick whatever packet looks the prettiest, chalking up my reasoning to the scent or the "smoothness" of the tea.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Think Everybody in the Coffee Shop Wants to Listen to Them Play Guitar."

I'm the local college guy who travels everywhere with his guitar readily accessible, prepared to sit beneath a nearby tree and woo passing females with my covers of Jack Johnson and Jason Mraz. For some reason, one of my favorite places to serenade others is the coffee shop. Originally I was content to sit out on the patio and croon faux-soulfully to everyone walking along the sidewalk outside, but lately I've being coming in and sitting on one of the couches quietly strumming and singing, stopping only to sip on my large soy chai latte with two pumps of chocolate.

A few cute co-eds in the shop think it's sensitive and attractive, but pretty much everybody else just finds it annoying. However, I am oblivious to the people on their laptops pulling on their headphones and the people reading newspapers and chatting occasionally casting glares in my direction. I know that, secretly, they just wish they were as talented as me.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Refuse To Move from the Counter After Ordering."

We are the group of two or three friends chatting nonstop while they stand in line, and we recognize the barista as a mutual acquaintance once we get up to the counter. We share in a fun conversation about the latest gossip in our circle of peers and all things popular culture. Somewhere in the midst of this we finally place our orders, to the relief of those in line behind us.

After we place our orders, however, we stay camped out by the cash register and continue our merry conversation. Completely oblivious to the line stretched out behind us and the open tables where we could sit, we remain stationary, so engrossed in our talk that we don't hear the man behind us imploring us to move on. The person behind us finally makes eye contact with the barista and has to raise his voice to order over our incessant chatter, and he mostly unsuccessfully tries to elbow his way to the counter to pay.

Eventually we receive our beverages, which those in line assume signals our long-awaited departure from the front of the queue. However, we simply remain standing, sipping on our drinks and ignorant of the people weaving around us to place their orders. Hey, this is a comfortable spot, so why should we bother with a table?

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Want Seasonal Items at All Times of the Year."

I'm the man who stopped by in June and had a summer-themed smoothie, a refreshing cool drink complete with a little umbrella in it to round out the sunny motif. Now it is the first days of November - the temperature has dropped into the 50s, people are breaking out their flannel shirts and heavy coats, and the local stores are already pushing Christmas merchandise toward the front of their seasonal displays. However, I yearn for another hint of summer, and stop by the coffee shop for my warm weather beverage.

I study the menu, noting that the space where the smoothies were advertised has been replaced by an advert for hot chocolate and apple cider. Undaunted, I still place my order for a summer drink as if it's only natural. The barista informs me that the item is no longer on the menu, so, upset and strangely surprised, I protest that surely they still have the ingredients. The barista gingerly tells me that the smoothies were phased out at the beginning of October and they simply cannot make me one. Angry now, I continue to protest, insisting that surely, surely they can still make summer drinks.

Finally they firmly insist that the summer drinks are gone. They offer a seasonal alternative, something more fitting for the cold weather. Insulted, I turn around and leave in a huff. It'd be nice to find a place with some stability!

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Take Personal Offense to the Baristas' Recommendations."

I'm the person who cannot quite make up her mind about what she wants to drink. Trying to aid my decision, the barista tells me about some of his personal favorites, and attempts to discern the kind of item that might appeal to me.

His attempts, however, are completely insulting to my finer tastes. He tries to tell me that I might like a Caramel Macchiato - does he really think I want one of the those funny Mexican drinks? I bark at him that, no thank you, that is certainly not the kind of thing I want. He alters his approach, telling me about the Italian sodas - but did I ask him to tell me about these fancy, overblown beverages when all I want is something simple? After a few suggestions, I huff, "Well, I guess I won't get anything at all!" I turn around a leave, unable to comprehend the ridiculous suggestions that worker tried to force on me.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Try to Return Broken Merchandise at Full Price."

I'm the man who bought an French press or a coffee mug at the coffee shop, and promptly broke it after using it only a few times. It's true that maybe I didn't read the instructions and I overloaded the French press and kept squeezing it until it cracked, or that I set the mug on my desk and then absent-mindedly knocked it off onto the hardwood floor where it shattered, but I believe that the reason the object gave out was ultimately because the coffee shop sold me a faulty item. As such, I intend to hold them accountable.

I return to the coffee shop with the item in hand, and gruffly ask to speak with a manager. I explain to her that the object was a lemon and that I deserve a brand new one, free of charge. She doesn't like the fact that I broke it myself, and strangely has a huge problem with me trying to return it with its original packaging and without a receipt to prove I purchased the item here. She finally rejects my demands after I spend several minutes chewing her out. Finally I storm out, livid at the lack of customer service.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Justify Themselves for Not Tipping."

I'm the lady who purchases her drink with a large bill and receives a few dollar bills in change instead of a handful of coins. I look at the tip jar, and thoughtfully inspect the one dollar bills in my hand. I know it would nice to give a little gratuity, but don't think I can afford to part with one hundred important cents. Instead of simply walking off like many customers do, however, I attempt to make amends by explaining my lack of a tip. "I'm sorry, but I really need to have some cash on hand," I say. "If I had a little less I would give you that, but I really need to hold on to this."

I then drop my one dollar bills into my purse where they will inevitably find their way to the bottom of the bag and be forgotten, while the baristas feel paradoxically more insulted than if I had simply said nothing. At least I didn't steal any of the tip money, though.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Whose Orders Never Seem to End."

I'm the person who seems to think that every order needs the proper amount of suspense to be done properly. My exchange at the counter goes something like this:

BARISTA: May I help you.
CUSTOMER: Yes.
BARISTA: ...um, OK, what would you like?
CUSTOMER: I'll have a cup of coffee, the light blend.
BARISTA: OK, will that be all?
CUSTOMER: No, I'd also like a blueberry bagel.
BARISTA: ...alright. Any cream cheese?
CUSTOMER: Yes.
BARISTA: ...OK...what kind?
CUSTOMER: Strawberry.
BARISTA: Sounds good. (rings it up) That'll be...
CUSTOMER: Wait. I'd also like an Italian soda. Cherry-flavored.
BARISTA: OK. Is that it?
CUSTOMER: No...
BARISTA: (getting bored) ...alright...what else?
CUSTOMER: I'll also have a coffee cake muffin.
BARISTA: OK, then, a light coffee, blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese, a cherry Italian soda, and a coffee cake muffin. That will be...
CUSTOMER: Wait, and two slices of the cheesecake, to go.
BARISTA: (frustrated) And that's it?
CUSTOMER: Yes.
BARISTA: (sighs) Alright then. That'll be...
CUSTOMER: Oh, wait, I remembered something... (barista groans) A blended ice mocha, also to go.
BARISTA: What else?
CUSTOMER: Oh, and a blended caramel ice. Also to go.
BARISTA: ... (waiting) ...very good. A light coffee, a cherry Italian soda, a blended iced mocha, a blended caramel ice, two slices of cheesecake, a coffee cake muffin, and a blueberry bagel with strawberry cream cheese. That'll be...
CUSTOMER: Oh, silly me! I just remembered two other people who asked for something...


It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who are Conveniently Oblivious to the Destruction Being Caused by Their Children."

I'm the mom who brings along her two children, ages six and seven, on her coffee run. As I place my order, I tell my kids to sit down and be quiet, to which they respond by prompting jumping up and running around screaming at the top of their lungs. They pull napkins out of the dispensers, knock over the sugar and creamer, pull chairs out from tables and leave them in the middle of the room.

However, while everyone else in the coffee shop looks on in horror at my children's reign of destruction, I simply take my time placing my order, occasionally glancing at my kids and softly saying, "Now you two behave yourselves," while not actually doing anything to stop them. When one of the baristas leans over the counter and attempts to politely tell the children to be quiet, I get very offended. These are my kids, leave them alone! Besides, it's not like they're doing anything wrong...

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Claim the Largest Table in the Coffee Shop for Themselves."

I am the young man who comes in with a laptop and a collection of papers and printouts, ready to settle in and get some work done. However, instead of taking my place at a small table for two for sitting up on the bar, I elect for the large round table intended to seat eight people. I plug in my laptop and spread out my files, as I watch several families and groups of friends come in and pull together the smaller tables just to find enough seating. I think I notice them eying my booth, but I'm sure it's just selfish jealousy on their parts.

I am probably also one of Those People Who Take Over the Coffee Shop for Group Study Sessions, but at least in those situations we have people occupying all of the chairs. Here, by myself I am blocking half a dozen people from finding a place to sit. I really need to get work done, though, and this is the ideal workspace! Do you honestly expect me to cram into one of those tiny side tables? I don't think so.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Do Not Understand How Bagels Work."

I'm the man who rigorously studies the pastry display, trying to decide on a snack. I ask the baristas what kinds of doughnuts they have, to which the employees reply incredulously, "Um, we don't have doughnuts." I irritatedly point to the display and accusingly ask, "Then what are those?!" to which the employees reply, "Well those are bagels."

Pssssh. As if there's much of a difference.

I ask what kind of bagels they have, and I decide on a plain. They ask if I want it "sliced and toasted," which blows my mind. They cut bagels up? Crazy! My mind gets blown again when the baristas offer several varieties of cream cheese. This is simply too much to handle!

Once I finally receive my unusual snack, I am surprised to see it presented to me "like a sandwich," with the cream cheese already applied and the two halves of the bagel put back together. This isn't at all like those bagels at the hotel breakfast buffet when I'm on a business trip! I thought this would be more like a doughnut. I argue this point with the server, but he insists this is how they always prepare them. How utterly absurd!

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Disdain Any Coffee Shop Whose Baristas Were Not Trained in Seattle or Portland."

I'm the guy who spent one summer up in the Pacific Northwest with a buddy of mine, and in addition to improving my taste in music and "being about social justice," I have fallen in love with the birthplace of Starbucks and Seattle's Best. I became accustomed to ridiculously elaborate coffee foam art and precisely pulled espresso shots, not to mention inventive and delectable drinks (all of which are completely Fair Trade).

However, I have returned home to the Midwest or the South or some other region - all of them are the same, really, once you've experienced True Civilization. And I am come into the coffee shop I used to enjoy before my regional conversion experience, and realize how flawed my tasted used to be. The foam on my drink has no designs, the menu only offers your standard coffee fare; why, I don't even think my barista has a Master's Degree! I try to explain the proper way to make my drink, but I feel like I'm talking to some alien species. I need to get out of this hell hole fast, and back to the place where coffee is done the right way, by the people in black aprons.

It's very nice for you to meet me, isn't it?

"Hello, we are Those People Who Seek to Educate the Baristas on the Latest Coffee-related Conspiracy Theories."

I'm the man who has done his homework on this whole coffee business thing, and has learned some secrets from Wikipedia and other internet sources that the caffeine-peddling establishment does not want the common people to know. Of course I cannot keep this knowledge to myself, so I pass it along to the baristas and anyone else in earshot when I stop by the coffee shop.

A sampling includes:
"You know, soy milk causes cancer, and lowers testosterone levels in men, which lead sto impotence."
"You know, [major coffee chain] really controls all coffee distribution in the US. It's all kickbacks and such to their powerful CEOs."
"You know, cow's milk is actually damaging to the human skeleton. Dairy farmers and such tell you that it's good for your bones, but the opposite is really true."
"You know, bagels and other bread products will kill you, the carbohydrates will block your arteries."

Aside from actually believing what I'm saying, the most remarkable thing about me is that I think I can change the minds of my audience. Surprisingly, I have yet to have a barista exclaim, "Oh my gosh, you're right! Soy is lethal!" and then tear off his apron and run out of the shop.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Want the Coffee Shop to Honor Their Six-Month-Old Expired Coupons."

I'm the man who has come to the coffee shop after seeing an ad for a discounted drink in the local paper. I place my order then cheerfully hand the cashier the page, pleased that I am saving my money. However, the barista gently points out to me that the coupon expired in early February, half a year ago. I argue the point, claiming that it really isn't that long ago, and I simply missed the clearly printed expiration date in bold print at the bottom of the page. I call a manager over to plead my case, but she won't budge either, saying something about how the item was seasonal and is no longer offered, blah blah blah. I angrily storm out, vowing to never fall for that establishment's scams again.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Take Over the Coffee Shop for Group Study Sessions."

We are the group of ten to fifteen students from a local university who arrive with our laptops and textbooks, loudly talking and laughing. We generally arrive just before a high-traffic time for the café, and pull together all of the chairs and tables into a massive huddle around which all must customers must step to place their orders. Out of our large group about three people actually order something.

We proceed to study for the next several hours, leading many would-be customers to walk in, survey the landscape, and leave because no more seating is available. We loudly argue using pseudo-intellectual phrases that we ourselves don't really understand, disrupting the casual conversations or quiet relaxation of everyone else in the room. Yeah, we considered going to our campus library or somebody's apartment, but those options just don't have the proper "atmosphere."

There's also a good chance we arrive about half an hour before the coffee shop closes, expecting to stay for a few hours.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Attempt to Carry on Conversations with Employees During a Rush."

I'm casual friends with one of the coffee shop employees, and I come in during the midst of the morning rush and walk over to the counter to chat with my acquaintance. However, this friend of mine is busy pulling espresso shots, steaming milk, and blending ice. While I tell him stories from the day before, he simply replies with a half-hearted "Oh yeah?" and doesn't even make eye contact. When I ask him how his day has been, he hurriedly says, "Oh fine, just busy now," and still won't make eye contact.

I know there's ten people waiting for their orders and another twenty in line, but I thought we were friends. Why won't he make time to talk?

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Expect To Be Waited On as if They Were at a Restaurant."

We're the couple that sits at one of the tables and looks up at the menu, deciding what we want from afar. When we come to our decisions, however, we do not go up to the counter and place our order like all of the other customers coming in; rather, we simply sit and wait.

After fifteen minutes or so, one of us yells out, "HEY, WE'D LIKE SOME SERVICE HERE!" A confused barista comes over to us and asks, "Um, can I help you?" Both of us launch into lengthy explanations of the drinks and bagels we want, and then smile stiffly and return to our conversation. It dawns on the barista that we think she's a waiter, and she interrupts and asks us to place that order at the register under the large sign that reads, "PLACE ORDER HERE."

This, of course, leads into a lengthy argument in which we chew out the employee for not taking our order from the table and allowing us the circumvent the line of people making their purchases the accepted way. Talk about terrible service...

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Consume Two-Thirds of our Beverages and Then Complain That They Weren't What They Wanted."

I'm the girl who places her order normally, pays without complaint, patiently waits for her beverage, and then picks it up gratefully and sips it satisfied. I then take my beverage over to a table and sit chatting with my friends. We are all having a good time, and no one appears to be in any way disappointed with their purchases.

Once I have consumed roughly thirteen ounces of my twenty ounce beverage, however, I make a startling discovery: this isn't what I wanted at all! It suddenly occurs to me that this is a hot drink, not an iced one, or that this latte does not in fact have any chocolate in it, or some other similar startling revelation. I angrily storm back up to the counter with my now almost-empty cup and demand a new beverage. The barista tries to point out that I already drank the whole thing without complaint, but I just frustratedly repeat that it was made wrong and I didn't like it. I simply didn't realize that I didn't like it until the drink was almost finished.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Defer to the Promises of an Imaginary Barista."

I'm the man who claims to be a regular customer, if by "regular customer" one means "that guy who stopped by once three weeks ago." While placing my order, I inform the workers that I came to an agreement with the barista who works early Thursday afternoons. This helpful employee agreed that I could get soy milk in my drink with no additional charge since I'm lactose intolerant, or that I could purchase a latte for the price of a normal cup of coffee since it's late in the day, or get a free bagel with my beverage since I work for a school district in another county.

The only catch is this: no barista who works at this establishment would make those kinds of promises. The workers ask what this phantom employee looked like, and I respond with something along the lines of, "Oh, it's a girl with long hair, she had on a brown apron," or something equally ambiguous. One of the current baristas mentions that he usually works Thursday afternoons and none of the girls who work during that time would say those kinds of things. Finally, the baristas decline the offer that I insist I was promised. Why won't they believe in my fictitious coffee shop friend?

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Somehow Turn the Names of Drinks Into Racial Epithets."

I'm the older man who has decided to try out this fancy new coffee shop that his grandchildren like, but has never tried any of the offered drinks save for straight black coffee. I am amused at the complicated concoctions on the menu, and try to remember what my grandkids told me to get. I try to explain the drink to the barista. She tries to help me, but cannot quite help me place the drink.

Suddenly, it clicks. I loudly announce to the server, in a voice the whole coffee shop can hear: "I know now, I want one of those N****r Filipinos!"

The coffee shop goes quiet, although I don't notice. After a few seconds of shocked silence, the barista says, "Um...I think you mean a Mocha Frappucino."

"Yeah, that's what I said," I reply. I notice the people behind me in line are staring at me. What, did I do something wrong?

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Have Decided to Be Disappointed with Their Drinks Before They Even Order."

I'm the first-time customer who already has a favorite coffee place elsewhere, but has come in here with a friend or at the behest of a coworker. I am not very excited about this change in my routine, and I repeatedly sigh as I scan the menu.

Once I approach the counter, I phrase my order negatively, saying things like, "I'm sure you don't have this, but..." or "I don't usually like [item], but I'll guess I'll have one since I don't see anything else worth getting..." I frown as a speak, talking in a monotonous timbre, as though I am speaking as a witness in a trial or having a painful conversation with an ex. I shake my head as I give the cashier my money, anguished that I am handing over my hard-earned three dollars for this nonsense.

When I receive my order and taste it, I grimace and mutter. I knew this drink was going to be bad. I live a hard life.

It's... sigh... very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Want an Unhealthy Number of Espresso Shots in Their Drinks."

I'm the woman who comes in twice a day, slightly shaking, in need of my caffeine fix. I order a beverage that is already strong, such a Red Eye, but then ask to have it pushed to its most ludicrous extreme. As if this is an ordinary request, I ask for eight shots of espresso, saying I need "a buzz." The baristas ask, somewhat pleadingly, if I think that might be a bit much, but I insist. I always make my two stops for my lethal drink, dropping upwards of $6 on a malotov cocktail of coffee.

What, you think I might be a "caffeine addict"? That is just silly, caffeine isn't addictive! I don't know who told you that, but it's just an urban legend.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who are Overly Pretentious About Using Their Purchases for Their Pet Causes."

I'm the guy who comes in and asks if the coffee shop has Fair Trade coffee. When the baristas say yes they do, I launch into a lengthy sermon, declaring, "Oh good, because I only buy Fair Trade products. I just think it's ridiculous how little those plantation workers in [Indonesia/Kenya/Mexico/wherever] get paid, and we really need to do something to help them." I then go on to decry the evils of Wal-mart, Target, and other large corporations.

You can only imagine what kind of monologue I deliver at the coffee shops that do not serve Fair Trade products.

I make sure everyone in earshot knows that I care about social justice before I sit down with my MacBook and start listening to Coldplay on my iTunes. Of course, I would never admit to anyone that my commitment to changing the world starts and ends with my cup of the Sumatran blend, and that I really care more about impressing that hot girl at my university who's always wearing that "MY HEART IS BEEPING" Save Darfur t-shirt. But hey, supporting my cause through my coffee order is the least I can do (...literally).

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Give the Barista Step-by-Step Guides That Must Be Followed Exactly to Make Their Drinks."

I'm the man who comes up to the register and begins the following conversation:

CUSTOMER: I'd like a latte...
BARISTA: (ringing it up) OK, that'll be $2.89.
CUSTOMER: ...and this is how you're going to make it.
BARISTA: (stops, looks up) Huh?
CUSTOMER: Now, I want three shots of espresso, but I don't want them to be bitter, so I want you to pull them after you prepare the rest of the drink.
BARISTA: (pauses) Well, OK, we can do that. So, that'll be...
CUSTOMER: ...and make sure you use 2% milk. And when you steam it, I want you to make sure it's at least 190º.
BARISTA: That's pretty hot... (shakes head) Fine. That'll be...
CUSTOMER: (impatient) I'm not finished. (pauses)
BARISTA: (makes awkward eye contact) ...what else do you want?
CUSTOMER: Put three pumps of vanilla in there. Not the new vanilla syrup you started using about two months ago, pull out the old good stuff.
BARISTA: (amazed) I...don't really think we have any more of the old syrup.
CUSTOMER: (insistent) You do. I always get it.
BARISTA: (unconvinced) Well...OK then.
CUSTOMER: Steam the 2% milk first, to 190º, and then put in the syrup. Three pumps. The last time I came in the worker just put in two pumps and it was awful.
BARISTA: (forced smile) Yes sir. Anything other instructions?
CUSTOMER: Yes. (The barista muffles a groan, while other baristas have stopped and wait for the instructions on how to make the drink.) When you put the three freshly pulled shots into the drink, make sure you stir it well. About ten times should do it. But don't stir too long or it'll get all bitter.
BARISTA: (confused) All right. (resolute) Anything else?
CUSTOMER: (pauses, thinks) No. That should do it. (cashier sighs, other baristas begin making the drink) How much do I owe you?
BARISTA: That'll be $3.46.
CUSTOMER: (angered) You said it would be $2.89!
BARISTA: Well, that was before you asked for shots of syrup.
CUSTOMER: (miffed) Fine. Forget the shots of vanilla.
(The baristas have just put the vanilla shots into the cup of steamed milk; they audibly groan and throw it away, then start remaking the drink.)

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Want Impossibly Paradoxical Amounts of Coffee in Their Beverages."

I'm the woman who mulls over the menu, and then comments, "I want something without much coffee in it..." The barista, trying to be helpful, recommends the various non-coffee selections, including smoothies, blended ices, Italian sodas, and teas. I nod affirmatively, then say, "You know, I think I'd really like a latte."

After a moment of incredulous silence, the barista gently tries to point out that a latte has espresso in it. I shake my head and grumble, "I know that, but could you make it with a little less coffee?"

When I get my latte made with only half a shot of espresso, I complain that it doesn't taste like it should and give it back to the baristas, asking for "just a little more" coffee in it. They add another shot of espresso, but when I taste my drink this time, I am overwhelmed with the coffee flavor. I angrily give my drink back and ask for a refund.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Blame the Coffee Shop for The Fact That They're Running Late."

I'm the businessman who has to drive half an hour to work, but stops by the coffee shop around 7am to "grab a quick cup of coffee" before rushing back out onto the freeways. However, I'm already running about five minutes behind when I jump into my Sebring, so I cannot afford to wait in line; paradoxically, however, I choose to stop by the coffee shop right in the midst of their morning rush hour. I stand impatiently in line, shifting my weight from one leg to the other, hands shoved in my pockets except when I pull out my left arm to check my watch once every twenty seconds. When I finally get to the counter I place my order and emphasize, "And I'm in hurry," as if this will magically erase the other fifteen lattes that the baristas need to make before getting to my order.

I stand to the side and wait patiently for about fourteen seconds, before I approach the bar and declare, "Is it ready yet? I really need to be going." Obviously, out of all the people waiting for their beverages, I am the one in the biggest hurry. However, I am disgusted that it takes a full three minutes for me to get my order, and I rush back out to work. When I get to the office twenty minutes late, I grumble, "Sorry everyone, the service at the coffee shop where I stopped this morning was terrible."

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Blatantly Take Money from the Tip Jar."

I'm the man who always pays for his cup of house coffee with a large bill, but wants to round off his purchase to the nearest dollar. Instead of bringing my own spare change, however, I'll simply sneak a few dimes and pennies out of the tip jar to account for the additional 27¢. The baristas let this slide the first few times I do it, but call me on it once it becomes clear that my action isn't a simple mental slip.

When called out, I apologize and put a bill in the cup. However, when the baristas pull out the tips at the end of the shift, they find that the bill was one of those million dollar bill Christian tracts.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Expect the Independent Coffee Shop to be Exactly Like Starbucks."

I'm the man who has made a habit of making a daily Starbucks stop, but decided to change things up and check out this "other" coffee shop that I always pass on my way to and from work. Upon looking at the menu, I'm aghast to find that the drinks and food items are not exactly the same as Starbucks. This doesn't phase me, however, as I still try to order a Venti White Chocolate Mocha Frappuccino, even though the drinks sizes at this establishment are clearly advertised as "small," "medium," and "large," and "Frappuccino" is a registered trademark which cannot be sold by other franchises. When the baristas explain this and attempt to offer a similar alternative, I simply repeat my order more slowly as if this will magically give them the ability to infringe on Starbucks' copyrights. I don't understand why all of the coffee shops in the world are not yet conforming to the Starbucks model - this Mom & Pop establishment is quaint and all, but I'd rather have the standard institutional monotony of the brand name franchise.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Order Something Generic and Refuse to Clarify What They Really Want."

I'm the older man who disdains all of the nuances of these modern, trendy coffee places. I come in and say, with a grumble, "I'd like a regular coffee." The barista asks me if I want light or dark, and I let out a grunt and repeat, "I just want REGULAR COFFEE. Nothing more than just regular." I don't seem to grasp the fact that light and dark are both types of regular coffee.

Or, I'm the lady who comes in and orders tea. When asked what type of tea, I say it's some good tea that I had the other day, and can offer no further details. When the baristas ask me questions about the flavor, smell, color, and so on, I just reiterate over and over that it's a good tea. Nevermind that the shop offers Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Jasmine, Chamomille, English Breakfast, etc etc etc. I assume that my preferred cup of tea is the one of choice, so I'm upset when I receive a different type than the Irish Breakfast tea I actually wanted.


Either way, it's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Steal the Coffee Shop's Wi-Fi."

I'm the man who doesn't ever actually come into the coffee shop, but instead sits in his car parked in the side parking lot where I can't be as easily seen by anyone in the building. I place my laptop on the seat next to me and pick up the wireless internet connection from the store, trying to be discreet about my piracy. I don't ever actually come into the shop and support it with my business; in fact, I don't even have the decency to step inside and get a glass of water. Hey, the internet is free, so I'm going to take advantage of it. Why should I bother being polite and supporting the establishment which provides this service?

It's also very likely that I'm either downloading music illegally or looking up pornography.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Treat Their Orders as Interrogations."

I'm the lady who comes in and intently surveys all of the pastries, asking about each and every one of them. "What kind of bagel is this?" "Does this cookie have nuts?" "Is this fat free?" I'm a close cousin of Those Indecisive People Who Continually Change Their Minds While in the Process of Ordering, but while those people simply can't make up their minds, I insist upon learning every minute detail about my future purchase. If the barista doesn't know whether or not an item is kosher (for non-religious reasons) or the exact date that this pastry was made or other details of this nature, I assume they're simply not equipped to work at a coffee house. I'm not about to spend my money without knowing exactly what goes into my $2 snack, regardless how much grief I have to give the staff to find out.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Have Very Personal Conversations at a Very High Volume in the Quiet Coffee Shop."

I'm the woman who comes into the coffee shop with a friend or two during a low-traffic time in the afternoon, when there are only a few regulars reading or working on their laptops in the relative silence. My friends and I carry on, chatting very noisily, which is slightly annoying but not a huge issue for the patrons and baristas.

Our conversation takes a dark turn, however, after we get our drinks and sit down together at a table. Still speaking at a volume loud enough to be clearly heard by everyone in the shop (even though they're not eaves-dropping and would rather not listen), I begin complaining about my personal life to my friends. I talk freely about my ex-husband/ex-boyfriend and how much of a jerk he is, naming names and spilling details about things he has done, causing great discomfort to everyone who can't help but hear the stories. I go on with personal tales about my family, my co-workers, my dating life, and so on, even though the stories are at best awkward and at worst completely inappropriate for public discussion. My friends don't stop me, but rather encourage my loud and very revealing diatribe.

Once we finally leave, a collective sigh of relief can be heard from everyone in the shop who has just received an uninvited glimpse into the depths of my personal life.

It's very nice to meet you.

why?

These introductions began on my personal Xanga during a summer in which I worked as a barista at an independent coffee shop.

I enjoyed working at a coffee shop. I enjoyed the casual and inviting atmosphere. I enjoyed learning to make drinks and discovering the just right combinations of flavors for a particular mood. I enjoyed getting to know the people who came in around the same time every day, who ordered the same drink every time, who sat down to talk about their lives and listen to my stories and the stories of my co-workers.

However, in the midst of many wonderful customers who were considerate, respectful, and gracious, a number of people who come in and say, "Hello, We are Those People..."

These posts began as a way of venting. I could not believe the arrogance of these inconsiderate people. How dare they come in and abuse the sacred trust between barista and coffee shop customer! I know that many people who work in various service industries have to encounter variations on Those People every day. These posts are a way for us to share in our frustrations, and to keep our sanity intact by seeing that no, we are not the only ones who suffer.

However, my relationship with coffee houses has changed, as I now no longer work as a barista, but frequent various coffee shops to work on papers and study as I pursue my graduate degree. On more than I occasion, I have placed my order, sat down with my drink, and then realized that I had just been one of Those People. In my moments of selfishness, I am no better than any of the customers I disdained as a barista. I too can approach the counter and say, "It's very nice to meet you."

So, the purpose of this blog has become twofold. On one hand, it is a way for the service employees to find solace in the communal experience of the strange little things which can make a work day arduous. On the other hand, it is a reminder to myself that when I remain content in my egoistic worldview, it can drive the people whom I encounter throughout the day crazy.

So, as you read these Coffee Shop Introductions, let it remind you of this reality: The person on the other side of the counter is a real human being who deserves your consideration.

And this is true whether you're the customer or the barista.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Care Entirely Too Much About the Temperature of Their Drinks."

I'm the man who comes in and orders a latte "steamed to 180°." When I get my drink, I take a sip and I'm shocked to find that it's only 175°. I'm baffled at the incompetence of the barista, and demand that I get a new drink five degrees warmer and a full refund.

Or I'm the woman who, when she receives her beverage, instantly expresses shock at how warm the steaming hot freshly brewed coffee in a thermal cup is, and begin loudly complaining about how "it's burning my fingers" and force the drink back into the surprised barista's hand. I demand the drink be multi-layered in two or three cups instead of one, and I also demand a full refund.

Either way, it's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Make Awkward Small Talk."

I'm the man who comes in and attempts to greet the baristas like old friends, laughing about some inside joke I imagine we share, even though the baristas have no idea what's going on. I take my time at the counter, and while I stall to look at the menu longer, I make wisecracks about coffee and pastries that I think make the mood lighter, but which actually make the people behind the counter very uneasy and the people in line behind me very impatient. Maybe I think that my sense of humor will win me better service or special discounts; in reality, any time I approach the door, the baristas sigh and say to each other, "Oh no, it's that creepy guy again...you take the cash register, I don't want to deal with him..."

I also flirt with all of the female baristas, even though they're in their 20s and I'm in my 50s.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Order an Item They're Not Familiar With and Then Complain Because It's Not What They Really Wanted."

I'm the lady who orders an espresso (which I call an "expresso") because I think it sounds refined and coffee shop-ish, thinking that it's some kind of drink similar to a cup of Folger's coffee. When I get a small cup with a few shots of bitter espresso in it, I complain that my drink has been messed up, and possibly even accuse the baristas of giving me "a used drink."* I could also be the guy who orders a latte and then complains because the drink is hot instead of cold, even though it was clearly listed on the menu under "Warmers" instead of "Chillers." I could also be the person who orders a cappuccino and complains that it's "too foamy," the person who points out that I'm lactose intolerant after ordering a drink without asking for soy milk, or the person who asks for a shot of regular espresso to be put in my decaf coffee "to add flavor," then questions if it'll have too much caffeine.

Whoever I am, it's very nice to meet you.


*Author's Note: When I was a barista, a lady actually really did accuse me of doing this once when she ordered an espresso. I thought to myself, "Why, of course, we were cleaning off a table and saw a half-consumed latte and figured 'She'll never notice' and gave you that drink. That's exactly what we do at this coffee shop. Are you kidding me?!" End rant.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Try to Place Their Orders from the Bar So They Can Cut in Line."

I'm the "cool guy" who saunters in while several people are in line in front of him, but who never actually commits to the queue. I then walk over to the bar area to look at today's coffee blend selections, and after a few minutes of indecisively shifting my weight from one leg to the other, I catch one of the baristas in the spare second when he or she is not actively making a drink or fixing a pastry and try to place an order. It's usually something overly specific and confusing, such as "I need one of those Snickers Bars, but with decaf espresso and ice." I don't seem to notice that five people are in the line a mere four feet to my right, or that another three or four people are patiently waiting for their orders. I get miffed when the barista tells me to go get in line to place my order, and when I finally get to the front and they ask me what I'd like, I get angry because I already placed my order five minutes ago while they were busy making drinks for other customers.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Bring Their Own Drinks from a Competing Coffee Shop and Don't Buy Anything."

We're the couple that comes into the shop with lattes already in our hands, in cups clearly emblazoned with the logo of a competing business. The baristas initially assume that we've come to buy some pastries or bagels that the other coffee shop doesn't have, or that we're going to use the shop's Wi-Fi and at least leave a tip or something. These assumptions are completely unfounded, as we've come only to enjoy the atmosphere, and we sit and talk for two or three hours before leaving, having purchased nothing. We like the quaint feel of this coffee shop, but don't plan on supporting it with our business anytime soon - we like the brand-name drinks too much. However, we have no qualms about using the coffee shop's restroom or "borrowing" the coffee shop's napkins.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those Indecisive People Who Continually Change Their Minds While in the Process of Ordering."

I'm the lady who comes in and stands at the counter and looks over the menu for a good ten to fifteen minutes, pondering what she wants to get. After surveying the choices, I start a strenuous conversation which goes something like this:

CUSTOMER: Hmmmm...I think I want one of those Iced Nirvanas...it sounds good...
BARISTA: OK, will that be all for you?
CUSTOMER: No, I think that's goo- what a minute, do you sell smoothies here?
BARISTA: Yes ma'am, we do.
CUSTOMER: What kind do you have?
(The barista shows the lady the list of smoothies. A few people enter the coffee shop and stand in line behind her. The lady stares at the smoothie list.)
CUSTOMER: I'd like a...is there sugar in the smoothies?
BARISTA: There's real fruit sugars, yes, but nothing add-
CUSTOMER: Oh that won't do. (Barista looks confused) Hmmmm....I don't knoooooooooooooooow...(mumbles) What else do you have that's not coffee?
BARISTA: Well, besides the smoothies, we have Italian sodas and-
CUSTOMER: Oooo, what's that?
BARISTA: It's flavors of your choice in carbonated soda with cream.
CUSTOMER: (pauses) That. I'll have that. What are my choices?
(The barista shows the customer the list of flavors right in front of her, and makes apologetic eye contact with the people in line behind her.)
CUSTOMER: Ummmmmmm...welllllllllllllllllllllll...raspberry sounds good. I'll have that.
BARISTA: (ringing up the order) OK, that'll be two dollars and-
CUSTOMER: Oh wait. (pause) Uhhhhhhhh...can you put flavors in tea instead?
BARISTA: (defeated) Yes. Would you like a raspberry tea instead?
CUSTOMER: Oh, I don't know...(sighs) I'm sorry that I'm taking so long...
BARISTA: If you need some time, I can just serve the people behind-
CUSTOMER: Oh no, I'll have the tea.
BARISTA: OK. Raspberry tea. (voids the old order, rings up the new one) That'll be...
CUSTOMER: Wait. (barista and other customers muffle groans) Raspberry orrrrrr peach...maybe peach would be...(mumbles) You know, I don't think I'm really in the mood for tea.
BARISTA: (exasperated, voiding the tea order, attempting to stay polite) OK, well I need your order, there's people in line.
CUSTOMER: Welllllllllllllll...OK, never mind. I'll just have a Diet Coke.
BARISTA: Is Diet Dr Pepper OK?
CUSTOMER: You don't have Coke? (barista shakes his head) Hmmmmm....welllllllllllllllllllllll...yeah, OK, I guess I can do a Dr Pepper.
BARISTA: (relieved) Alright then, that'll be $1.19.
(The customer pulls out her checkbook. The people in line move up, ready to place their orders. While rummaging for a pen, she notices the pastries.)
CUSTOMER: Oh wait, what is that cake right there?...
(etc etc etc)

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Expect the Coffee Shop to be Something Other Than a Coffee Shop."

I'm the person who comes in and asks questions like, "Do you sell sandwiches?" or "Do you sell eggs and bacon?" or "Do you sell ice cream?" or "Do you sell doughnuts?" or "Do you sell mini pizzas?" or any other number of items that are advertised nowhere on the coffee shop premises. Sometimes, I just come up to the counter and begin to order one of these items without even asking. For some reason, I assume that this is a deli or bakery or ice cream parlor, even though the coffee shop doesn't promote itself as such. I also assume that this establishment will carry the same products as Starbucks or Subway or Denny's, even though it is in no affiliated with any of these places. And as is typical, I leave disgruntled when the coffee shop doesn't cater to my non-coffee-shop-related needs.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Expect Every Barista to Know Their Regular Drink Orders."

I have made a habit of coming to the coffee shop around the same time every day, and accordingly I've built a repertoire with the employees who usually work during that shift. They know my order, so that I no longer have to say "I'd like a tall quadruple-shot skinny hazelnut latte no foam" but just "I'll have my usual." Somewhere along the way I got the idea that everyone employed at the coffee shop knows my order, even when I come in during a different shift and no one working knows who I am. When I get my order and find out that they left the foam on it or made it with whole milk, I throw a fit and demand to know where the "good" baristas are - even though I never told the current workers my special order.

I also freak out if the price I'm charged by the "new" barista is slightly more than the usual price. This is usually because the "regular" barista forgets to factor in the price of extra flavors or extra espresso shots, but heaven forbid that I pay the extra 25¢.

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Come In Ten Minutes Before Closing and Don't Want to Leave."

We're the couple that shows up at the coffee shop around 9:50pm when we're well aware of the fact that the place closes at 10. While most of the other customers are gathering their things to leave, we're up at the counter, taking our time deciding what we want, and we generally decide to order something like a Mudslide (ice cream shake with espresso) that's messy and takes a while to make. We'll probably order a couple of bagels too. We also make sure that the employees know that our order is "for here" and not "to go."

Once we get our items, we sit down at one of the tables and talk for as long as we can, while we watch the baristas turn off the "OPEN" sign, clean the tables, wash the dishes, close the register, etc. When their patience finally grows thin and they ask us to leave, we're incredulous about how we could be asked to vacate a business that's closed down for the night. We ask if they might be able to stay open just a little while (maybe an hour?) longer, and when our request is denied we leave in a huff. The nerve of some people - I thought the customer was always right!

It's very nice to meet you.

"Hello, we are Those People Who Try to Order Coffee and Talk on Their Cellphones at the Same Time."

I'm the guy who comes in with his cell phone glued to his ear, talking loudly and standing in front of the counter. Whenever I come to a break in my conversation, I quickly make eye contact and try to order something. I often ask questions about what types of bagels the shop offers or what kind of milk is available, but before the employee can respond I'm talking on my phone again and miss his or her answer. And if you ask me to clarify my order, I give you a hurried nonsensical response and get offended when you mess up my vague order.

It's very nice to meet you.