Less Than A Week

I got this job in Soho working at a coffee shop. Hey, back off, it's money. I get trained, after telling them I have experience in coffee, which I don't and I get this ugly hat (which I HAVE to wear damn it) and a polo shirt that's about a 2XL...I am a small. I am the only person who's first language is English. The girl training me is Russian, another girl is Japanese, and all the rest are Hispanic. When asked if I speak Spanish I respond with "No," or "a little." Am told I will "learn quickly" The Russian training me switches back and forth between yelling and pleasant conversation. I am confused and I feel bad getting mad at her because she turns around and is very nice to me. Am mad anyway, try not to show it. Learn about all the different coffee drinks. Can't make a cappuccino for the life of me. If you ask me for a cappucino, you are getting a latte, bitch. Get yelled at for putting cold milk in coffee...I am told to steam it. I thought one of the reasons for milk was to cool the coffee down so it was drinkable. Fuck you, Russian. The Japanese girl tells stories about how her great grandmother and grandmother were geisha...wonder if she's telling the truth or making it up cause of the movie hype. Hmm...if it's true...sweet! There is a tiny woman who also works with me . She is an artist. She is a Spaniard. Whenever she says the word "Spaniard" she holds her hand in a fist over her heart. I love her. We get along well. My manager is also Hispanic. He bends the rules for me. There could be numerous reasons for this. 1) I'm new and he wants me to like my job. 2) He thinks I'm pretty. 3) He knows I am part Italian and wonder if I am "connected." etc. I see many people come in and out. I am told not to charge a few of them. I don't remember their faces. Oops. Some guy tips me $5 cause I am pretty. I smile and thank him. An older woman comes in. She asks me if I have seen Brooke Shields. I tell her I have not. She says she is her mother and that they are supposed to meet there. I think "Neat." An hour and a half passes. Brooke doesn't show. This woman is either nuts or Brooke blew her mom off. A song plays overhead. A woman with a think Spanish accent is either repeating "Marijuana" or "My Iguana" over and over in all the sultriness she can muster. I make a woman's smoothie for her 4 times. The first like normal with milk. She comes back and says her son is lactose intolerant. I say "No problem," and make it with soy. She comes back and says her son is afraid to drink it. I tell her there is no lactose in soy, she doesn't care. She asks me to make it with water. I do. She comes back again and says it tastes like "flavored water." I tell her that's basically what it is. She asks me to make it with juice. I tell her the only juice we have is in bottles and I would have to charge her for it. She refuses to pay for the juice. She complains to manager and he tell her the same thing. She finally bitches enough that my manager tell me "Just make her the damned smoothie and get her the hell away from here." I do. I'm not happy about it. I have only worked in this cafe for less than a week. I already hate people.
An Open Letter To Cafe Go-ers:
Hi, my name is Charles. As much as I wish I did, I don't speak Russian, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, Chinese, Korean, Portuguese, or Indian. Sorry. To the many people who try as hard as they can to confuse me with their "Half caf decaf mochalattecino with a double shot of frozen chai" thingies, fuck you. Fuck you hard in the ass....with no lube. To the woman who put $3 of pennies in my tip jar, thanks for the cash but I hate you. To the woman in the awful pink sweater who was a semi-bitch, I charged you credit card TWICE for your $23 dollar order. Take that! On a final note, no, we are not associated with Cosi, yes, I am aware that Starbucks is cheaper, if it bothers you then go there, I don't want you here. Yes, I pour the milk, no, you can't, the sugar is behind you and no, I have no idea what is in that muffin.

Thank you.