The Series of Misadventures as told by Rachel

Okay, so I recently got a job at a popular restaurant.  And there’s nothing particularly interesting about that, but my god, the people that come in there!  I get it.  I get, that working there, I clearly have more knowledge than the average customer about how things work and what you can order.  But when someone comes in, holds the lineup for five minutes looking at a list of café sandwiches that reads something like: sierra turkey, turkey on country, ham and swiss, tuna on honeywheat, and other such things, then comes up and orders something off menu, it really ticks me off.  It’s not like we can’t do that.  We can.  But it’s just annoying.

Anyway, random tangent aside, what really bothers me is the nasty old people that come in there.  When I was being trained for the job (I’m a cashier by the way, in case you didn’t pick that up), I shadowed this one guy who was showing me the ropes.  And he said, every single time an old person walked through that door, “God, I hate old people.”  And I thought that was taking things a little far. Old people are so cute.  But when I worked there for a few months and picked up some more hours, I came to see things his way.  Some of our senior citizens are very nice, charming people.  During my break, I had a long conversation with the old lady sitting at a nearby table about classic movies, and she was real sweet.   But then there are those old ladies who have that sour look on their faces.  You know the one.  Like they just sucked on a lemon, or there was a really horrendous stench hovering right around their nose.  Something that makes their noses crinkle up and make those bad natured, shriveled old mouths pucker into a frown.  I almost want to say a lecturing frown, or something like that, because you know they’re looking for something to disapprove of and that they’re the kind of old lady that would slap two kids with her purse for holding hands in public, or something prudish like that.

Anyway, one of these came up to me, one that I remember in particular because she found a reason to scold me.  She ordered a bread bowl, and, as is required of me to ask all customers (excuse me, I mean guests. We call them all guests because it “sounds nicer”), I asked her if she would like a French baguette with that.  Then I got that sour puckered look full blast and she says something to the extent of “Why would I want bread if I’m getting a bread bowl?  That’s just stupid.  I don’t need all those carbs.  Why would they offer bread with a bread bowl?  That doesn’t make sense MERRR.”  (I added in the “mer” for effect).  And old men are annoying too.  It seems that none of them can hear.  So I raise my voice, and they still say, “eh? What’d you say?” so I talk a little louder, and possibly deviate from my usual sweetness to a more irritated tone of voice, and of course, that is what they hear, and I get in trouble for that.  Well.

That is my rant on old people that come into the restaurant.  I have more about other people. But gosh, the old ones sure are the most difficult.