'You ever notice how all the prices end in nine? Damn, that's eerie.'

Let me start by offering my sincere apologies, and a statement of intentions: I do not want this to become a Work Blog, the type of thing a 'Clerks' character would write given reliable Internet access. That said, I need to write something. Something to a customer I serve every time I work. Something important.

Dear Sir:

It was cute the first time you waltzed in, during our ultra-busy post-lunch hour - when Jesus Christ and Satan themselves need to have a frappuccino NOW do it FASTER NOW NOW NOW - and ordered a tray containing "green tea in a mug, two teabags, an iced tea shaker half filled with water and half filled with ice - shaken, poured into a venti cup, and a Rice Krispies square on a plate cut into four pieces." It was amusing: the way you insisted that the square be cut lengthwise and not horizontally, or you would send it back. The way you flatly refused any other drinking vessel besides a large white ceramic mug. The way you wanted your ice and your water in exact half and half proportions. It was cute, and it was fun, and we, your servers, laughed to each other, perhaps relishing in a momentary relief from the constant, implacable grinding of blenders.

The first time.

Now, sir, I regret to inform you that your shenanigans are no longer welcome. It says something about your character that, in a line of people stretching to the magazine section, you have the audacity to demand "Sheila, because she knows what I want." Sir, do you see Sheila at the espresso machine? Not only is she making a triple-shot no-foam latte, she is focusing all her mental and bodily energies on growing a third arm - so that she can assist the trainees who are still practically useless. Sheila can be of no help to us now. I will take your order, sir. We will get through this. But for the love of God, don't you have anywhere else to go?