The "I’m too lazy to come in can you read me your menu" lady

Usually the high maintenance customers come through when you’ve got 4 staff already running around trying to get through the never-ending line of cars. You can almost sense them. 10 relatively easy orders in a row… you just know she’s coming. She sounds chipper and she is … annoyingly so in fact. She has no clue what’s on the menu and even less of a clue what she wants. All she knows is she’s got some other people that want stuff too and they pulled a “Surprise me!”

So she pulls up and cheerfully asks about what kind of muffins you have. You’ll run to the front display to recite what’s there.

“We have blueberry, low-fat blueberry, cranberry, low-fat cranberry, triple chocolate, raisin-bran, whole wheat carrot, fruit explosion and cranberry blueberry bran.”

“Oh” she says as though she’s surprised by such a cornucopia of muffin flavours. “Can I get the triple berry bran?”

“We don’t have a triple berry bran. We have a triple chocolate or a cranberry blueberry bran.”

“Right… ok… I’ll get the carrot explosion.”

“Whole wheat carrot OR fruit explosion.”

“Yeah that sounds good.”

“The fruit explosion?”

“Yeah. Now what kind of donuts do you have?”

“We have, Boston cream, Maple dip, honey dip, chocolate dip, vanilla dip, walnut crunch, powdered strawberry, honey crueller, chocolate glazed, double chocolate, apple fritter, blueberry fritter, sour cream glazed, old fashioned glazed, old fashioned plain and dutchies.”

“Ugh… the 4^th one.”

“Ugh… the chocolate dip?”

“Hmm… no. I’ll get the chocolate glazed explosion.”

“So the chocolate glazed? We don’t have an explosion donut.”

“Oh no? Sorry, I thought you said that. What was the apple one again?”

“Apple fritter.”

“Yeah 2 of those. A Boston cake, 3 honey crunches and 3 chocolate vanilla dip’s.”



At this point all you can do is pick items you feel match best with the names the woman has created. When you smile and hand her order out you can’t stop yourself from hoping that she isn’t a court stenographer! 

I'm Really Not Sure You Should Be Driving

Everyone has encountered this person at some point or another… you may even be this person. More often than not they ask you to repeat the store greeting. Probably because they’ve forgotten where they are and why they’ve arrived there.

They’ll jump back into reality albeit rather slowly with a raspy “Riiight!”  proceed with their order which may go something like this,

“I’ll have a {deep breath} powdered straaaaaawberry donut {deep breath} and a {deep breath} smaaaall coffee with a {deep breath} straaawwww.”

And before you have a chance to ask if that’s all (and you know it I because they come through every week on the same day at the same time and order the same thing every time), they drive… crawl… inch forward. By the time they reach the window you’ve had to make a new coffee because the other one has turned glacial. They ever so slowly roll down their window, the old fashioned way because their car is as old as them if not older and you stand, coffee, donut and straw ready for distribution, with a smile on your face that starts to etch creases into your skin until you look just like the prune in the car.

They reach out of their window so slowly you begin to wonder if something dramatic is about to happen and with a trembling hand they release a fist full of rusty coins. Naturally a few of them tumble to the ground. “Ooooh {deep breath} deeeaarrr!” they’ll say smiling in that very cute old person way.  (By now you’ll have figured out that, the I’m not sure you should be driving person, is quite elderly and if you hadn’t there’s a good chance that you will become this person… which means you’ll reach a remarkable age so… congrats I guess!).

One by one you’ll hand out the order, which they latch onto with their tendons audibly creaking and for a minute you hold your breath as that shaky hand directs the scalding hot beverage to the takeaway tray that serves as the car’s cup holder. When the mission has been accomplished you hand out the donut and straw.

When all the items are safely inside the vehicle this person will have to unsheath the straw, fumble with the coffee lid and take a sip before they step… press… apply ¼ of the proper amount of pressure to the gas pedal and inch away from the building narrowly missing a few parked cars.

*Illustrations by Ally Mac @ http://blogginawkward.blogspot.com/

Inappropriately Dressed Person

No shirt, no shoes, no service. 


This rule only applies to the interior of a business. You can’t really dictate what people do in the confines of their own car. Let’s be honest, it would be so nice if this rule could be applied to anyone on the property no matter if they are in their own vehicle! Although then this customer wouldn’t exist and despite the awkwardness at the time of the situation, you won’t have the opportunity to look back on it and laugh years later.

Think of all the inappropriate ways to dress or not dress and you’ll see it in a drive-thru. 


Shirtless guy who should not be shirtless … ever. 

Who needs pants I’ve got a towel, man. 

Oops where did my skirt go, lady. 

I don’t need pants I’ve got a tissue box guy. 

I’m wearing a shirt so low cut it’s a wonder why I even bothered putting one on, woman. 

You’ll see them all and so many more and the best part is unless they’re driving a truck or an SUV which they never are you practically get a birds eye view of the entire situation.

*Illustrations by Ally Mac @http://blogginawkward.blogspot.com/

Ah Man That's Disgusting!

Everyone has seen THAT money. 

You know the money that is so outrageously disgusting that you assume no one would be crazy enough to bend down and pick it up. Well guess what, people do bend down, dig through heroin needle and rat infested sewers, rummage through dumpsters full of 2 weeks worth of rotting meat behind the butchers because the garbage people are on strike or find it dimly glinting through a thick layer of dog feces. 

They don’t just bend down and pick it up they think “Gee… it’s my lucky day! I should treat my lucky ass to a Boston Cream donut!”

Anyone that has worked with a cash register has dealt with this customer. Sometimes you don’t even see it coming. You think “Golly a suit, tie and a blackberry, this guy’s got it together!” then out of his pocket comes something so foul you contract several diseases just by looking at it. 

Naturally he’s already ordered so there’s no backing out now. From the revealing on, the world seems to move in slow motion. Your brain is making notes on how to break the news of your upcoming death to your friends and family, what the scientists will name the new mutant germ that took you out and how owning a Blackberry tells you nothing about a person in this day in age. 

When the sticky, slimy, breathing change hits your hand you can’t stop yourself from shuddering and thinking that it can’t possibly get any worse. Oh but it does! It can always get worse! The change decides that it likes your hand, your beautiful clean, baby bum soft hand and up until a few seconds ago you liked your hand too. You probably had been admiring it thinking, “Wow… now that’s a hand!”

Now as the money stubbornly holds onto your palm you start freaking out. HOW do you keep your composure, you’ve got to get this man his donut, but there’s 80 cents in dimes and nickels clinging to you and there is no way in hell you’re using your other hand to remove it. Two diseased hands… that’s out of the question you’d have to be insane to pull that move. You could just scrape it into the till but then you contaminate all the, by your new standards, clean money. You look to your right but your co-worker is entertaining a gentlemen coffee caller, you check out your right but no one’s there. You can feel your palms start to sweat which actually get’s you excited. “AHA” you exclaim to yourself as a light bulb bursts forth above your head. “I’ll sweat it off!”

But you know what… whatever biological weapon of mass destruction has coated the money, only gets stickier. You’ve got to do it, make the ultimate sacrifice. You have to use your other hand to scrape it off. You close your eyes as your fingers dig into the sticky mess and the change plops onto the counter in front of you. You can feel that it’s off but you feel even dirtier. 3 months later you still think you’re dying when a new spot appears on your body and people still give you a wide birth at work. 

*Illustrations by Ally Mac @http://blogginawkward.blogspot.com/