If You Think Customer Service Is The Problem

I’ve seen many a rant lately about the lack of customer service skills people are receiving from their local grocery stores and coffee shops. The bagger who puts the canned organic bean sprouts on top of the cage free eggs or the barista who spells your name wrong and then has the audacity to give you a full packet of Splenda instead of the 3/4 packet you requested. While I feel the despair of yee forlorn customers, I have news for you…customers aren’t as amazing as they use to be either. They are actually a bunch of entitled dicks who find joy in demeaning other humans beings. Shocked? Then you probably haven’t worked in customer service in the last decade.

While I enjoy portraying myself as a savage ass bitch online, I’m actually not able to be that person at work. 99.999% of my work day is spent fake smiling and saying things like

“No problem, let me fix that for you.”

“Steam it to 178.4 degrees? Of course.”

“Thank you for spelling your name for me, Sue.”

“Would you like me to bring that to your table?”

I know how to count change, how to spell, how to give customers the kind of attention they rightly deserve, however they now feel entitled to a level of service usually reserved for the fucking Queen of England. And they aren’t shy about letting you know that they respect a fresh dog turd more than they respect you.

Yesterday, I had a woman in the passenger seat of a vehicle demanding that I explain gluten to her. Because I was clearly hired by this company as a professional dietitian.

“Are those egg things gluten free? Because it says on your sign they are.”

“We offer a gluten-free sandwich, but I cannot guarantee the other item is gluten-free.”

“Well, how is it made?”

Let’s pause here for a moment, shall we. Do you go to the grocery store and ask the checker how the tomatoes you are buying are grown? No. That would be silly because she doesn’t grow the tomatoes, she rings you up for them and prays that you will leave without making a god damn fuss about them. I don’t make the food at my work. There is no hidden bakery in the back or a basement filled with chickens laying eggs for a sandwich. It comes in a box, we put it in a fridge, and then we warm it up in a shitty oven before handing it to you.

“The items we serve are pre-made, but it is a poached egg with peppers that is vacuum sealed and heated when ordered.”


“Fine, I’ll take that but with no cheese.”

Ever tried to take cheese out of a poached egg? No. That’s cause it’s not a thing.

“I’m sorry, but there is no way we can take anything out of that particular item.”

“Well, what is in the gluten-free sandwich?”

Keep in mind, this is all happening in a drive thru with cars piling up like god damn rush hour in LA.

“It has a gluten-free bun, egg, Canadian bacon, and cheese.”

Driver responds this time, laughing while she does. “Ummm, sweetheart, cheese isn’t gluten-free.”

You don’t get to call me sweetheart and laugh at me in the same breath. Before I can tell her that I wasn’t aware she was looking for a vegan sandwich, her passenger whispers. “You are thinking of dairy.”

I’m a magician, that’s how.

Five minutes of my life wasted to have someone try to shame me about not knowing what is gluten and what isn’t. If i ever had enough time in my life to sit in a fucking drive thru and treat another human being like that, I hope someone would saran wrap me inside a cooler and leave me to die.

That’s not even the worst part of my day.

When I mention this small interaction to another customer, after he asks why I look so overwhelmed, he takes it upon himself to be a disgusting mouth breather.

“You should have told her that the only way that cheese had gluten in it was if the cow had a wheat filled dildo shoved somewhere.”

Customer service is bad? I have to smile and listen to this shit so I can take my kids to the doctor. Think about that for a minute. While you get butt hurt over not getting enough napkins, your server is being groped or yelled at or talked to in the most inappropriate ways. And we fake laugh, fake smile, and then cringe when we finally clock out.

The next time you feel put out by a barista, your checker looks like she’s going to cry, or your waiter forgets a lemon, remember that this is their lively hood. And just like you, they aren’t perfect. You don’t always hit your deadline or make the best presentation at work. You slack and hide in your cubicle watching YouTube videos or making an outhouse out of paper clips. We have off days, too. We also have to laugh at wheat dildo jokes, so be grateful the worst thing that happened to on your Thursday was getting too much foam on your latte.

Let us thank the always witty Amy Sherman for the great pics. Find her @krankykitty

No Pool Today: A Short Story About My Summer

Sometimes I wonder what my parents did with us during the summer and then it comes back to me…they took us camping for a week and then told us to go outside for the rest of the 3 months. Just go outside and find something or someone interesting. There were no water parks or daily picnics. Once in awhile there were long walks to 7-11 for Slurpees, but no one drove us and we never asked. My mom didn’t take pictures of us kicking rocks at each other or putting playing cards in the spokes of our bike tires. She was probably sewing or making dinner or relishing in using the bathroom alone. Those days of 80’s parenting are long gone, but I’m bringing them back.

I really do love the 80’s and it’s mostly because of leg warmers.

I’m not taking pictures of everything my kids do this summer. Partly because they refuse and partly because I’m not convinced everyone in my social media circuit needs to know that we played a raucous round of Kings of Tokyo and then ate Klondike bars. Or that my kids watched YouTube videos for the afternoon while I paid bills and installed a new closet rod. I just don’t think the pictures would do our exciting life justice.

I’m also not going to the pool everyday. I’m just not. I have to shave a lot of body hair and find a swimsuit top and bottom that match. Once there, only one person out of 3 of us wants to swim so I’ve basically donated my money to the pool director for the privilege of sitting on a broken sun chair. There may be one picture at the pool, but that’s only happening because of a little thing new to moms of this generation…social media mom guilt. Everyone else is having the perfect summer and so will we, dammit. So stand in front of that diving board and smile or I’m eating this whole bag of Doritos by myself. Then I come to my senses. Most days there is no pool and when someone asks, I suggest they take a cold bath or go jump in the lake, which brings on eye rolls and a muffled groan. Fine by me, I’m bringing back 80’s parenting so I’m cool with not being cool.

Most of 80’s parenting, that is. I’m not giving up the internet and I would never ask that of my children. Mostly because I’m too lazy to do 600 science projects a day or teach them how to knit their own winter jacket. I’m a one project and done kinda gal. We made lemon bars together? Great. Now you are on your own, grasshopper. One hour of UNO? Hope you enjoyed because now I need to shower. Enter…internet entertainment. Yes, I know that makes me a bad parent but I’ve accepted that. I’m okay with being judged for not going to every library event or summer star party. I have a job and a house to clean and kids who are capable of finding a YouTube channel that will teach them how to make slime out of baking soda and lighter fluid. Have at it kids, I’ll be on the deck if you need me.

An actual photo of my kid camping. #fakenews

I’m not even sure what to share on social media regarding our summer. Perhaps a photo of my clean garage or the new mulch I put out front. A snapshot of my teenager napping on the couch or my youngest using a Little Tykes slide to do leg lifts while watching Netflix. The options seem endless, but I’m not convinced everyone needs to see all of our things. Had my mom been able to post all of my teenage summer photos on FB, I would probably be unemployable and living in a van down by the river. My kids need privacy and I need to stop feeling guilty. No one needs me to post 1,500 pictures to prove that we went to the arts festival and ate at the Pie and laughed so hard on the car ride home that there were tears in my eyes. My kids will remember that and I will remember that and one day we can all reminisce about that one summer when we took them camping for a week and then told them that the rest of summer fun was to find their own Slurpee. Or to get on the internet.

Buy A Book, Meet A Person, Learn How To Order Coffee

It’s official…I have books with my name in them being delivered to my house in short order. Because I am thee of little faith in myself, I only ordered a few and then later remembered that my mom will probably buy all of those and then the rest of ya’ll be out of luck. Or buying it somewhere else. So I’ll get more and you’ll have options and we can all pretend we know how this works…I KNOW HOW THIS WORKS. *I tell myself as I struggle to remember how to use a pen*


For my out-of-town friends, I have set up an easy way for you to pre-order the book with a little Paypal button on the bottom right side of this page. For the low, low price 15 dollars I will send you a signed copy of ‘But Did You Die’. If you want me to draw a stick figure in there, I’ll do it. If you want me sign someone else’s name, I’ll do that. You want a great recipe for pulled pork? I’ll add that in, too. I JUST WANT YOU TO HAVE A BOOK. So order today and give me faith to order more books.


For my local friends, do you want to eat wine and cheese at my house? Possibly have me sign a copy of this book right in front of your face? Well, let’s make that a reality. In the next week, I will be sending out FB invites for a book signing, wine drinking, porch sitting, cheese devouring event that will be held the day this book is released. It’s a release party…just like Beyonce has except no one famous will be there and I don’t have valets to park your car. If you don’t want to see me in person, feel free to order your book and I’ll ship it to your home and you can be a total hermit. I don’t judge, you do you.


Here’s how to order coffee if you want to make your life easier and my life easier and hopefully get in and out in a timely manner. Start with the size you want, then I won’t have to ask you 6,000 times. Next, this part can get tricky so only do this if you feel like you are nearing pro ordering status….begin your modifications. Like “Grande nonfat 2 pump….” That’s how we will yell it out at the end of the bar, so this will make life less confusing for everyone. Not a fan of that? Then just give me your size, your drink and then the modifications. What you don’t do is this bullshit…

“I want a latte with 2 sugars.”

“What size?”


“What size?”

“Are you deaf? I said a latte with 2 sugars.”

Don’t be that guy. Just be cool and give us the size and don’t be a douche if we don’t spell your name right. Do you know how many spellings there are for Braxton and Mackensie? I’m sorry, blame your parents.

And order my book today, so I don’t have to use the ones I already ordered to build a raft and float myself down the river while I cry. Thank you for your love and support.