testosterone rally

I am in the middle of performing a vital Beanhouse function on the computer, when an old guy in a baseball cap strides up and barks his order at me. No greeting, just barking. In a bizarre hybrid accent that sounds simultaneously British and Southern and FAKE. He spreads his arms wide, plants his hands on the counter and really leans into it, this sad, strutty pose of his. He doesn’t look at me, just holds his little pose, thrumming his fingers all the while.

Look, dude. I can see the wiry puffs of hair sprouting from under that dirty cap of yours. I understand your hormones are attempting to stage some kind of Old Man Testosterone Rally, but I ain’t buying it. Please spare me.

Now, I can’t stop what I’m doing mid-function, because it’s vital, remember, but I did hear his barky demands and start to repeat them. Because I’m alls about the customer service, you know. In the middle of my repetition, Testosterone Rally interrupts me, angry and sighing and loudly spitting his words:

“I WAANNNT: A DOUBLE. DECAF. LATTE. ANNNND. A LARGE. EARL GREY. TEA. DO YOU. UNDER. STAND MY. ENGLISH. ….. (he stops to glance at my name tag) …. TRACEY????”

I stand there in the giant sucking void left by his words. A frightened co-worker skitters away; out of the corner of my eye, I see him skitter. I’m shaking, but it is not fear. Luckily, there is no one in line behind Testosterone Rally. It is him and me. And I am glaring, blazing. I can feel it. I don’t know what I look like in this moment, but I feel as if The Stink Eye and The Skunk Eye and The Evil Eye have all converged onto my features at once. My eyes and mouth and jaw all tighten and narrow, morphing into God knows what. But I do know it’s not pretty. And I do know it’s not “nice.” And I do know it’s not the face of “great customer service.”

Testosterone Rally still has not looked at me, not once. Glancing up to catch my name is the closest he’s come to even acknowledging me as a human being. Which is fine with me right now — in these fiery seconds when I become someone ELSE. I turn away from him to get his tea, turn back and say, in a bizarre hybrid accent that sounds simultaneously British and Southern and FAKE:

“YESSS, I. UNDER. STAND YOUR. ENGLISH. SIRRR.”

I set his tea down on the counter a little too hard. Hot drops fly out of it. He STILL does not look at me. He STILL stands there in his little pose.

I speak again, more quietly.

“I had to repeat what you said, sir. I have a hearing problem.”

It’s a lie. A blatant lie. With a purpose.

There is a long pause. Finally, he mutters, “Ohhhh …. uh … I’msorrytohearthat ….”

He grabs his tea, shuffles away, without ever having looked at me.

8 Replies to “testosterone rally”

  1. When I see people abuse waitstaff – be it the head waiter, the maitre d’, the wine steward, or the frickin’ bus boy – I SEE RED. I SEE RED, I TELL YA.

    People who abuse waitstaff are trash. I will not budge on this opinion.

  2. Oh, and later on, one of the Little Dudes I work with called me a “hater” for the way I handled it.

    That kinda crushed me, but the old man needed to be put in his place. I won’t tolerate it, for myself or anyone else working there.

  3. well…the comment I wrote got eaten (perhaps it was too long), but this kind of thing enrages me too.

    I do not know why some people need to do it, but it’s very frustrating.

    trust me, if I were in line behind this guy, I’d not think you were a “hater.” I’d be alternately rolling my eyes over him and sending out sympathy-waves to you.

  4. A “hater” is exactly right – hatred of rudeness and selfishness. Not hatred of Testosterone Rally Cap guy.

    Oh, for the freedom to say “NO” to people like this, in a business context: as in, “I heard you; you cannot have what you asked for. If you act as if you are four years old, I will act like your mother and send you to your room.”

  5. Okay, first kudos for the way you handled that little sitch.
    Second, don’t people like that fear what the server can do to their order? Don’t get me wrong, I treat all service folk with the best of intention because they are fellow humans and children of a great God, but in the back of my mind there lies a fear. “Hullo my good man. Here is your Earl Grey with a special to-do from the Queen.”

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