Because I'm sure there will be more of these.
Last night, 11:40:
Truck belonging to the traffic control company working south of town pulls up. It's ok though, I just made coffee, so I'm good.
Chick comes in, putters around a few minutes, and I hear the cappuccino machine cranking away. Ok, whatever.
Clueless Construction Chick: "Miss? The machine isn't working, it's just putting out water."
Me: "Oh hell my co worker cleaned it earlier she must have forgotten to flip the switch from rinse back to run." (Open machine, flip switch, turn to walk away, cringe as she pours the water from her cup into the drip tray.) "That doesn't have a drain, please don't pour things in there."
CCC: "It's still not working, see?"
I turn around, and she's holding the button down with no cup under it, running water into the drip tray.
Me: "Ma'am, that doesn't drain... Ma'am.... PLEASE STOP." (Because at eleven forty when I've already done 90% of my cleaning I really do not want to deal with a massive spill, thanks.)
Me: "The only drip tray that has a drain is the soda machine. Every time you pour crap into any of the others, the clerk has to clean it."
CCC: "Well that's kind of dumb, they should all have drains."
Me: "I agree, but they don't. I'm sorry that the machine is not functioning correctly and I will put an out of order sign on it but I don't know how to fix it."
CCC: "That's ok I'll just get something else, I didn't really want cappuccino anyway."
At this point I refrained from telling her to get the hell out of my store and go terrorize the ones across the street. Barely. I also refrained from dumping the one hundred and eighty degree water from the drip tray on her head.
But it was a close thing.
I really need some fumbling adorable young high school boy to come in and buy condoms or something to give me a boost. (What? It amuses me when they come to whisper at me and ask where they are, and how they panic if anyone else walks in the store.)
Between the Mexican guys who come in and buy scratch tickets, then go to the back of the line and stand in line while scratching them without bothering to see if they've actually won anything before handing them to me to run through the machine (why bother scratching it if you're not going to actually play the game?) and the old lady who comes in at ten or eleven every single night and makes me check what number the books on her favorite scratch games are on (so far I've avoided what the other night gal says she does to her... holds her hands over the counter where the tickets are and picks up the "vibes") I'm getting to the point where I'm about ready to order a big rubber dildo and bring to work to stash on a shelf just so that I have something to make the nights suck a little less. (Edit: by watching customers notice it and freak out you sick minded individuals)
As an aside, I just got done reading The Princess Bride, the abridged version, and I think I might have caught some kind of parenthetical disease from Mr. Morgenstern.