Reason Number 11, 276...
...That today I have descended into a Snarling, Vicious Zombie of Rage, a la 28 Days Later.
Rude Man at work: I want a latte.
Me: You have it order it at the cashier. (There is a line of three people ahead
of him and a big sign that says "Please Order With Cashier.")
Rude Man: I said I want a latte.
Me: *points at said sign* Please Order your drink with John, the Cashier.
Unfortunately, there are people ahead of you in line (They were an iced
chai and two mochas, incidentally).
Rude Man: *walks in front of Ms Iced Chai and Mr and Miss Mocha to the
register and yells at John* I want a goddam latte! And don't let that
faggot make it, either!
At this point, the entire cafe turns to look at Rude Man. Carl, the shift supervisor, makes the latte (to go) and walks the man to the door. Significantly, no one threw Holy Water on him, beat him soundly or forbad him to ever return.
Also significantly, I had no tip jar for people to express their monety condolences.