Me getting coffee, typically:
ME: Hi, can I get a 12 ounce dark roast, no room, please? Thanks.
BARISTA: Sure. For here or to go?
ME: For here, please.
BARISTA: Okay, there you go. $1.62
ME: Ah, man, sorry. No cash, I gotta use my card. Sorry.
BARISTA: No problem. You need a receipt?
ME: No thanks.
BARISTA: You're all set. Have a good day.
ME: Thank you!
So let's count: 2 pleases, 3 thanks, 2 sorrys.
There's politeness and then there's just abject self-debasement in the service of coffee poured in to a paper cup. I wonder if they sell dignity at the coffee shop because apparently I'm fresh out.
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Speaking as someone on the other side of the counter, who wonders daily whatever happened to manners: you can be my customer any day. Please? Thanks!
(And when did people stop saying "goodbye" at the end of a phone conversation?)
Love it. Please, merge ahead of me on the highway. Is it an export from Seattle?
Appreciate some appreciation.
Go to England, ya darned Scandinavian. Then you'll hear you some pleases and thank yous.
I remember my first trip to England in 1989. In a pizza shop, I believe I had 10 thank yous in one order.
Glenn, you're burying the lede. You voluntarily ate British pizza?
Oh my god, I was so young, I hadn't discovered curry, I was disoriented from an overnight ferry ride from Oostende, I had left my luggage in the left luggage station.
Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa with pepperoni.
At least your barista wishes you a nice day. I tried to say, "Hi, how are you?" to the barista at the coffee shop in my new town of Concord, NH. She grunted and said, "What do you want?" Okay, I get it. I definitely don't live in the south anymore. But I could go for some of that Minnesota enthusiasm right about now.
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