As a college student, I was employed by a fairly well-known coffee company. And by “fairly well-known” I mean there’s a 98 percent chance that within the last thirty days you’ve either a) enjoyed one of their hand-crafted espresso beverages, or b) boycotted their products on the grounds of what some (and/or no one) would call a “War on Christmas.” Three years post-employment, the statute of limitations is up. The following, non-comprehensive list will serve as my formal confession to… The Customers I’ve Decaffed.

To the man who called me “sweet thing” every day, I decaffed you.

To the woman who asked if I “even knew what a caramel macchiato was,” I decaffed you.

To the dog-lover who ordered three “pup-a-chinos” for her labradoodles, I decaffed you.

To the intern who placed twelve separate orders through the drive-thru, I decaffed you, your boss, and all your co-workers.

To anyone who’s ever tried to haggle for the price of their beverage, you are not in a Moroccan street bazaar. And I decaffed you.

To the guitarist who took his Birkenstocks off in the lobby, this is not Bonaroo. I decaffed you.

To any man who’s ever asked for his drink “shaken-not-stirred,” you are not James Bond. And I decaffed you.

To every twelve-year-old girl who’s ordered a “Butter Beer,” a “Captain Crunch” or anything off the “secret menu,” I would have decaffed you if your drink had any resemblance to coffee.

To anyone who had the nerve to return a 90% finished drink that “just didn’t taste right,” I decaffed the replacement beverage.

To the animal rights activist who asked why we didn’t have any “paleo-friendly blended drinks,” I decaffed you.

To anyone who has ever threatened to “call Howard Shultz” on me, you can now add the fact that I decaffed you to your list of grievances.

And finally, to the woman who asked six times if her drink was decaf because she has a very sensitive stomach, watch your back, lady. Because next time I just might forget.