That window is an aberration!

I've had two days of work since my triumphant return from the Swine Flu. Something must have happened. I hate my job (again). It's so boring. It's so pointless, banal. The same stupid shit every day. The same stupid self-entitled, self-important rich snooty Magnolians. Stupid. I've isolated part of the problem: 78% of all the stupid, annoying, awkward interactions happen through the drive-up window. I've also isolated several possible reasons: a) the people who use it are particularly horrible and demanding people by nature; b) the physical aspect (i.e. reaching through two windows, height differences); c) the wind; and d) god never meant for there to be drive-up windows (drive-up window = aberration). There will be an absurdly long line from the window to the street and not a one customer inside the cafe. If these people would simply park, get off their fat asses and walk the 20 feet inside, they would receive their coffee so much quicker. These are the people who are most likely to be on their cell phones as they order (and hold up a hand to say "just a moment" as they pull up). They ask for an entire inventory of pastries (if you wanted to choose between 100 different things, COME IN AND LOOK). They order breakfast sandwiches and pout when they must come in to pick them up. They park 3-4 feet from the window so baristas must fully extend out the window. They mumble into their laps and get angry when they have to repeat something. They order from the passengers side and expect baristas to hear them. They drop their money in the gap. Sometimes they don't even look at the barista.

Good news: the other day I had an epiphany. I won't have to work customer service for the rest of my life. There will be an end. Not soon enough, but it will happen. This thought kept me going, sustained me, overjoyed me, invigorated me, until...
"Hi, good afternoon."
"Vanilla mocha!" (angry, cross-eyed glare)
"Right, ok, it's a grande, right?"
"Vanilla mocha! It's $4.02!" (aggressively waving money from low-sitting car, wayward eye swinging horribly)
"Uhh.."
"Don't you remember me!?" (exasperated wail)
"Yes. I. Remember. You. I. Do. Not. Remember. Your. Drink. Vanilla mocha." (very barely controlled rage; nostrils flaring)
(2 minutes later) With all the will power and self control I possess I handed him his stupid vanilla mocha. He stared at it in disbelief.
"Whip cream?!" (asshole, it's whipped cream)
I very nearly threw the stupid fucking drink at his stupid fucking face.
What is wrong with people? Who even drinks a grande iced vanilla mocha with whipped cream?

So, just a little snippet of why I hate my job and that aberration of a window.