Conversations with Our customers:DO WELL THE BACON!

My least favorite customer - a misery stricken fucker if there ever was one - became my least favorite customer when he put in his breakfast request one morning with a surly, "Bacon. Grilled tomatoes. One slice of toast. The bacon is to be well done. Well done bacon, not just-cooked bacon."
Enunciated like the smug, superior, fucker that he is. Totally speaking down to someone who is clearly his subordinate.
Since then he has continued to be a pain in the arse by arriving on our doorstep at the minute we open, even though sometimes, because we are human, we are not quite set up and ready to go. On the minute of 7am. Expects us to drop everything to serve him his breakfast. Which until recently, we have done.
Also, this: on occasion he brings his business clients in with him and on those occasions he's all smiles and acts in their presence like he has a good relationship with us. He is A Regular. We are his Local Cafe. Twat.
The crispy bacon thing... he does it every time he comes in.
This morning, he did it again.
No hello. No good morning. Just "Bacon. Grilled tomatoes. A slice of toast. A pot of English breakfast tea. Well done bacon. Crispy bacon."
I wrote it all on the docket. No eye contact had been made. The fucker doesn't even get a good morning from me any more. Most people get table animals for table ID. I scrawl on his docket things like Misery Features. The kitchen knows who I am talking about.
But as I finished writing down his order on the docket, telling him "I get it, I get the crispy bacon thing", The Dreaded One came out for something. I ripped the docket off and said here, this is for you.
And in rich, well-enunciated thespian voice, I commandingly intoned, "Oh  - and the bacon is to be crispy. It is to be crispy, well-done bacon. WELL- done. Well... do... the bacon."
The Dreaded One laughed because she knew I was taking the piss out of a customer just a punch in the face distance away.
Astonshingly, the fucker himself also laughed.
My guess is that tomorrow morning, he will not bother with the well-done bacon bit when he puts his order in. And I will wait for a few seconds, twiddle my pen and ask brightly, "So how would you like your bacon done?"