So this morning I missed my turn and thought, "It's okay, I'll just stop and get Starbucks." My blood pressure has been seriously low lately - to the point where I had a blood draw on Wednesday and my blood was just slowly oozing out rather than spurting like it normally does. I guess that's normal when you just feel kind of dead inside. I thought the caffeine would do me good - and do me good, it did. No later than I had finished the last sip of my Grande Iced Caffe Mocha, I had to run to the bathroom and go #2. What IS it about coffee that makes you do that!?
Anyway, I walked in and noticed an inordinate amount of lovely young women inside. Is this the official Starbucks of the cast of 90210!? No, I'm a thousand miles away in TX. I didn't think anything of it until I stepped up to the counter and saw an all-male ensemble of baristas. With popped collars - ALL of them. Hitting on every pretty young thing in there. Ugggh.. I prayed for the chubby little girl to take my order rather than the frat boy at the other register. Not because I'm worried about getting hit on (I'm comparatively old, married and fat, so not a worry), but I just don't want to deal with douchebags. I have a hormone headache and a serious dread of corporate life. The girl in front of me, Miss Beverly Hills, made her order, paid, got her receipt. Whoo, I don't have to deal with the a$$hat. No dice. Miss Beverly Hills, in her stillettos and pencil skirt, makes ANOTHER order. Something about a Red Eye with soy. WTH is that! And this time she pays cash. The total is $2.38, she has $3.00. Give the girl the $3.00. No wait, she has change!! She digs and digs for 38 cents. Come on. Meanwhile, douchebag says, "Next." Then the coffee maker boy says, "That was an iced CHAI right? (wink wink)." I don't have time for your shit, coffee boy! Why is it that these situations make me HIGHLY uncomfortable??
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