Annoying Starbucks Guy Strikes Again
My children are recovering from colds. Because of last season's experience with Constant Illness and Loathsome Woe, I decided that my approach of not being afraid to expose self and children to germs because it will strengthen our immune systems was, indeed, flawed. I have adopted a new strategy as cold, flu, diphtheria and rickets season approaches:
Dear Germs,
Die, Motherfuckers, Die!
Yours,
The Reaper
At the first sign that the girls had something I gathered my armaments: Zicam, Airborne, Lysol, humidifiers, soap and hand sanitizer. I squirted, guzzled, sprayed, breathed, scrubbed and squeezed my army of products for all they were worth and waited for that bastard cold to come and get me. Then a few days ago, I started sneezing. I was cool with that, is just a sneeze I told self, until the most troubling symptom set in. My right freaking eye is weeping uncontrollably for long periods of time. That is the worst the cold has gotten. Sweet.
Which leads me to the title of this post. I cruised through the Starbuck drive-thru this morning for some Joe and a chonga bagel on my way to pick up Goldie because, SWEET JESUS, I love me a chonga bagel. toasted. with cream cheese. am not very picky. or piggish. I am certainly not drowning in the memory of it's cheesy deliciousness as I type this. Indeed not. Ahem. Where was I? Starbucks, right. Mr. Awkward Talker hasn't been there in awhile (haven't you noticed the absence of bitching around here?) so I didn't even think of a strategy before I pulled up. As he started talking to me, so began the sneezing. He didn't skip a beat. He kept talking. Tears were pouring down my face so I didn't' turn to face him, but his conversation was persistent. It demanded eye contact. My mind was racing. How was I going to avoid looking at this freak? I dug through my CDs, I rifled receipts and I briefly considered picking my nose to force him to look away, but my plans were for naught. I took a deep breath, my own personal rain shower leaking down my cheek, eye bloodshot and I stared at him. Really stared. Like a predator looking at her next meal. I am not sure whether it was my drippy eyeball or the intensity of my gaze but that jackass finally turned around, stopped asking me about my sweater and gave me the damn coffee.
I should get viral illnesses more often. No, scratch that, I should find another Starbucks. Because there aren't very many in Portland.
Dear Germs,
Die, Motherfuckers, Die!
Yours,
The Reaper
At the first sign that the girls had something I gathered my armaments: Zicam, Airborne, Lysol, humidifiers, soap and hand sanitizer. I squirted, guzzled, sprayed, breathed, scrubbed and squeezed my army of products for all they were worth and waited for that bastard cold to come and get me. Then a few days ago, I started sneezing. I was cool with that, is just a sneeze I told self, until the most troubling symptom set in. My right freaking eye is weeping uncontrollably for long periods of time. That is the worst the cold has gotten. Sweet.
Which leads me to the title of this post. I cruised through the Starbuck drive-thru this morning for some Joe and a chonga bagel on my way to pick up Goldie because, SWEET JESUS, I love me a chonga bagel. toasted. with cream cheese. am not very picky. or piggish. I am certainly not drowning in the memory of it's cheesy deliciousness as I type this. Indeed not. Ahem. Where was I? Starbucks, right. Mr. Awkward Talker hasn't been there in awhile (haven't you noticed the absence of bitching around here?) so I didn't even think of a strategy before I pulled up. As he started talking to me, so began the sneezing. He didn't skip a beat. He kept talking. Tears were pouring down my face so I didn't' turn to face him, but his conversation was persistent. It demanded eye contact. My mind was racing. How was I going to avoid looking at this freak? I dug through my CDs, I rifled receipts and I briefly considered picking my nose to force him to look away, but my plans were for naught. I took a deep breath, my own personal rain shower leaking down my cheek, eye bloodshot and I stared at him. Really stared. Like a predator looking at her next meal. I am not sure whether it was my drippy eyeball or the intensity of my gaze but that jackass finally turned around, stopped asking me about my sweater and gave me the damn coffee.
I should get viral illnesses more often. No, scratch that, I should find another Starbucks. Because there aren't very many in Portland.
posted by Kirsten at
8:39 PM
6 Comments:
Oh, Honey!
One needs to start wearing absorbing disposable undergarments when reading your blog!
Wuvs,
Crazy Aunt Er-ca
LOL leave it to you to make going to the Starbucks a traumatizing event :-) Devin
I was in a Starbucks drive thru once when the dude was asking about my car. Then proceeded to tell me about a car he wanted. I. DON'T. CARE. I drove away while he was still talking. At least I waved at him, though.
our starbucks guy talks a lot too. keeps trying to get me to try pumpkin something or other. I told him "look here, buddy, pumpkins ain't for drinking... they is for carving with a very sharp knife..." and then i give him MY evil stare....
I think you just plain scared him. Funny post.
my starbuck's guy is yummy, but not at all talkative. shoot, we should splice the two, i wouldn't mind a long meandering conversations with my guy.
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