Don’t Flirt on my Time
September 19, 2014 8 Comments
Patience is a virtue. I went to Starbucks and while I had intended to go through the drive through my tush said that I should park and walk it because I could use the “exercise.” Big mistake … I walk into a long line. I hate lines and the slow as snail baristas melts my patience like a glacier in hell. While waiting I try to entertain myself with the knick knacks on the shelves and ponder the logic of buying an overpriced coffee maker.
Hallelujah I’m next. Only the chick (flashing silicone cleavage) in front of me is flirting with the order taker (the horny half-wit). The two talk about clubbing, partying and other mindless “ing” activities while the last person in line (me) is chomping at the bits for her caffeine fix. The guy behind the counter sees me, but continues chatting it up with S.O.S. (slut on a stick). I entertain thoughts of clobbering him with a porcelain mug on sale for 30% off. They continue their “discourse” and I continue standing there like an idiot. She flips her hair (give me some scissors so I can chop off those extensions so she’ll never be able to flip again). He laughs, she laughs and I’m freakin’ fuming.
While I am not against flirting or blossoming romance I hate when it’s done on my time. Why should I suffer just because they have a lust connection? I mean I’m not getting anything out of it but aggravation.
He picks up a napkin and scribbles something (maybe his email “Iamajackoff@idiotshead.com“) and I’m thinking the only thing he should be scribbling is my name on a venti cup. Then she scribbles something (maybe her email “firstname.lastname@example.org“). Finally I clear my throat to voice my existence. The guy behind the counter acknowledges my presence with a pointed index finger signaling for me to wait. Is he serious? Is he really getting paid to flirt while paying customers stand there waiting to order their over-priced caffeine fix? What kind of malfunction of the universe was I in?
By this time I’m feeling like a homicidal maniac. It’s a blessing there is no thought police as I would have surely been hauled off for ruminating a killing. The chick finally leaves and he smiles at her ass wiggling out the door. Then he looks at me and says sorry about that what can I get you. Sorry? He’s sorry? I still had a tight grip on the plastic mug and imagined once more whacking him on the head with it. What an orgasmic thought, but in reality I’d either be sued or jailed. Instead, I say venti soy caramel macchiato. I give him my name, he mis-spells it, and I pay. By the time I get my order I’m so pumped up that the last thing I need is caffeine. Patience is not a virtue and I was beginning to feel the toxins building up inside me because I kept my mouth shut instead of really giving it to him.
As I’m walking to my car I remind myself not to let the little things upset me. There are other ways to vent. When I arrived home I immediately got on Yelp and left that Starbucks the nastiest review and named the culprit of my bad experience.
Dear readers as much as I yearn to find my true one and only in life, one thing I promise is that I will never hold up any line to flirt with some dumbo behind a counter.
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© 2014 LafemmeroarFollow @lafemmeroar