Mar. 20th, 2007

i_was_like_this_once: (shakevomit)
The homeless woman who comes to our Starbucks every day likes my hair.

Andre, the assistant manager at Starbucks, does not like the homeless woman. I generally like working with Andre, he knows when to shoot the shit and calls everyone "pard'ner," but this is one area where we do not quite see eye to eye.

Neither do some of the customers, one of whom thought it was important enough to stage whisper in her old money New York accent, "That woman is here EVERY DAY. It's TERRIBLE."

Personally, I don't mind her. She always pays for her venti coffee and subsequent refill, she doesn't ask anyone for money, and she's one of our most polite customers. Half the time I'm "Sir," the other half I'm "Sweetie." She shows up around 7 or 8 each morning and camps out at a table with her cart, her newspaper, and her cantaloupe (breakfast of champions) and just minds her own business, never causing a nuisance. She obviously doesn't have anywhere else to be, so why make it harder for her?


I had an amazing Customer Moment last week. After hearing Morgan and Chris tell stories of Japanese tourists attempting to order a "Tarr vanirra ratte," I was anxiously awaiting my first walking stereotype, and this guy did not disappoint. Napoleon Dynamite glasses, receding frizzy hair, and a voice like Fillbert from "Rocko's Modern Life" (or, for the reenacting friends, the voice we use when we make fun of the "Oh gosh, oh jeez" guy from Fields of Freedom). He carries his debit card in a special holder, and was prepared to haggle over $3.50 of assorted coffee and morning snack. I swear he said "Oye, don't be charging me too much money" upon seeing me hesitate with the POS register after it displayed his total. I'm calling him Morty from now on, and in a perverse way kinda hope he comes back in.


I just burned my dinner. Jeno's frozen pizzas, $1.69 at your local Gristedes (Grosstedes, GrSTD's, whichever). Essential for the low-budget gourmet. Cook them for ten minutes. Don't believe the box. When it says thirteen minutes, it lies. I know. I'm the one with the burned dinner.


As far as other work goes, my internship is pretty sweet. Nevermind that I spend my time there doing what amounts to office work... it's office work FOR ART! And they threw a pretty bitchin' party two weeks ago; part rave, part live music, part fire show, 100% fun in the I-don't-have-to-drink-to-dance way. Those are benefits I can live with.


Our St. Paddy's day party rocked, despite snow and a low turnout (we are blaming the snow for that - you no-shows get off easy this time). Everyone hung out, drank whiskey, watched concerts, and had a great time. At least I had a great time. I was pretty hammered for most of it, as the supremely unflattering pictures can attest. I hope I don't really look like that when drunk, because if I do, that's one hell of a handicap to overcome.


There are good shows coming up that I am missing in order to save money... Clutch is playing tonight, Lamb of God is on Thursday, Liz's band was supposed to be on Thursday but had to cancel, and I will be DAMNED if I get closed out of the next Inferno show on the 7th of April. Or NaNuchKa on the 20th.


Some questions have been answered; others have been raised and may prove difficult to answer. Some serious situations have been resolved after six months of percolating; but there are some on the horizon for the next six.


And now, I am off to see my long-lost Vinegar brother. Could a screening of 300 be in our hero's future? Only time will tell.

June 2008

89 1011121314

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 26th, 2017 04:34 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios