Hey, you. Yeah. You. I decaffed you this morning.

the hand that rocks the cradle shall step aside, for the barista will now and forever rightly so rule this world!!!!!!!!

Grow Through It

In all fairness, you probably should have put down your phone instead of using wild hand gestures and mouthing the words “large white chocolate mocha with an extra shot” at my noob cashier. By the by, once your Ugg boot wearing self passed through that glass door, the word became “venti.” Not “large.”

Who am I? No one spectacularly important. I’m your barista. The one who laughs and jokes with you like I don’t have a care in the world as you pay me that $5 for a drink I could be spending on gas. Or food. Yeah, food. I remember that stuff. I wonder about you, though. You’re pleasant enough. What do you do in life that makes ordering an incredibly calorie dense, sad excuse for a coffee every single morning not only not worrisome to your bank account, but also doesn’t cause the need for you to break down…

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