Although I love to spend a couple hours a day sitting in Starbucks consuming my triple venti vanilla latte,writing a new poem or two and witnessing the no talent assclowns performing endless feats of stupidity that ultimately make me more secure in my own skin,there are things about my second home that at times make me want to go all O.J. Simpson.Not in any order,just as they crossed my mind:
Since I am a writer,I am qualified to talk shit.The douchebags that feel the need to bring their laptop in and show the whole world that they are a writer of some sort can lick the hair off of my balls.Why is it so hard to just bring in your notebook and do your thing without broadcasting it to all of Los Angeles county? Oh that's right,you have to be seen trying to be the next Jerry Stahl.The priceless look of torment when you can't find a table where you can plug in your laptop never ceases to entertain me.Fuck off talentless hacks.Go home and write your screenplay that will keep you working as a toner telemarketer until you realize that your story sucks.Don't think I'm not the only one that notices that you haven't typed anything in the hour you have sat there with your screen facing out so all can witness what you think you are.In comparison,me and my boring low key notebook have written two pages in the same time period.
The impatient assholes that A) can't stand being in line (hey monkey its Starbucks,there's always a line and B) after they have ordered their drink,they hover over the glass where the employees are making their complicated drink with the thought process that it will be prepared faster.You want fast? Make your drink at home asshole!
First off,if you wear a bluetooth inside a Starbucks or anywhere that isn't your car,you are a loser.You are not impressing anyone.Not even close.Being impressed with yourself doesn't count.I bring this up because there isn't anything more annoying while standing in line than the jack-offs that continue the conversation they've had since they walked through the door on their cell phone,yet when its their turn to place their order,they can't be torn away from what I assume is undoubtedly an exillerating conversation.Fuck you asshole!Sometimes I just want to find the tool that invented the bluetooth and bludgeon his eye socket with it.Until then I mock.
I love the people that just come and sit down so they can text message their so called friends because they are unable to walk and text at the same time.Brilliant.
The stupid high school ankle biters that deem it necessary to take up half the store with their study group even though they're just running their mouths about some boy/girl that they like but doesn't like them back.Ever heard of a library? I hear they have books in which you can use as study aids.These wastes of skin probably think George Bush is doing a bang up job.
I love the whores that dress like they're going to a club or working the boulevard when the sun goes down who walk in the store very dramatically so they can be noticed,but when they aren't they just sit there pouting and wearing a face thats says "tell me I'm pretty" Let me guess skank,you're an actress.
I realize that Starbucks has only been around since the 1980's,but what the fuck is the deal with the people that walk in and ask the baristas "what's good here?"
I love the look on the faces of the employees who are just working at Starbucks A)until they find something better B)pay off their student loan or C)graduate high school when the district manager walks in the store with his serious look written on his face because something is out of place.They know this is his life and 90% of the employees just dont give a fuck about where the new flavor of coffee display is located.Hey Mister District Manager,just to let you know when us customers come in,we already know what we want so much like your staff we don't care about your lame display either.
A get a job middle finger salute goes to the window lickers that sleep in the store.
When (and trust me they will) Starbucks raises their price a dime or two,does anybody really believe the trolls that say they won't ever come back?
I can't decide which is more pathetic:the vapid bimbos with the orange skin from too many fake tans or the douchebags with more hair product than the staff of L'Oreal? Why do they all seem to order the same iced drink?
Why do the bored housewives spend hours there talking about nothing and the only reason they leave is to pick up the kids from school? Have an affair already.
Soccer moms,it is not OK for your 8 year old future stripper to have an espresso.
Correct me if I'm wrong,but when you place your order do they not ask you for your name to put on the cup? Then after the barista yells out "Bob your drink is ready" why does Jack ask "is this mine?" Listen fucko listen!