Hitler-Jugend? Try Starbucks-Jugend!
Since the last post, i have been labeled as 'Legendary' on the till. essentially this means i have the unending capacity to stand in one spot for hours on end regurgitating an endless spew of crap while maintaining the semblance of giving a shit what goes on around me. I've got it down to a motherfucking science. i can take your order, make eye contact, smile, laugh, and give you the feeling that not only is the eighty-three dollars you just dropped on your coffee well spent, but that i am a genuinely nice guy who cares about you, the consumer.
i don't.
I know, i know, it's shocking. but i don't. what i see when you come to the counter -and this isn't all the time, really, but it's more often than not- i see someone who thinks they should go to starbucks because everyone else goes there. honestly, it's like fucking high school ... you know, you gotta have the new Nike Hi-Tops because your buddy Steve does, that kind of thing. if everyone in the line up confessed that our coffee really did taste burnt, that our prices were outrageous (if we were the pentagon, we'd be selling eighty-thousand dollar toilet seats) and that our zealous committment to phony jargonistic jibber-jabber was the most annoying thing in the universe, we'd be out of business by the end of the week. no fooling. and i don't even wanna get started on our supposed 'Green' business practices. the shit i throw out every fucking day would make PETA have a heart attack, and they ain't even interested in garbage.
but none of this happens. the siren's eye has you, and her song is culturally pervasive. we, the baristas (checkit, read coffee mongerer), are more resilient than cockroaches. when the end times come, it'll be us, hawking our wares through deserted streets, waiting for the mutated roaches to scuttle up out of their underground cities in search of fine coffee and tasty snacks.
but i digress.
if children are the future, then we are truly fucking doomed, because they come to starbucks. the other day, i served three tween girls. ordinarly not that shocking, but they had Farrah's hair, Cassie's clothes, Jordache jeans and those ultra-fancy sunglasses that whatserfuckname ... the one with the big mouth from The Mask ... anyways, big fucked up sunglasses. it was like looking at a goddamned Sex In the City pre-trainer school. i swear i heard a voice over discussing how awful it was to be dateless in coquitlam.
the point i'm trying to make here, and i think somewhere around glow-in-the-dark cockroaches eagerly waiting for coffee and the episode of Family Guy I'm watching through the corner of my eye i forgot where i was headed, is that children shouldn't be drinking coffee. of any kind. hell, they shouldn't even be allowed out of the house until they can prove that they can have an intelligent conversation with words longer than 'like' and 'uh' and 'y'know'. they shouldn't have bank cards, cell phones, or body piercings. they should be fucking kids, watching Power Rangers and Stawberry Fucking Shortcake.
and most especially, they shouldn't be looking over the rim of their faux-designer sunglasses like they're my fucking granny to ask me if we have non-fat milk. when i was a kid, i didn't even know there was such a thing as non-fat. the scary thing is, these ultra-glam tweenies in their haute coteur will eventually transmogrify into jackbooted Ilsa-clones of the far-flung future, spouting mealy-mouthed condescendions to brain-dead peons.
if children are the future, then Lord forgive me. i'll be sitting on my porch forty years from now, shotgun loaded, waiting for them to come for me.
BIG SMILE! BIG SMILE! BIIIIG SMILE!
i don't.
I know, i know, it's shocking. but i don't. what i see when you come to the counter -and this isn't all the time, really, but it's more often than not- i see someone who thinks they should go to starbucks because everyone else goes there. honestly, it's like fucking high school ... you know, you gotta have the new Nike Hi-Tops because your buddy Steve does, that kind of thing. if everyone in the line up confessed that our coffee really did taste burnt, that our prices were outrageous (if we were the pentagon, we'd be selling eighty-thousand dollar toilet seats) and that our zealous committment to phony jargonistic jibber-jabber was the most annoying thing in the universe, we'd be out of business by the end of the week. no fooling. and i don't even wanna get started on our supposed 'Green' business practices. the shit i throw out every fucking day would make PETA have a heart attack, and they ain't even interested in garbage.
but none of this happens. the siren's eye has you, and her song is culturally pervasive. we, the baristas (checkit, read coffee mongerer), are more resilient than cockroaches. when the end times come, it'll be us, hawking our wares through deserted streets, waiting for the mutated roaches to scuttle up out of their underground cities in search of fine coffee and tasty snacks.
but i digress.
if children are the future, then we are truly fucking doomed, because they come to starbucks. the other day, i served three tween girls. ordinarly not that shocking, but they had Farrah's hair, Cassie's clothes, Jordache jeans and those ultra-fancy sunglasses that whatserfuckname ... the one with the big mouth from The Mask ... anyways, big fucked up sunglasses. it was like looking at a goddamned Sex In the City pre-trainer school. i swear i heard a voice over discussing how awful it was to be dateless in coquitlam.
the point i'm trying to make here, and i think somewhere around glow-in-the-dark cockroaches eagerly waiting for coffee and the episode of Family Guy I'm watching through the corner of my eye i forgot where i was headed, is that children shouldn't be drinking coffee. of any kind. hell, they shouldn't even be allowed out of the house until they can prove that they can have an intelligent conversation with words longer than 'like' and 'uh' and 'y'know'. they shouldn't have bank cards, cell phones, or body piercings. they should be fucking kids, watching Power Rangers and Stawberry Fucking Shortcake.
and most especially, they shouldn't be looking over the rim of their faux-designer sunglasses like they're my fucking granny to ask me if we have non-fat milk. when i was a kid, i didn't even know there was such a thing as non-fat. the scary thing is, these ultra-glam tweenies in their haute coteur will eventually transmogrify into jackbooted Ilsa-clones of the far-flung future, spouting mealy-mouthed condescendions to brain-dead peons.
if children are the future, then Lord forgive me. i'll be sitting on my porch forty years from now, shotgun loaded, waiting for them to come for me.
BIG SMILE! BIG SMILE! BIIIIG SMILE!
posted by Unknown @ 12:35 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home