Move Your Ass

NYC View 

I'm off on another adventure today. I have a friend getting married in New York tomorrow so I am leaving on a jet plane. It's more flying, more TSA fondling and more of me hating people on planes. Which brings us to Fuck That Shit Friday. Today I say fuck that shit to being excited you scored a window seat only to realize you were sat next to two of the biggest douche bags on the planet. 

It never fails that these are the moments that I need to take a piss. I am notorious for drinking an extra large coffee on the way to the airport, grabbing another one while I wait and attempting to guzzle 60 ounces of water when I finally get on the plane so I won't be dehydrated. That thimble full of water they so graciously serve ain't gonna quench this thirst. I realize before we even start taxiing that I have made a huge fucking mistake. I am sitting next to a married couple who has been eyeballing my head wrap and complete lack of fashion sense. I go comfort. I assume my yoga pants sans undies, tank top, and flip flops aren't what they consider appropriate plane attire. She is dressed to the nines and I think she may have gotten on this plane by accident, she clearly looks more suited for an opera. Her husband is all business in his tasseled loafers and professionally pressed Armani suit. I don't really know what an Armani suit looks like but let's pretend that's what he's wearing. They are better than me and I know that my urinating condition is going to cause huge fucking problems for everyone involved.

I hold it for as long as possible and even decline my free sample drink. I know I can't make it for the entire two hour flight without bothering Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Pants, but I have yet to figure out a way to let them know that I'm not some hippie who's going to hot box the restroom. She keeps doing the judgmental side glance to make sure I'm not slipping my sticky fingers into her Chanel purse. Do they make purses? Her husband has pulled out his over priced salad and set up a  what appears to be a permanent meal station. I'm on the verge of kidney failure, my eyes are tearing up and I am unable to make polite conversation. Can I wait until he finishes his meal? 

I suck it up and apologize profusely while I share with them the complexities of my caffeine addiction. I'm really sorry, so sorry, oh sorry about your feet, sorry you can't fucking stand up and let me out. They pretend to be gracious about my exit but I feel the burn of their eyes on me as I attempt to climb the maze of their legs. The pleasure of finally draining my bladder is overshadowed by the realization that my crotch may need make contact with a salad in order to make it back to my seat. Could I stay in the bathroom and read my Kindle? Could I collect garbage for the flight attendant? Would it be possible to switch seats? I begrudgingly make my way back to my window seat. That fucking window seat that I was so happy about. As my ass rubs their arms and my hippie toes dirty up her purse, I realize that that was my first and last trip to the closet toilet. Note to self: My carry on must include diapers, a can of mace and a shirt that tell people how I really feel. I'm thinking "I HATE YOU AS MUCH AS YOU HATE ME, SO FUCK OFF". 

Bugging Me

                                                 Yeah, this really happens.


On Tuesday, I can bitch about whatever I damn well please. Today, you will get a little insight on how I am super annoyed by certain people. If you never get annoyed by other humans and love everyone, well I have nothing to tell you except, good on ya'. That's not me. I could pretend that I love everyone or keep it to myself, but in my mind, that would be lying. We've covered how I feel about lying in previous posts. Not a big believer. I have never been good at pretending to be someone I am not. I've tried to be a quiet, coy wife and a friend who overlooks bad choices but when push comes to shove, my mouth says what my mind has been trying to keep down. It's is just my truth.
I go to the bar with my sister. My heavy drinking days are long forgotten, but as the mother of two, wife to one, employee to a few and human of this planet, I need a little alcohol sometimes. We sit at the bar, ignoring any creeper flirts and drink dark beer. We laugh and cry and question how we turned out as polar opposites with the same fucking parents. There are no answers to most of our inquiries. While enjoying our time together, there are a gaggle of girls who sit next to us and without even looking up, I want to choke a bitch out. I didn't even see these chicks and I whisper to my sister "I hate them don't I?". She peers over my shoulder and with a chuckle says "Umm, yes. They look like really young, sorority sisters who have never been to a bar before." Fact: They have a right to be there. Fact: Someone loves them. Fact: I don't love them and I don't want them next to me. All I can hear is giggling and chatter and hair flinging. They gawk at men and act stupid. By stupid, I mean idiotic. By idiotic, I mean immature, catty bitches who feel entitled. Did they tell me that? They didn't have to.
When I was serving coffee, I came into contact with many people I had a strong desire to Chuck Norris in the gut. Those special folks who complained about every drink, yelled at employees and tipped with five sticky pennies from the floor of their Mercedes. I don't care who you are, that's a dick move. I would put my happy face on and cater to their every need while seething inside and judging. Yes....judging them.
I am open to the fact that I am the only person on the planet who feels this way, and more likely the only one who is dumb enough to write it in a blog. That is possible. I am also open to the fact that we should love everyone and never judge. What I really think however, is that we all do this in our own mind and try really hard to make sure no one knows it. People judge me, they would be forced to. I wear holey stretch pants to my son's class for reading hour, have no fashion sense and curse in my backyard while picking up dog shit. The picture above is a great example of how I show up to my kids' school on a daily basis. I am mouthy, insecure, inappropriate and judgemental. I am not perfect. Judge away. It takes nothing away from the awesome things I can be or who most of us are when other people are busy judging. Does my insecurity make me mean? Maybe. I think we all have a lot to be proud of in our lives and a lot to work on. Just like judging, it is human nature.

I'm A Dick...At Work

Not everyone is fun to work with. Like me. You may be shocked to know what a complete dick I am at work. It can be especially painful if you happen to be a newbie and I happen to be having a severe nicotine withdrawal with no break in sight. I have a tendency to be snappy and bitch you out for not knowing every detail. Case in point: I was previously employed by a coffee company that I am sure you have heard of. I wore a green apron and marked cups with secret scrawl that you, as a customer,  were always trying to decipher. It was one of the lowest paying jobs I have ever had and I ended up being there for six years. It is really addicting making drinks for complete fucking assholes. It's like crack for a Type A personality. Once, while working with a new person, I grabbed a cup that this newbie had marked so I could 'happily' make an overpriced coffee concoction. I looked at the boxes and found only the bottom one marked, with approximately fifteen random letters. 

Me: "What is this suppose to be?" (Insert seriously pissed off face here.)

New Guy: "It's a blah blah blah with whip and light ice. Is that not the right marking?"

Me: "Okay. That is not even close to the right marking. So let me know when you learn how to mark cups and I will be happy to make that." (Hand cup back to new, untrained person. Refuse to make drink.)

I really am a dick to work with. Here is how you piss me off on the job:  1) You are new. Training new people to do a job you have been doing for years, is like teaching a monkey how to steam milk and scoop ice. The monkey is you. 2) You are incompetent and should have never been hired in the first place. I smell you coming a mile away and we will never be friends. The end. 3) You are a baby. The only thing I can count on from you, is that you will never show up on time and that you will call in sick every Friday and Saturday night. I hate people who don't take work seriously because that is a guarantee that I will end up doing your job and my job for the same paycheck I was receiving before you were hired. 4) You are a chameleon. I won't go into too much detail about this, but let me just say that there is a weird dynamic when you get hired and start becoming my creepy Single White Female stalker. If you don't get the reference, Google that shit.  

I am the first to admit that I don't work well with others in some situations. And by some, I mean most. Mostly every fucking situation. I hate being asked stupid questions and unlike what your teacher/mommy/BFF told you, there is such a thing as a stupid question. If you don't think this is true, you are the one asking them. Here are a few of my favorites from my coffee slinging days:

"They want a water, what should I do?"

"There is no more whipped cream in the fridge. What do we do now?"

"What should we do about that coffee spill over there?"

"They don't have enough money, should I give it to them anyway?"

"What if I don't have any clean aprons?"

Now I will answer all of these stupid fucking questions for you, so you can see how stupid they really are:

"Give them a fucking cup of water"

"Get off your ass and make some"

"How about....CLEAN IT UP and stop telling everyone about it." 

"If they ordered a drink they pay for a drink. In full."

"Tell your mommy that you need her to wash an apron for you or grow the fuck up and learn how to do a load of laundry."

Call me crazy, but I think when you are hired on at a grown up job where you work with other grown ups, that you shouldn't need your mommy to change your diappy every afternoon. You need to grow a pair and get your ass to work. Learn your job, wear clean clothes, take that metal shit out of your face and get a grip on being an adult.  I know that you are just letting us know how edgy and independent you are but when your mom drops you off at work and gives you lunch money, the gig is up.

Perhaps there are folks out there who get along with everyone and are patient little teachers at their place of employment. I am not that person. I am hard to love, overly critical and have zero tolerance for stupidity. However, once you make the nice list, there is no mountain I won't climb or shift I won't cover for you. The co-worker who needed to be bitch slapped for his cup markings? He is one of my best friends and we still laugh about what an asshole I was. Life is good on the other side of my shit list. 

As You Wish...

Help me understand this. Why do some people feel they were put on this earth to be waited on hand and foot by others? Somehow they are more important than anyone else and being a demeaning asshole is how they choose to act....all the time. I am not sure when people in food service became your personal slave that you can talk down to and remind of how important your money is to them having a job. Working in customer service has cast a blindingly bright light on these overly critical, unappreciative douche bags and frankly I am ready to reach across the counter and choke some bitches out. I am pretty sure that treating everyone with respect is a lesson that includes people who serve you food, make your coffee, clean your motel room and clean your shit off public restrooms. The fact that you make more money or put on appearances that you make more money does not give you the right to talk down to those in your community who show up for jobs everyday that are necessary to your being able to function. Somehow you deserve a fucking throne because you choose to spend an ass load of money for coffee and when I don't lick your asshole you turn into a demented douche who needs to remind me that you spend more at my place of business than I pay for my mortgage. Really? You know how much I pay for my mortgage? You know how much my yearly income is? You are supremely important because you don't make coffee for your chosen profession? Well fuck you. Fuck your money. And fuck your shitty attitude. We all get to choose how we treat others and I choose to smile and remake your drink every time. Thankfully karma is a nasty little bitch and your day is coming. I am willing to bet my coffee shop change will come in handy when your panhandling on the street.

Nominations Anyone?

Our topic today is "Can you really afford a five dollar coffee?". The answer for some of us is easy...yes because I get a discount, have a job and don't carry loads of debt. For some others it's not so easy. Take for instance the lady who drove up in an Escalade yesterday. She obviously gets her hair, nails and tan done which all costs money. She hands me her debit card and says "Can you run this as a credit?" So I do, then she asks timidly "Did it go through?". You know what Miss High Maintenance Bitch, if you have to ask then you should not be here. Obviously you are bad with money so how about you tone down the showy car, make bigger payments on your credit cards and consider not accumulating more debt. I am no Dave Ramsey (he is awesome) but seriously people you don't have to be a brain surgeon to know when it's time to tell yourself no. And it is obviously time.
My grandfather, rest his soul, would choke on his homemade tea if he knew people really spent 8 bucks on one blended drink while they slept on their mom's couch and worked part time at Pizza Hut. I am pretty sure he could feed his family of eight for a whole day on eight dollars and these little punks spend it on one drink that they don't even finish.
Time's are tough all around but apparently not tough enough for people to tell themselves no to overpriced coffee. I give a shout out to gramps today...there is something to be said for working hard, saving money and being practical. To you Escalade lady, you are hereby nominated to Idiot of the Day.

You are paying with what????

I wish I could make these things up....but the sad fact is they happen everyday. Working the drive thru yesterday, I had a lady pull up to pay for her coffees. Instead of grabbing a purse or counting change out of her ash tray (do they still put those in cars?) she starts counting money out of plastic jar labeled "Donations, Please Help". Apparently raising money for cancer treatment is so last year....now you can raise money to help you pay for overpriced coffee. I really wanted to slap some sense into this bitch, but as an employee of an upstanding establishment I am not at will to slap hos. So she took her jar-full-o-money and her beverages and rode off into the sunset. Those are the moments I really hope karma is a bitch...a nasty, coniving, dirty little bitch.