I took a little time off in my last blog post from bitching about dickweed customers to bitch about dickweed politico nutjobs that were taking over my town. I'm sorry. I will now return to my regular rants.
Hey Travelers. Yeah, you in the pajamas. The one who comes into my store, smelling like redbull and sweaty feet, pissed because you aren't making good time to DisneyWorld.
How about you CHILL THE FUCK OUT.
I know that this priceless, memory-filled vacay is important to you, and may in fact be the only thing that is keeping you from duct taping a plastic bag around your head. But if another asshole with an out-of-state tag orders 14 frappuccinos, bitches about waiting, and then asks me "how hard my job is?" I will not be responsible for my actions.
How have you people not realized that I could do any number of disgusting things to the product you are about to ingest? I mean, I won't because that's gross, but doesn't the possibility make you nervous. You wear you seatbelt, right? Bought life insurance? Well, I want you to think of being nice to your barista as a kind of insurance policy. As in, you make eye contact with me, and I'll make sure the girl who has pink eye doesn't touch your drink. Okay?
Now, have fun at Disney.