What to do When Someone with the IQ of Asparagus Pities Your Career Choices.

I've spoken about a girl I work with before on this blog, you may remember her, my slightly racist, orange co-worker whose long-term goal is to be an import car model. You can read posts about her, here and here.

She has proven to be an exercise in acceptance and humility. I've learned to tolerate, and occasionally even like, this former cheerleader who is the color of a dirty penny. I've learned that I can literally make friends with anyone.

If Charles Manson and I were forced to make lattes together, I would eventually find common ground with him. I would even learn to overlook that swastika he carved into his forehead. I mean, I have a hella embarrassing tribal tattoo. Youth, right?

Also, whenever I start to feel good about myself and my life decisions, I'm quickly reminded that I am career peers with a girl who doesn't know how to pronounce photography. PHOTO-GRAPH-EE. I wish I was kidding.

A few days ago, I was feeling particularly great. I just landed my first freelance gig. It paid nothing, but I'd be writing about a topic I love for a popular local publication. Cloud nine and shit! That was until this happened.

Spawn of Tan Mom: Allie, when do you graduate from school? 

Yours Truly: Oh sweetie, I graduated two years ago. 

Snooki's Oranger Cousin: Oh. You haven't been able to find a job? 

YT: No, I mean I have some work lined up, but I'm still trying to figure things out. 

Bronze Forrest Gump: Awwwwww, I'm sorry.

You don't really know what humility is until someone whose life ambition is to pose semi-nude on a neon green Honda Civic pities your career choices. It's like having the guy who pisses on himself outside of 7/11 refusing your change, because you look like you need it more.

It's kinda like this.

   

But mainly this.

So what do you do when someone with the IQ of asparagus pities your life choices? You cry and eat all of your feelings. And remember that at least you can pronounce the word photography! 

Which will not help you in the least when you are a 45-year-old barista. I'm going to make cookies.

Why are you Talking in Acronyms? The Joys of Dealing with Teenagers.

I hate teenagers.

That's not an overstatement. If I could punch a 16 year old in the face without ending up on COPS, I would. But I can't, so I'm doing the next best thing--defaming them on my blog.

So back to my point, I really hate teenagers.

No, it's not just because I have no idea what "ratchet" means. Or because I can't twerk. Or because some sophomore in high school called me old. Bitch, I am 27, I will kill your family.

It's because they're assholes.

And while I understand that this is all a necessary stage in the maturing process, it doesn't mean I have to be cool with it. Sure babies scream all the time and piss themselves, but that doesn't mean I have to enjoy the screaming or the piss.

And at least babies are cute some of the time. Teenagers are just oily, half-formed humans, who control way to much of what's playing on the radio. Why is Justin Beiber still a thing? And who is Harry Styles?

I know you're probably thinking, "Whoa, Allie, where is this coming from?"

Well, dear reader, in case you didn't catch on from the title of this blog, I'm a barista, and it's summertime. This means that instead of being locked away in school for eight hours a day, these little monsters are coming to the unnamed coffee establishment I work for and making me question how long I could survive in prison.

Let's set the scene, shall we? Two teenagers in a BMW pull up to the drive-thru window.

Barista: Hey, how are you?

Teen 1: (to Teen 2) Oh. Em. Gee, Tiffakneeeee, you have to watch this video Brian just posted on Instagram. He's sooo stupid but sooo Hoooottttt!

Barista: It's gonna be $9.30.

Teen 2: (Stank face given from passenger seat) Umm, I'm gonna need you to separate those drinks for us.

Barista: Okay, so the first one is gonna be $4.66. 

Teen 1: (Searches for money until Miley Cyrus song comes on radio. Turns up radio.) Miley has turned into such a slut. Did you see her video? You can totally see her pussy.

Teen 2: Ratchet bitch.

Barista: (Making mental note to Google Miley Cyrus video) Okay, it's gonna be $4.66.

Teen 1: GOD, hold on! I'm still trying to find my money. 

Teen 2: It's whatever. Just put the drinks back together.

Barista: Okay, so it's gonna be $9.30.

Teen 2: I want you to put  $3 on my card and the rest in cash. (Tiffakneeeee proceeds to  hand over an Amex, a rolled up $5 bill and handful of change.)

Barista: (Hands them their drinks) Have a good one.

Teen 1: (To Teen 2) God, that took long enough. And they didn't even put enough whip cream on it. So dumb. (Pulls away).

Do you see what I have to deal with? These little sub-humans are the reasons I come home and drink boxed wine. Where's the "It Gets Better" videos for the adults who have to deal with these little fuck-heads on a daily basis? But if it's any consolation, you can kinda see Miley's vag in that video.

Now seriously, what the hell does "ratchet" mean?

I Wish a Mother F**ker Would and Other Thoughts on Serving Customers

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