Sometimes at work people order things like this.
Or this.
And I'm like.
But they don't care. I'm sure I've played more part in people getting
Type 2 Diabetes than every ridiculous Pinterest dessert ever made.
Speaking of Pinterest. There is no mother fucking Starbucks Secret Menu. I'm not
saying I work for Starbucks (ignore above cups), but if I did I'd be ready
to castrate the next person who came in asking for a
"Bleeding Zebra" or "a one-eyed Asian."
Okay, so not everyone is bad. But for every ray of sunshine, there is some dude
missing at least 4 teeth expressing his discontent for the word "macchiato." He
will then proceed to explain that he's "not a homosexual and therefore
cannot use the word espresso." True Story.
This usually leaves me feeling like this.
Or this.
But then I remember it could be worse. I could be doing this.
Or this.
Eww. Thank God, I'm not doing that.
Plus, sometimes my fellow baristas leave little surprises. Like Bon Jovi's head
popping out from my drive-thru camera.
And it's like he's reminding me that I'm halfway there. Whoooaa, living on a prayer. So who am I to argue with Bon Jovi and his glorious hair? And that
makes me feel better about being a barista.
Well, kinda.
