So. I'm trying to get a Starbucks and flirt with the Saggy Pants Barista (that's a tale for another time) who always tries to up-sell me on whatever product Starbucks happens to be pushing at the moment. Last week it was the organic almonds. This week it was raisins. Nice, but pricey. Gift with purchase maybe?
Anyway. I order my usual - iced venti no-whip mocha - and back away from the register. Or at least I *try* to back away from the register. Unbeknownst to me, a suburban housefrau had stepped up right behind me and was intent on securing space in line for herself and an entirely unprepossessing daughter. Ugh.
I nearly collide with her and she gives me a dirty look. I wrinkle my nose and give her a nasty look right back and force her to come to terms with the fact that she invaded my personal space. I'm not usually rude, but I really do not like people to be all up in my personal space. She natters "Oh, I'm so sorry. I just wasn't paying any attention to how close I was. I just didn't want them to skip over me." Skip over you? Lady. There ain't NOBODY ELSE IN LINE!
I browse the wall of merchandise (you never know, there *might* be a good deal on that over-priced stuff) and observe how dirty the condiment station is. Splenda users, would it kill you to take a napkin and sweep the spilled fake sugar crystals and empty paper packets into the gaping maw of the bin instead of just leaving it there for some green apron wage slave to clean up?
I vaguely hear ice cubes being shaken and a barista calling out my drink and the teenage slattern - clad in pink and black striped tights - going "MOM, that is HIS drink." I look over and the housefrau has her gnarled and twisted extremities around my iced mocha in a death grip that Lord Vader would be proud of. The barista is trying to pry her fingers off it and is nodding in agreement - "yes, that's HIS drink" and pointing at me."
This woman has the temerity to say "Oh, well, I didn't know. I forgot what I ordered already."
What planet do these people *LIVE ON?*