I usually refrain from every writing about my job (because we all know how touchy the customer service industry is), but this time I thought I would share with you because who needs a job!
Not to mention, I will be fine this time because it's at my separate job and I'm hoping the internet is a dark and deep enough place that most of these thoughts will never see the light of day.
ANYWAYS.
I work at a coffee shop part time which entails me (Surprise!) making coffee and other assorted hot drinks for people. It's actually a very enjoyable job and can we discuss how impossible coffee art is? Super impossible. So far, I've made a smiley face, a "cactus," a teeny tiny leaf, and an abstract painting of a man. At least, I think it was a man...
Every day we have our regulars, who usually drink some form of "bad-ass" coffee*, the people who come in to use our wifi, and the random other people who could use a nice drink. I am the enabler who will give them what they want.
I heard our drive through window ding the other day and opened it to greet a blonde woman, possibly late fifties, who looked like she had seen a better day.
Ryan: Hey! How are you today?
Woman: Oh...not so good. The dentist just gave me some news that wasn't so great.
Ryan: Well...that's not amazing. Uh...what can I get you?
Woman: Well, how much sugar does the soy milk have?
Ryan: *Checking the soy milk nutrition facts* It has...6 grams per serving.
Woman: That's not that bad...Hmmm...Ok, I'll get a soy chai latte with two shots of espresso and caramel sauce.
Ryan: *Slightly taken aback* OK, so that's a soy chai latte with two shots and caramel?
Woman: Yes.
Ryan: OK! Coming right out!
*I like calling it that because it's some variation on the blackest of black coffee that will burn your insides and grow at least 10 hairs on your chest. They are bad-asses.
Thursday, March 12, 2015
Monday, March 2, 2015
Chicago
I recently flew out to the windy city for a quick trip to see what it's all about.
Windy? Yes.
Cold? Yes.
Frightening? Slightly.
We arrived into the city slightly late (because 10 is totally late these days) and decided to meet one of our friends on the other side of town at a club. This involved discovering the Venmo metro card system (like a magic debit card!), hopping on a creaky train, and jetting through the cold night. Eventually we made it to the part of town dubbed Boystown (which could totally be the actual name, but who has time to look up those things?), were out for a little bit, and headed back to our hotel.
Let me just preface by saying that upon public transport, I generally don't find it necessary to talk to people. Ever. Never ever.
Place: Chicago subway car.
Crowd: Sleepy people, old people, homeless-looking old people, homeless-looking sleepy people. Please choose to reorganize that in any order you with and feel free to add more adjectives. It's like I built ad libs right into this post! Now it's a game and literature!*
Apparently, the man across from us decided that this was a fine time to strike up a conversation.
"Did you guys see the game the other day?"
I had no idea to which game he was referring to, but Jake did somehow. They started chit-chatting back and forth while I sat there mortified because you don't talk to strange subway people, Jake. Maybe it's my small state upbringing, but I swear you don't do that. Jake went on to tell this man about our night and when Boystown was mentioned, the man perked up a little. "Oh, Boystown? Yeah, I was just there the other day, if you guys want, I can..." where he lifted his hand in a DRUG SMOKING MOTION, "hook you up."
"Oh, we're ok, thanks." Jake replied.
"You know, you guys staying in a hotel? Wanna invite me up for a drink?"
NO.
"That's OK, we're just going to go to bed," Jake said politely.
Now I'm picturing this man following us back to our hotel room to touch things on the mini bar** and ruin our lives!
We got off the train and I walked a little quicker than I would have normally.
"Why did you talk to him! He offered us drugs!" For some reason, Jake did not understand that we don't talk to strangers. "Everyone in this town just wants to offer us drugs!" Which was appropriate since we walked past a man who mumbled something under his breath and it was DEFINITELY DRUG RELATED BECAUSE WHAT ELSE COULD IT BE?
I tried not to let our first night be a downer on the rest of the trip, so I didn't base this city on a couple hours of drugs and debauchery.
The rest of the city proved to be a little more to my taste. We walked up and down Michigan Ave. looking at the shops, ate deep dish pizza (because holy Hannah Montanna, that is a lot of cheese. They are serious when they say deep. Like, deeper than your soul and all your friends souls.), saw the pier and rode the ferris wheel, went out to a couple clubs, saw and took pictures in front of the ever so magical shiny bean, and spent time with our friends at a comedy festival.
What comedy festival? I can't recall the exact name, but apparently it is one of the biggest gatherings of comedy troups (groups? troupes? gaggles? Eh.) in the country. We arrived at the theatre and our friend told us that we were going to see the group named Fuct. Yes, fuct. F-U-C-T. Like duct tape, but fuct tape.
I walked into the theater expecting SNL-like comedy sketches and waited to be pleasantly entertained as the lights dimmer around me in the blackbox. Next thing I know, one of the girls in the sketch re-enacting a man's dream has her shirt off. I glanced around and realized I wasn't the only one slightly surprised. Boobs. Just...boobs. The rest of the show continued in a similar fashion, one man trying to eat a doughnut off his junk, another where two men dick jousted over a girl in the audience, and lastly, a man lighting his dick on fire.
"What. Is. This. Show." I managed to get out. All I could think about was how these people had actual thought this up and has to rehearse it with one another. They had to see each other naked A LOT. And dangerously. With fire. FIRE. What was this city?
Our next show had 100% less nudity, but included 100% less talking as well. The men pantomimed all their actions and at one point asked me to move my seat. I, not being one for audience participation (This isn't dinner theater!), just shook my head. They eventually got me to move one seat, but the rest of the night all I heard about was how I had given these men a death glare. Some people are just so dramatic.
We ended the trip with a quick stop to Wrigley's Field, finally finishing off our deep dish pizza (because it took about 3 days to eat it), and regular airport drama.
Us: I'm here for my flight:
Flight people: Your flight has been delayed...4 hours.
Us: No one mentioned that.
Flight people: Here is airport money. Go be happy now.
It wasn't the end of the world (and who can be mad that we had airport money?), but it made our final hours a little frustrating. In the end, we still made our flight back to our salty lake where there were 100% more clothes people and way less dicks on fire.
But who really knows what is happening at your local theater down the street.
*Calling this literature is probably a great overstatement. Kind of like saying you're a "photographer," when you just have 150 followers on Instagram.
We arrived into the city slightly late (because 10 is totally late these days) and decided to meet one of our friends on the other side of town at a club. This involved discovering the Venmo metro card system (like a magic debit card!), hopping on a creaky train, and jetting through the cold night. Eventually we made it to the part of town dubbed Boystown (which could totally be the actual name, but who has time to look up those things?), were out for a little bit, and headed back to our hotel.
Let me just preface by saying that upon public transport, I generally don't find it necessary to talk to people. Ever. Never ever.
Place: Chicago subway car.
Crowd: Sleepy people, old people, homeless-looking old people, homeless-looking sleepy people. Please choose to reorganize that in any order you with and feel free to add more adjectives. It's like I built ad libs right into this post! Now it's a game and literature!*
Apparently, the man across from us decided that this was a fine time to strike up a conversation.
"Did you guys see the game the other day?"
I had no idea to which game he was referring to, but Jake did somehow. They started chit-chatting back and forth while I sat there mortified because you don't talk to strange subway people, Jake. Maybe it's my small state upbringing, but I swear you don't do that. Jake went on to tell this man about our night and when Boystown was mentioned, the man perked up a little. "Oh, Boystown? Yeah, I was just there the other day, if you guys want, I can..." where he lifted his hand in a DRUG SMOKING MOTION, "hook you up."
"Oh, we're ok, thanks." Jake replied.
"You know, you guys staying in a hotel? Wanna invite me up for a drink?"
NO.
"That's OK, we're just going to go to bed," Jake said politely.
Now I'm picturing this man following us back to our hotel room to touch things on the mini bar** and ruin our lives!
We got off the train and I walked a little quicker than I would have normally.
"Why did you talk to him! He offered us drugs!" For some reason, Jake did not understand that we don't talk to strangers. "Everyone in this town just wants to offer us drugs!" Which was appropriate since we walked past a man who mumbled something under his breath and it was DEFINITELY DRUG RELATED BECAUSE WHAT ELSE COULD IT BE?
I tried not to let our first night be a downer on the rest of the trip, so I didn't base this city on a couple hours of drugs and debauchery.
The rest of the city proved to be a little more to my taste. We walked up and down Michigan Ave. looking at the shops, ate deep dish pizza (because holy Hannah Montanna, that is a lot of cheese. They are serious when they say deep. Like, deeper than your soul and all your friends souls.), saw the pier and rode the ferris wheel, went out to a couple clubs, saw and took pictures in front of the ever so magical shiny bean, and spent time with our friends at a comedy festival.
What comedy festival? I can't recall the exact name, but apparently it is one of the biggest gatherings of comedy troups (groups? troupes? gaggles? Eh.) in the country. We arrived at the theatre and our friend told us that we were going to see the group named Fuct. Yes, fuct. F-U-C-T. Like duct tape, but fuct tape.
I walked into the theater expecting SNL-like comedy sketches and waited to be pleasantly entertained as the lights dimmer around me in the blackbox. Next thing I know, one of the girls in the sketch re-enacting a man's dream has her shirt off. I glanced around and realized I wasn't the only one slightly surprised. Boobs. Just...boobs. The rest of the show continued in a similar fashion, one man trying to eat a doughnut off his junk, another where two men dick jousted over a girl in the audience, and lastly, a man lighting his dick on fire.
"What. Is. This. Show." I managed to get out. All I could think about was how these people had actual thought this up and has to rehearse it with one another. They had to see each other naked A LOT. And dangerously. With fire. FIRE. What was this city?
Our next show had 100% less nudity, but included 100% less talking as well. The men pantomimed all their actions and at one point asked me to move my seat. I, not being one for audience participation (This isn't dinner theater!), just shook my head. They eventually got me to move one seat, but the rest of the night all I heard about was how I had given these men a death glare. Some people are just so dramatic.
We ended the trip with a quick stop to Wrigley's Field, finally finishing off our deep dish pizza (because it took about 3 days to eat it), and regular airport drama.
Us: I'm here for my flight:
Flight people: Your flight has been delayed...4 hours.
Us: No one mentioned that.
Flight people: Here is airport money. Go be happy now.
It wasn't the end of the world (and who can be mad that we had airport money?), but it made our final hours a little frustrating. In the end, we still made our flight back to our salty lake where there were 100% more clothes people and way less dicks on fire.
But who really knows what is happening at your local theater down the street.
*Calling this literature is probably a great overstatement. Kind of like saying you're a "photographer," when you just have 150 followers on Instagram.
**I accidentally lifted something on the mini bar to just look at it and Jake grabbed it and threw it back down like it was that statue in Indiana Jones and we were about to be crumbled by some giant boulder. Apparently now they magnetize it and if you and if you lift it, THEY CHARGE YOU. What is this madness? I just wanted to read the ingredients!
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