If you ever want trouble, come between an addict and her coffee. If you ever want to witness a coffee meltdown, fuck up my wife’s order at the local coffee chain outlet near our home. Oh yes, it happened, and I write today to maybe help myself understand why coffee zombies, my wife included, go from zero to ballistic in .000001 seconds when their overpriced coffee crack is not prepared in a manner of perfection fitting for their standards. But, before I tell you a little story, let me just re-address the fact that there are a handful of places I absolutely refuse to go because I can’t fucking stand the mere thought of going inside. I don’t go with my wife or for my wife, hell no, fuck that shit, the people that work in these places are fucking rude, anal, and have lost their damn minds. I tend not to promote things or places I detest, so we not say the names of a national chain of make-up stores, the mall, or the national chain of coffee stores be written about today. Y’all are smart, figure it out. Let’s just say I have almost been divorced twice for my refusal to enter particular places of business.
Anyway, my wife has a ritual, on paydays each month, she pays the coffee monsters big bucks so her cravings can be satisfied. This means she gets high dollar coffee crack four times a month and on other special occasions. The rest of the month she fakes it with the little brew cups and different flavoured creamers. So, I get looking forward to something. We all have things we like and look forward to having, but coffee drinkers are fucking different, very different. I know the week is drawing to a close because her claws and fangs become more pronounced. So, let me explain what almost sparked the spring skirmish of 2017.
Yesterday my wife is on her way to work, making the ritual pitstop to get her blah blah blah mocha fucked up size name coffee. After waiting behind 12 or so cars she tells the speaker box the kind of coffee she wants. She says it in a fashion to which one would believe he is witnessing a line from a foreign film being spoken. It’s almost erotic in a way, especially coming from a person who lives in southeast Texas and can neither speak or understood one word in Spanish. Needless to say, after money has exchanged hands and she goes to take her first sip, it the wrong coffee. These fools have given her a cup of coffee with another person’s name written on the side. Bastards! How dare they do this inconsiderate and uncaring thing to her. Instantaneously mad now, she wants the blood, the balls, and this motherfucker’s first born for this fuck up. The nerve!
Of course this has to be resolved in a lady like, very polite manner, and she is in such a big hurry that she returns to the line of cars which is twice as long now. It’s the principal I’m told, she should not have to go inside to unfuck their overpriced coffee mistake. I’m, okay then. Here’s the kicker, when she finally arrived at the window, the spoiled little cunt sees the cup with my wife’s name on it sitting there all lonely and actually tried to hand it to her. How dare this bitch try to give her a coffee that was carefully crafted a mere 23 minutes ago, I mean, really bitch? All sarcasm aside, that girl is lucky their hands never touched because my wife would have dragged her out of the little window and gave her a stern talking to. Now a manager has arrived on scene to diffuse the “altercation”. She solves this entire thing buy re-making her coffee, up-sizing it for her, even adding sprinkles and whipped cream, and the refunding her $6 plus dollars. To top it off, since she knows my wife is a long time loyal patron, she gives he a gift card in equivalence to 30 days of free coffee made in the manner she prefers. That’s the equivalent to just shy of a $200 value for those of y’all counting at home.
So, it’s all been taken care of, right? Wrong! Why? Because I get to hear about the whole fucking thing for a second time once she got home. Also, had to listen to her talk and angry text on her phone the rest of the night. Now, I know it seems as though I am petty and don’t care about her problems, but it’s just fucking coffee. Don’t ever try to tell a coffee person it’s just “coffee” and expect to survive. Now I get to fight with my wife because I failed to take all of this bullshit serious one little bit. Oh, trust me when I tell y’all that it has escalated beyond an “I’m sorry” at this point, there may be big trouble brewing now. I know I’m a bastard for not taking this seriously, but how can I?
The image above was borrowed from the internet, a Google search more specifically, and do not have permission to use it today, tomorrow, or any other day. Oddly enough, I Googled “coffee zombie” and it was one of the results. I liked the look and decided to use it. If it belongs to you and you can prove it in writing I will gladly give you credit or remove it upon your request.