hitting snoozeDear Diary,

I had an especially long day today working at Starbucks.  My shift started at 4:30 a.m., which is a time only policemen and crack whores are out and about.

I mean, who is going to come to Starbucks at 4:30 a.m. for a spiced latte?  The cops aren’t because they are at the donut shop grabbing another bear claw, and the crack whores aren’t going to come in and spend their spoils from a hand job on a tall coffee.

image.jpgEither we are charging too much for a coffee, or the “ladies” aren’t charging enough for a handy.  Despite the obvious lack of customers, my boss made me come in at 4:30.  Douche.

The first part of my shift wasn’t too bad because I slammed a double expresso and got the jump start of energy I needed.

I wanted to borrow a needle from the crack whore down the street and inject the expresso straight into my veins, but something about her cracked lips, dirty hair and torn skirt told me that hygiene wasn’t a priority for her.

Although I wanted to wake up, I didn’t want to contract a social disease doing so.  I stuck with drinking a double expresso.  It did the trick and gave me a good few hours of energy to get through the day.

Unfortunately, around 9:30 the caffeine wore off and I began to feel the effects of my late night the night before.

My head began to pound and I was reminded that although grain alcohol is cheap, it doesn’t seem like that great of a bargain the next morning when you burp it up and smell like the inside of a lumber yard.

I was just about ready to go on my break when a woman came stumbling in the door.  She was blonde, her hair was askew, and she smelled like dog food.

Judging by the looks of her hair, it was obviously quite windy outside, although a glance out the window revealed no wind at all.  Clearly this lady was a mess.

As the door closed behind her she got her $5.99 Target clearance purse stuck in the door, which didn’t seem like much of a loss considering it already had a torn strap and didn’t match her outfit; although nothing on her outfit matched either.

Her purple cardigan was cute, but the black tank top she wore underneath it suggested she was either color blind, homeless, or both.

I considered faking diarrhea and running away from the counter just to avoid this disaster, but I didn’t want to be the girl who cried wolf…or rather the girl who cried shit.  So I stayed.

girl covering earsThe disaster woman walked up to the counter and greeted me with a broad smile and a loud “Hello.”  She then went on to ask me how my day was and if I had a good holiday.

Who was this lady?  She also talked at a high rate of speed and since my expresso had already worn off, I couldn’t understand anything she said, although I’m pretty sure she may have mentioned something about animals.  Whatever.

I asked her what she wanted.  She ordered a venti non-fat pumpkin spice latte.  Yeah, because what this hyper woman needed was more caffeine and sugar.

I can’t even imagine what this crazy woman would be like once she was charged with additional energy.  Her head might explode, or maybe it already did, which would explain her “interesting” hair do.

I began making the drink for her, trying to hurry so she would stop chit chatting with me.  I wasn’t sure she was allowed to be out in public by herself, and I wanted to get her out of the store before her guardian came in looking for her.

I finished making the drink and handed it to her at which time she gave me a dirty look and told me she wanted double whipped cream.

This isn't the crazy lady, but it might as well be.

This isn’t the crazy lady, but it might as well be.

WHAT?!  This lady was clearly insane.  I tried to explain to her that it wasn’t logical to order a non-fat drink and then douse it with whipped cream but she seemed unmoved by my logic.

She also became agitated and told me if I didn’t give her double whip, she would “cut me.”  Based upon the length of her ungroomed fingernails, I figured she might just do it.

I doused the drink in fatty whipped cream and looked back at her.  Judging by the size of her thighs, it was clear she was no stranger to the whipped cream.

She handed me her credit card to pay and I looked at her name, mostly so I would know it when the reporters interviewed me later about the obvious delusional customer I helped.

Her name was Lisa Newlin.  That just sounded like a crazy person.  I noticed that when she put the card back in her purse, she had her keys clipped to her purse with a special clip.

Yeah, that was probably for the best.  This woman obviously couldn’t find anything.

Although I was around her only a few short minutes, Crazy Lisa managed to somehow reference dogs three different times in three different contexts.

Quite honestly, I’m not even sure how she accomplished this, as it is no simple task.  Although considering she talked about 500 words per minute, maybe that wasn’t so hard for her.

handing credit cardShe thanked me for her drink and turned around to leave.  At that moment the music in the store changed to a song by Journey, and Crazy Lisa did a fist pump in the air in celebration of the song.

This would normally have been fine, but she pumped with the hand holding her purse.  Didn’t I tell you she wasn’t the brightest?

Because she obviously had a mental deficit, as evidenced by her brown shoes and black pants, she didn’t realize her purse was full and a few items flew out, including a candy bar and a pair of socks.

She didn’t seem to notice and continued out the door and away from the store.  I can only hope she wasn’t actually going to operate a vehicle, as she seemed to have significant difficulty with the automatic door.

The rest of my shift was fairly uneventful, and I kept one eye on the TV, looking for a report of a lady hopped up on sugar and caffeine terrorizing the town wearing shoes without socks.

No such report came on, so I can only assume she returned to her caregiver and told him about the amazing day she had when she went inside Starbucks all by herself.

I’m pretty sure she is probably laying in bed right now staring at some sort of mobile hanging over her bed.  Or at least I hope so.

I guess that’s it for now.  I need to get to sleep because tomorrow I have to be at work at 4:30 again and listening to Muzak while exhausted is a form of torture that should be reserved for only the worst of crimes: like child abuse…or wearing white after Labor Day.

Love,

Julie

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