Sometimes when you go to a coffee shop to buy coffee you’d like to just, you know, buy coffee. Especially if you’re running late for an 8:15 a.m. gynecologist’s appointment and you hate the gynecologist and you just want some godamned coffee.
Sadly, it was not meant to be, because Dunkin Donuts' version of Ryan Seacrest was manning the counter yesterday alongside a pimply girl.
He flashed me his yellowed teeth and I thought:
Please don’t wait on me I hate Pap smears please don’t wait on me I hate Pap smears please don’t wait on me I hate Pap smears please don’t wait on me I hate Pap smears please don’t wait on me—
—And then, there he was. “Can I…help you?” Jazz hands.
“Coffee. Cream. Medium.”
“No sugar on this sweet morning?”
“That’ll be $2.19. But for you, I gave you a special price.”
“No. I’m kidding. But for a minute you felt special, right? Did you feel special?”
Please leave me alone now I hate you and Pap smears please leave me alone now I hate you and Pap smears please leave me alone now I hate you and Pap smears please leave me alone I hate you and Pap smears
He handed me my coffee then looked me square in the eye. “Hey, can you do me a favor on your way out?”
“Can you have a great day?”
What I wanted to say was: “Can you bite me? It’s eight o’clock in the morning and I’m about to have a metal clamp shoved up my hooch.”
What I said was: "No."
Hey, at least I took a stand.
About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.