barista, barrista life, but no thanks, cafe, Canadians, Coffee Shop, Epistolary, Family, Freedom makes it American, From NYC, How do you pronounce America?, humor, Letters, Libby, murica, porn, Sisters, Sorry Utah, Spies, the big apple, To DC, True Blue American
As magical as you make Utah sound, alas I must decline. I need my booze, coffee, and sex shops. Porn and vibrators are also necessary, although Patrick explained to me last night that watching porn online is the easiest way to give people access to your computer. He was outlining the finer points of how hackers overload servers to shut down websites. Apparently hackers can use your computer to access sites without you knowing it, which leads to your computer running really slow. I had a half a second where I considered going cold turkey on my casual porn habit, then decided, nah, knocking a few websites offline and having my computer run a little slower is totally worth it.
In regards to the sugar detox, I love you, but hell no. If you do not have sugar for me when I visit you, I will get right back on the bus and go home. I will put up with the yogurt and the granola and the fruits and veggies, but I will not give up my sugar. My sweet tooth is not something to be messed with.
I spent this past week accusing customers of being un-American and spies, it was a good time. It all started with a regular customer who came up to the counter wearing a “U.S.A.” jersey at about eight in the morning. I told him that I didn’t think he was American, that he was actually Russian and trying very hard to cover it up by being over-the-top American. He laughed and argued that he was American, I went through my list of questions:
Do you have a bald eagle tattoo?
Can you sing the National Anthem backwards?
He answered no to both. I informed him that he was most definitely not American. If he was truly American he would have been able to answer yes, and he would have been carrying a beer in one hand because you can’t just run around in a USA jersey without a beer. He told me it was too early for a beer, I explained to him that that proved without a doubt that he was NOT American.
Then Lils came through, she answered the questions in the negative, but I gave her one last chance. I asked the final question: How do you properly pronounce America? She came close. “I believe it is pronounced America, but there is supposed to be a “Team” in front of it and “World Police” after.” I told her she could be an honorary American with an answer like that.
It was in the middle of all of this that I came to the epiphany that my coworker Ash (just Ash, not short for anything) was a double agent. He was actually British and Ash is actually short for Ashleigh, and in addition to wasting ink and time with all those extra, unnecessary letters he was also giving away trade secrets. I immediately rectified the situation by banishing him to the bagel station. A few hours later when he demonstrated indifference to high quality tea and a penchant for maple syrup I realized that ACTUAL truth and confronted him.
“You are a fake British person pretending to be British pretending to be American!” I accused, he laughed, looking confused. “It means you are actually Canadian!”
There was a gasp throughout the café and we stared at him in horror.
It’s a good thing my coworkers get my sense of humor or the whole day could have been really awkward.
Loves and snuggles from a TRUE American,
P.S. We don’t carry French Pastries, we have FREEDOM Pastries, thank you very much.