Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod.
This.
Repeated, officially, here.
For anybody who knows me, or anyone who even thinks they do, this is Almost the Greatest Thing That Could Happen. And to think, Robin Stout, sexiest Milkman Evah was the first to let me know.
Wow. Belle and Sebastian play my town AND this, within a week. Excuse me, now i have to dance in the Street, Earnest Grainger style.
Friday, September 26, 2003
Tuesday, September 23, 2003
Reason Number 11, 276...
...That today I have descended into a Snarling, Vicious Zombie of Rage, a la 28 Days Later.
Rude Man at work: I want a latte.
Me: You have it order it at the cashier. (There is a line of three people ahead
of him and a big sign that says "Please Order With Cashier.")
Rude Man: I said I want a latte.
Me: *points at said sign* Please Order your drink with John, the Cashier.
Unfortunately, there are people ahead of you in line (They were an iced
chai and two mochas, incidentally).
Rude Man: *walks in front of Ms Iced Chai and Mr and Miss Mocha to the
register and yells at John* I want a goddam latte! And don't let that
faggot make it, either!
At this point, the entire cafe turns to look at Rude Man. Carl, the shift supervisor, makes the latte (to go) and walks the man to the door. Significantly, no one threw Holy Water on him, beat him soundly or forbad him to ever return.
Also significantly, I had no tip jar for people to express their monety condolences.
...That today I have descended into a Snarling, Vicious Zombie of Rage, a la 28 Days Later.
Rude Man at work: I want a latte.
Me: You have it order it at the cashier. (There is a line of three people ahead
of him and a big sign that says "Please Order With Cashier.")
Rude Man: I said I want a latte.
Me: *points at said sign* Please Order your drink with John, the Cashier.
Unfortunately, there are people ahead of you in line (They were an iced
chai and two mochas, incidentally).
Rude Man: *walks in front of Ms Iced Chai and Mr and Miss Mocha to the
register and yells at John* I want a goddam latte! And don't let that
faggot make it, either!
At this point, the entire cafe turns to look at Rude Man. Carl, the shift supervisor, makes the latte (to go) and walks the man to the door. Significantly, no one threw Holy Water on him, beat him soundly or forbad him to ever return.
Also significantly, I had no tip jar for people to express their monety condolences.
Grumpy
I went to bed last night in a bad mood.
I woke up (at 5.30 am) in a worse mood and have spent the rest of the day finding reasons to be more foul-tempered. Blah blah, my book order at Borders hasn't come in, people at work are stupid (a latte with extra foam is a /cappachino/ so you have to pay MORE), and other equally trivial stuff.
I have several reasons not to be in a bad mood -- Belle and Sebastian play here next month (tho' this also is a cause for foul-moodedness in and of itself), I have a promo copy of their album, ceded to me by Viva le Fearsome and it's great (Lord Anthony! Roy Walker!) and Saturday night (the Pox World Empire Records show) was ever so much fun.
Still, I have reasons for not liking boys and girls (and who does that leave?) and am still just plain old petulant. Or is that Petullant?*
Where is Laura Llew these days anyway?
Pah!
I went to bed last night in a bad mood.
I woke up (at 5.30 am) in a worse mood and have spent the rest of the day finding reasons to be more foul-tempered. Blah blah, my book order at Borders hasn't come in, people at work are stupid (a latte with extra foam is a /cappachino/ so you have to pay MORE), and other equally trivial stuff.
I have several reasons not to be in a bad mood -- Belle and Sebastian play here next month (tho' this also is a cause for foul-moodedness in and of itself), I have a promo copy of their album, ceded to me by Viva le Fearsome and it's great (Lord Anthony! Roy Walker!) and Saturday night (the Pox World Empire Records show) was ever so much fun.
Still, I have reasons for not liking boys and girls (and who does that leave?) and am still just plain old petulant. Or is that Petullant?*
Where is Laura Llew these days anyway?
Pah!
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