Sunday

I'm in Starbucks again. The same Starbucks that I spoke of yesterday. The retard behind the counter poured me some weak-ass coffee. The reason being, and I saw it coming, that he started it brewing and poured my cup shortly thereafter, which makes for a weak cup of coffee. I guess I'll get a refill. They're playing music in the background today… thank God.

I didn't do a Goddamn thing yesterday. I went back home after coffee and I watched TV and/or messed around on the internet for the remainder of the day. At one point I took an hour-long nap. At another point I ate an extra large pizza from Papa Johns. It was topped with tomatos and black olives. After the first two slices I began dumping crushed red peppers on it. I figured I needed to experience some pain while doing such a dastardly deed.

I watched the movie "Hulk" during yesterday's sloth-fest. It wasn't terrible. Ok, it was terrible.

I can't wait to take a dump… exercise my demons. I can feel the fires burning. I guess that was just a fart. I'm dirty. I haven't taken a shower since Friday morning. I like what I'm wearing. I live in such a small world. There is so much I don't know and I like that.

Saturday

I just yanked a bagel from my apartment complex and carried it in my coat pocket to Starbucks, where I am now eating it. It's pretty good, too. I think I'm on to something here.

Writing may be as good as talking- perhaps better. I've been a tad frustrated lately when I hang around by myself because I have no release. The only way I could think of to get release was to strike up a conversation with someone. That is all well and good, but sometimes that can be painful to initiate. Now that I've started writing again, I'm able to find release, and it puts me in such a mental state that I wouldn't feel the hunger pains of social interaction. Yes, I think I may be on to something here.

There aren't many people here. There are never many people at this Starbucks. I don't exactly know why, but it can't help to have some of the most sour, ungrateful and mean-looking employees working here. There is an older couple sitting to my left. I bet they're staying at the hotel Magnolia, which makes up for the vast majority of the building that houses this particular Starbucks. They were talking but now they've stopped. I think they were arguing a few minutes ago.

A crazy homeless man just walked in, swearing at some figment of his imagination. He set his dufflebag down below the table by the window facing Commerce street. The older couple are definitely staying at this hotel, as I was able to conclude from what she just said- "I'm going up to the room to get some Tylenol."

The crazy homeless man is busy rifling through his dufflebag. I don't think he ever got any coffee or anything. He must be seeking shelter.

This Starbucks should be really cool but it isn't. I don't know exactly what's missing. One thing that is bothering me is that there is no background music. This makes for an eerie backdrop of noise. It also makes the locale seem less alive.

The Crazy Homeless man just walked by and muttered "Tall motherfucker…" under his breath. I don't know if he was referring to me. After all, I am of modest height; but then again, he is crazy. It turns out he did get something. It looks like a Grande-sized drink and some sort of crumbly pastry. He drinks his coffee without a lid. In between sips he rubs his face violently with his hands. Yep, crazy.

As time passes I feel the urge to find a bathroom. The coffee is beginning to take form in my digestive system, or my intestines, err whatever. Luckily I live close to here. I should make this my official Starbucks, but I really don't like the people that work here.

Climbers

I hate climbers.

Crap Shoot

It's been in the news lately that blogging can get you fired- especially if you vent about your company, boss, and/or coworkers. Well, I'm going to throw caution to the wind and really let my feelings out...

My manager's really been riding my ass lately. "Old Lady Griswold" - I call her, even though she's only 34 and her last name is Perkins. She get's so upset over the smallest things- like when I poured ketchup into the deep-fat-fryer, or how I show up 15-20 minutes late for my shifts, or that time when I poured Mustard into the deep-fat-fryer. She calls me out in front of my colleagues and in front of customers. I swear, she has no tact. One time, when she caught me reading magazines in the deep freeze, she flipped! She actually threw a fork at me. I think she was trying to kill me. Since I am a pacifist, I didn't fight back- instead I just showed Carl (the busboy) some of the naked pictures I took of her when we dated a few years back.

I forgot to mention that I had dated her for 5 months in 2003. She actually got me this job. But soon after we started working together our relationship started to fall apart. She claimed that I hit on some of the female customers and that I was disrespectful to her position in the restaurant just because I was her boyfriend. It's not that I wanted special treatment from her in the workplace, but I think she was extra hard on me just because she didn't want the other employees to think she was favoring me. When I finally ended our relationship she broke down in tears and begged me not to dump her...but she came to terms with it pretty well- especially after she found out that I had been boinking the new hostess, Wanda. I just hope she never thinks to tell Wanda's fiance about it- because that dude is huge and has anger problems. I think he could kill me.

I think our relationship was doomed from the beginning because she was so much older than me. She thought that she could boss me around and keep me from cheating on her. Well guess what? I'm my own man. Nobody tells me what to do. Oooh speaking of which I have to be at work in 5 minutes... shit.