Coffee C*nt @ Royal Grounds
You are the 30ish, 5'5", 120#, “Blonde" girl with the spackled foundation and knock-off bronze-metallic Prada bag. You were on your cell, blabbing with an artificial "Laguna Beach" accent and blissfully absorbing the "attention" of everyone else in the joint. You’ve been in line for about eight minutes.
I'd like to inform you of a few things:
1. We are not staring at you because you are hot or cool, or interesting. We (read: everyone else in the joint) are trying make you burst into flames by focusing our searing hatred toward your shellacked mary-jane wedges. Believe me, most of us could care less about your insipid desperation to appear cool. We care much more about you leaving. Now.
2. Royal Grounds does not serve “venti latte’s”. You’ve gotten all dizzy and come to the wrong place. You’re looking for McDonald’s, or Jenny Craig, or Fresh Choice. Stupid twat.
3. Make a decision before you get to the front of the line, bitch. I know… you’ve got low blood sugar so its haaaaard to decide, but settling on a fat-free muffin and a low-fat latte shouldn’t take one hundred twelve seconds at the counter. Especially since you’ve been in line for eight minutes saying, “I knoooow. Ohmigod, I KNOOOWWWW! Really? I know…”. Its not like you’ve been on hold with Comcast. You’re in line for coffee at 7:55am. Die. Now. Or at least spontaneously bleed or do something interesting and painful like a seizure.
4. Leave a freaking tip. That little jar isn’t there to TAKE CHANGE FROM. If you need change for the bus, simply ASK the nice gal behind the counter. Don’t dig around in her tip jar for quarters while drawling about losing your Muni Pass to your feeble-minded phone-mate. We all know you lost your Muni Pass along with the tattered remnants of your shriveled dignity at the Royal Joke last night at 1:12am. It is just at the end of Bonita Street under that pile of wadded Kleenex. You know, near where you woke up, skank.
5. Get your fucking bag off my table! Damn, now you’ve done it. You’ve taken me from focused disgust to personal rage. Just because I’m seated at the table next to the no-calorie sweeteners doesn’t mean I want your greasy, cum-stained whore-sack on my paper; nudging my coffee and getting dangerously close to contaminating my bagel. Not even an “excuse me” or a “do you mind/”. In fact, I might have let it pass with simple hatred had you bothered to engage some semblance of decency. But, there you go, no concern for my space or belongings.
6. It was not an accident that my coffee “fell” onto your feet while you were adding the Spleda to your beverage. I purposely removed the lid. I carefully planned knocking it “just so” in hopes of getting at least one of your feet covered in scalding bean juice. Did that burn a little? Don’t worry about the shoes. Pleather cleans up nicely. The sugar should get nice and sticky soon. Kind of like your thighs and tits felt before you used a handi-wipe on them this morning when you came to.
7. It was funny to watch you drop your phone into the bus-tray, prance on your little feet, and protest with “Ohmigod! Ohmigod!” while everyone else took delight in your suffering. Did you believe me to be sincere when I said, “Oh, wow. That must hurt.” Notice how I didn’t apologize? Of course you didn’t.
8. Yes, I purposely chose that moment to get up and leave. I definitely meant to bump you ever so slightly with the table and knock your bag to the floor with my laptop and paper. I admit it: I wanted to cause you as much inconvenience as possible without actually breaking any laws.
9. The people behind you in line were purposefully rude in pushing around you to get lids, sugar, cream and stuff. They grinned when they observed my work. They wryly smiled. They hate you as much as I do. Probably as much as your mother did when she dropped you off at the orphanage.
10. Even though I had significantly slowed the pace of everyone’s day, there wasn’t a bit of anger directed at me. Rather, there was joy, gratefulness, even one woman who mouthed, “Awesome”. You are disgusting and unwelcome. Move away. Get crippled. Go blind. Just leave.
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests