To my poorly dressed, not-quite-artistic, generically dirty Barista:
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I often come to your place of employment for two reasons: (1) to get the fuck away from my parents, with whom I have lived since graduation because the economy hasn't been too kind to people who decided to concentrate in dead languages/liberal arts, and (2) to seek out new and exciting sexual opportunities. Living with one's parents is not particularly kind to one's sex life, and with graduation, so many of those undergraduate opportunities for anonymous sex seem to disappear.
As I sip my four-dollar latte, which is worth about half an hour of unskilled labor at the job I have, for which I am woefully
overqualified, and furiously brush away erase turds from my professional school test prep workbook, I survey the cafe for a quick, escapist fantasy. Even though I'm not sure you're not in high school, you're likely the best option for my sick, caffeine-fueled fetish. (Cougarin' it up is the newest thing right? And as a twenty-something, I'm forced to consider statutory). I begin to envision l'affaire du cafe -- some combination of Amelie and the cafe skin scenes from Zack and Miri Make a Porno. But, wait! I suddenly realize I find you less attractive than Seth Rogen. SETH ROGEN.
In order to co-star in my mental menage a deux, you'll need to reconsider your wardrobe, demeanor, hair cut, posture and lifestyle --
or else quit your job, to free up the position for some scrawny, dirty, bearded hipster barista better suited for the part.
Please remove all American Eagle logo T-shirts from your wardrobe. Perhaps you're new to the hip barista world, but know hence forth that deep-V American Appeal T-shirts are the preferred costume choice for barista pornos. That violet shirt will show you are at once confident in your masculinity but also able to appreciate Bon Iver. It will look even better on the floor by the panini press. ;) Consider also exceptionally tight jeans. Much like the glass-covered pastry display, these will allow customers to preview your . . . pastry.
Also, please look to the haircuts of any male who isn't still fretting over the Y2K bug. Any statement you're attempting to make with your matted, overgrown mushroom cut is one of misplaced irony. Please note your hair is not disheveled or wild. Not even Pete Wentz would sport this washed up Backstreet Boys look. Cut it/grow it/dye it. SOMETHING.
On the topic of hair, I doth protest the landing strip-like patch of goatee under your bottom lip and your weak attempt at beard growth. When I look at your mouth/facial hair combo, I think of my own vagina, alarmed at its resemblance to your face, and not imaging the oral pleasures you might provide. While I want no more commitment from you than the time it takes me to re-focus on my problem sets, your beard demands and deserves much more. The beard is in it to win it. Give it a chance.
If you can also manage to slouch a little more, appear slightly more sullen and reassure me that you are/plan to be a graphic designer/grad student/musician/poet, I am sure I can be your little sex pot, all steamed up and ready to shout. You can look forward to a better money shot than the 19 cents I left in your tip jar earlier today.
Are you ready for post-coital discussions of Dave Eggers? Tell me what my favorite Vampire Weekend song is.
- Location: (not my g) SPoT Cafe
- it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests