So. I know that I haven’t written in a few days. Before you coffee slaves start calling for my hands to be shoved in a blender for leaving you all hanging so suddenly, let me explain. So get this. My friend Tiffany swore off anything chocolate a few years ago. Her astrologer, Myrna, told her that it was a good idea to get rid of everything even remotely close to chocolate because the sun was moving into Jupiter’s (the fatass of the solar system) rising house. She said that this coupled with the fact that K-Fed’s Venus passage was going to be intersecting with her moon phase, she needed to make a drastic change in her life. Some people think astrology is a bunch of bullshit. I think Myrna is a genius. Anytime someone can get a dedicated mocha drinker to stop in her tracks, is a cause for celebration in my book. Well, a few days ago, Tiffany fucking lost it. Like she went straight up bat shit crazy. Something about how she’ll never be as thin or as pretty as Rihanna (red flag) and then started chugging mocha Frappuccino after mocha Frappuccino. Marble pound cake, Horizon chocolate milks, double chocolate chunk brownies, more mocha Frappuccinos…. it never ended.
Tiffany started to swear that she was seeing Willy Wonka and the Siren have sex in front of her. And she started describing these things in graphic detail, the likes of which I can’t bare to type out. Just trust. It’s unpleasant. And just fucking wrong. After a 72-hour bender and three separate trips to the hypnotist later, Tiffany is resting comfortably. But really. This is what I’m fucking talking about. Frappuccinos kill, guys. It’s serious.
So you can stop with the hate mail. I actually had one email that said:
What happened to our leader?
Sweet. But also… like… psycho… Promise guys. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m cool. Just promise me something, okay? Promise me that when you guys are going to make your drinks or you’re going to recommend something to a customer, think of Tiffany and all that she’s gone through. Frappuccinos, and anything mocha related…. they will come back to haunt you. Either in the form of bat shit crazy hallucinations, per Tiffany, or having to buy more clothes because nothing in your closet fits you anymore.
And let me just say this. The next one of you coffee slaves that whacks out on me like Tiffany did can fucking forget it if you think I’m going to rush to your aid. The last three days have been exhausting. I need a Valium and a cigarette. Fuck this noise.
I tell customers that I like mocha. But I fucking hate mocha. #bitchingbarista