Dickheads Invade Espresso Royale

written January, 1996


**WARNING: I WAS IN A VERY ANGRY MOOD. CERTAIN EXPLETIVES WERE USED IN THE FOLLOWING RANT. NOT FOR THE WEAK OF HEART OR STOMACH.**

For the benefit of those who don't know of Espresso Royale, it is a coffee 'shop/house/cafe' that is located on campus here at Boston University. For a point of reference, Espresso Royale is to Starbucks as HBO is to public access TV. (In other words, It's good, as opposed to shitty). But that's all background.

Anyway, I'm in there about 15 minutes ago buying my cup of mint mocha (with whipped cream), (To go), and in come the cocksuckers. The way it is set up is as follows: There are two cash registers, but only one line. I discovered this when I hopped into the line at the front register and a woman said, "Excuse me, but the line starts back there."

"Oh! I'm sorry," I said (really!!), and I got in the back of the line. My mistake, right?

OK. So I'm waiting in line this morning when two parties (one consisting of these two fucking bitches -- I didn't think this then, mind you... I mean, what am I? Prejudiced? Of course not. And the other party was this one rat bastard asshole guy) hopped into line at the front register.

"A common error," I thought reminiscently. "I'll just politely inform them of it."

"Excuse me," I said. The three motherfuckers turned. "The line starts back yonder." I doubt I used the word 'yonder', but it's fun to write.

At that, the two sluts turned around, AS IF I WASN'T TALKING TO THEM. But I had more immediate problems.

"There's two lines," said the bastard, obviously annoyed at being pestered for NO REASON.

"No," said this girl behind me, "there's one line for both registers. It's back here."

He argued for another 15 seconds and then gave up. "Uggghh," he muttered as he stormed to the back of the line. Now it was on to bigger, smellier fish.

"Excuse me."

No answer. They're trying so hard.

"Excuuuse me."

Their empty heads slowly turned.

"The line starts back there."

Nothing. Blank stares.

"The line -" I spoon-fed, "- it's back here." Arm gesture.

"Next," the guy behind the counter said.

So next they were. Went right up to the counter - no remorse - and ordered their coffees. If there weren't a lot of offendable girls on my mailing list, I would now use a terrible word to describe these two airheads. It rhymes with 'punts'.

Now my editorial:

WHAT THE FUCK IS THE MATTER WITH PEOPLE?!?! For some reason, I suddenly became the villain in this situation. If they had known my name, I bet they would have walked out of there cursing it. How can people be so incredibly discourteous. Some will argue, "It's their upbringing... probably their parents." That's true, partly. But that's making them the victims. Society makes everyone a victim. Who, then, are the culprits?? Bad parents?? No - they're victims as well - victims of THEIR parents, and so on.

People like this make me want to shut myself off from the world and become a hermit. Maybe I'll go into some mountains and build my own cabin and shoot anyone who approaches it, even - especially! - the postman. Then I'd get to be a victim!

"Society made me a homicidal hermit," I'd shout from a drunken stupor, foaming at the mouth and waving my shotgun. "Now get the fuck off my land before I shoot you down like a dog. Yeeeehaw!"

But that's not very practical, is it? No, I suppose I have to live with it. I have to face these imbecilic assholes every day for the rest of my life. And they think the same thing, of course. Except that I'm right, and they're fucking stupid.

Cretins: can't live with 'em, can't live with 'em.


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