Cappuccino No-Foam Please

Please. When you wake up this morning, before you walk out your door and enter society, make sure you know what you're talking about.

A Cappuccino is in layman's terms, an aerated coffee. When you stomp up a Starbucks line and ask for a Cappuccino with no foam, you are asking for a plain coffee. The difference between a coffee and a Cappuccino IS THE FOAM.  FOAM IS THE ESSENCE OF THE CAPPUCCINO. Capiche?

I know, I know. Not everyone can distiguinsh a Macchiato from an Americano. But if I walk into a Starbucks, and I have to listen to one more ignorant customer waste fifteen minutes of everyone's time screeching at a Barista to see their manager again over foamed coffee, I will remove myself from society and live in the Boonies.

High Pitched Giggling

Nothing is squeal-worthy.  When you're across the room and I can feel the vibrations dancing on my ear drum from your witch cackle, we have a problem here.

Look, everyone enjoys a good laugh. I'm a belly laugher myself. But an owl screech is borderline obnoxious and it takes quite a bit of my own resolve to keep me from screaming right back at you.

Not only does the shrillness of your voice hit my face like a fucking brick, but it says something particular about what you're trying to achieve. Did you really find that hilarious? Or is it rather that no one is looking at you, and loud noises are your only means of drawing attention to yourself?

I'm not trying to be a Grumpy Gus over here in my cone of silence, and I certainly don't hold a Holier-Than-Though attitude. I'm just a little scared of being deaf before I turn thirty.

Tips from a cashier at Farm Boy:

1. Stop buying rotten fruit that's on sale.

It's disgusting. When you put leaky brown bananas on my conveyor belt I'm on the line between puking and screaming. I get it, you're saving fifty cents and you don't mind eating food that could posion you. But when that nasty excuse for food rolls up to the scanner we're all judging you.

2. Unpack your own basket.

You may think that because I get paid to do this job, that I don't mind. Believe me, generally I'm more than happy to go the extra mile for you. But when you leave your basket on my conveyor belt that just tells me that you're lazy and you think I'm beneath you. Cut it out.

3. Bagging

The little plastic baggies you see around the store are for your fruits and vegetables. Feel free to use as many as you want AS LONG AS YOU USE THEM. At least twice a shift I'll get a customer buying thirteen avocadoes without a baggy. It's weird, and I feel awkward touching your fruit.  

The baggies, however, ARE NOT, for anything with a barcode on them. Don't worry, I'm not angry. I just hope that you don't mind being here all night, because I have to unbag, scan, rebag, and double bag everything that you thought was baggie-worthy. Again, I'm more than happy to go the extra mile and use the little baggies I have up at the front AFTER I've scanned it. It goes a lot faster, and everyone can get out of here much sooner.

Finally, we come to an age old issue in the world of grocery. The ritual of the final bagging ceremony. What you must understand is that I get hundreds of customers a shift that all want their food packed a different way: "Meat in a separate bag, please!"; "Don't pack them too full."; "Just throw it all in one."; "Eggs in a separate bag!"; "Eggs on top!"; "No! The eggs are crushing the coffee grounds! Don't put them on top!"; "Why are you putting the meat in a separate bag?"; and finally, the scariest one: "I brought my own bags." Or even worse, a bin.  I love that you're being environmentally friendly. Plastic bags put a huge burden on our eco-system and are generally not bio-degradable. But the free Yves Rocher paper thin sack that came with a 99cent bar of soap will not support the seventy-three items you're buying today.

There are often striking differences between a book and its movie adaptation. Readers and movie-goers alike need to be keen on the fact that while you may be intending to experience the same effect from an adapted story, what you receive is more often than not a completely different message.

Let me start by saying “American Psycho” is one of my favorite movies of all time. I almost have an emotional attachment to it despite its morbidity. I could write up a whole other post entirely based upon what’s good about this movie. Don’t worry, I won’t.



Because I loved the movie so much, and even ended up watching it three or four times, I decided to buy the book. So I walked into Indigo, fully prepared to read a more detailed account of Patrick Bateman’s murders; the raunchy details the general public simply couldn't handle.

After three days of devouring, I finished the book a different person. I didn’t want to leave the house. I didn’t think that any human being was capable of even thinking of such crimes. I puked at least twice. My mom desperately wanted to know what it was that had effected me so obviously in this book. I wouldn’t even let her touch it.

Eventually, I recovered. After all, it is just a story. And I can’t say that I didn’t enjoy it. The fact that it had put me in such a state was baffling and beautiful all at the same time.But the bottom line is, you should never start reading a book expecting the same feel from its movie counter-part. It’s dangerous. Especially if said movie is about a serial killer.

"Are these Guava's red on the inside?" The customer asked a cashier in training. I watched her slink back in what almost seemed like horror. She continues, "The whole reason I came down here was to get Guava's with the red on the inside for ten cents off." The trainee looks at me, then at the customer, then back at me and mumbles something like, "Uhm let me just call the supervisor." She proceeds to muffle something over the intercom and a representative from produce shows up. "How can I help you?"

"Yes. Well the whole reason I came down here was because the store supposedly had a sale on Guavas with the red on the inside." Her attitude is becoming increasingly irritating. "Ah yes, I just cut one open five minutes ago. They have white on the inside," he replies, most likely anticipating this impish women to be on her way.

But no. "Yes well, may I show you how they are displayed on the flyer," she grabs one from the display. The Guavas are indeed, red on the inside. "This is what I came for." I can see everyone's thoughts displayed on their faces: Is there really a difference? Customers stare impatiently as their icecream is melting on the conveyor belt. Can't you just pay for your bill and leave without causing such a fuss? But no. She shoots a look at the trainee, "I don't want them anymore," and pushes the bag at her with a sickly sneer.

The woman pays for the bill and leaves the store, Guava-less. The trainee, produce rep and I all look at eachother. Without having to say a word, we know that we are all thinking the same thing.