This morning, I ordered a medium americano from the round-faced barista who was unlucky enough to be working at the airport coffee stand the day after Thanksgiving.
“I know you probably get this all the time,” I said, “but ‘wiener mélange’ is a really bad name for your espresso.”
“I know!” he said. “It’s really bad, right?”
“It kind of sounds like you’re serving hot dog-flavored coffee.”
“I can’t help it!”
“Oh, no, I know it’s …”
“It’s actually pronounced ‘vee-ner’.”
“Oh, well that’s …”
“I guess it’s German.”
“Well, that makes …”
“I can’t help it!”
Aunty Christ is dealing with airport coffee-industry employees this morning, rather than at home in bed where she belongs, because she is waiting for the plane that’s going to take her to
Where she spend six days dealing with her parents, walking on the beach, and missing the thugs and Rich Bachelor like mad.
3 comments:
Well, in the two hours since I last saw you, Goofus and Gallant there decided yet again that it is meet and good (and above all else, consistent) to pee on the floor right next to the bathroom. I learned that Portland has a Macy's parade (who knew? apparently it's been going on for five years), and am contemplating a movie.
And yes, we love you so much it hurts.
i want to go to maui. goddammit.
You should see the pictures I keep receiving on my damn phone, as I'm slogging through frozen mud, slinging steel scaffolds and dangerously weathered decks overseen by jabbering meth-heads...Aaah.
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