How do I know I'm getting old and cranky? Well, pretty easily: I used to be somewhat more mellow and Kumbaya-lovin', but now, whenever I go to the über-hip coffee shop around the corner and down the street from my building, I literally want to grab the painfully disaffected barista by his greasy Sex Pistol-esque locks and shake him until his stripey, espresso-stained sweater is unravelling, the next time he rolls his eyes at me for ordering decaf. I also fantasize about yelling, "I AM old, you Devendra Banhart-worshipping pipe-cleaner of a man! And yes, that's right, I sometimes order decaf--and sometimes I listen to Journey AND enjoy long walks on the beach! So suck it!"
Oy.
But the coffee is delicious, so I suppose that I should cut it out, try to be nice, and save the yelling until I'm over 80 and can't as easily be jailed.
Clearly, I do not need the caffeine.
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1 comment:
Dare I ask which coffee shop this is?
Not that it matters, they're all staffed by the same androgynous guy/girl.
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