“I don’t give a shit, I’ll cut a bitch!”
Thats the cashier at Starbucks talking.
Its night and I am at a different Starbucks.
Its the one on the verge of a really bad area in LA.
Different crew works here.
A little rougher around the edges than the Manhattan Beach crew.
The cashier, a delightful young lady with pencil thin eyebrows and tattoos on her hands,
is entertaining the barrista with a story about a party she was at last night.
Here is a little taste:
“And she’s like all, what?”
“And I’m like, hey, don’t talk to me like you know me.”
“And she’s like, haha.”
“She don’t know, cause I’ll cut a bitch.”
Awesome, I’m sure your parents are beaming with pride as we speak.
Their baby girl that they raised, educated, and took to church every Sunday. Did their best to imbue all of the elements of proper living.
Like knowing when and how to “Cut a bitch”.
The story moves on to her description of her boyfriend got too wasted on something that sounded like “Booley” and getting arrested.
Not sure what “booley” is.
I have Googled it with no luck.
All of this has me uneasy to the point that I have been staring at my coffee for a few minutes without drinking it.
Not sure why, could be important.
I decide to drink it to hide my laughter at another comment from the cashier.
The party last night, the one that she almost “Cut a bitch” at and her boyfriend got so wasted that he later got arrested?
It was her engagement party.
Of course it was.
And can you blame him?
If I found myself at a party and had just gotten engaged to this little slice of hand-tattooed heaven, I might be so inclined as to tie one on.
Maybe even try some “Booley”.
Straight up with a twist.
I weep for the future.
A tourist couple comes in.
I know they are tourists, because they are dressed out of place for the area.
Also, they are speaking German.
The woman is wearing a white down parka. She orders a simple Latte and a blueberry scone.
The man is in a black fabric jacket and a black turtleneck.
He pays with cash, another sure sign they are tourists, you never want to use your credit card in a foreign country.
The cashier takes their order in an almost subdued manner.
The now awkwardly quiet cashier seems almost subdued, which doesn’t seem right.
Don’t the tourists know she will cut a bitch?
Although you would not know it by the odd silence from behind the counter.
Odd because there is silence.
The couple chat quietly and get their drinks then leave.
The second the door closes and they are gone, the cashier leans over to the barrista and stage whispers loudly.
“What a bitch.”
Thats my girl.
Welcome to Starbucks.