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My sensitive side.

Can I interest you in a Ghetto Latte with a shot of stank in it?

A homeless guy in line at a Starbucks is not a unique situation.

Caring, soft-headed individuals will give them gift cards to obtain high-priced coffee drinks and food. (The studies all show this is damaging, but people think they are helping rather than empowering and prolonging the homeless situation. Nobody reads anymore, so this will go on.)

But that is not the case this morning.

The gentleman wearing 3 layers of dirty clothes and a truly impressive aura of BO and urine does not have a card.

What he does have is an understanding of Starbucks courtesy policy.

“Venti hot water.” His voice is gravelly, feel free to speculate why. (METH!!!)

Starbucks will give hot water in their branded cups for free.

The reason is that they sell Via, an instant coffee product that I have an abusive relationship with.

I got my own hot water right after him and joined him at the cream and sugar kiosk.

On any C&S kiosk there is chocolate, vanilla, nutmeg and cinnamon powder, all with the idea of dressing up your coffee beverage. (As a people, we are a spoiled pathetic bunch.)

While I creamed and artificially sweetened my coffee, the homeless barista mixed all of the available powders, along with 8, count em 8, sugar packets, into this evil bitches brew.

His concentration was like a witch concocting a potion, allowing for the witch to smell like shit that somebody peed on…2 weeks ago.

Half of the previously full powder containers were empty by the time he was done.

I have to admit, I was really curious what the final product tasted like.

He sipped it every now and then, tasting the flavor.

I would have asked for a sip, but the urine smell was dampening my appetite.

Plus, since my immune system is not what it once was, I was iffy on my ability to shake off the plague, influenza or whatever was causing those lip sores.

Eventually, the homeless barista left, yet his stench remained.

It was a chilly morning, but the air conditioning suddenly came on.

I applauded the manager’s efforts to clear the air.

Perhaps another thing to include on the C&S kiosk would be Fabreeze.

It would be a great way to break the ice with a rancid smelling street dweller.

“Good morning! Would you mind if I Fabreezed you in an effort to cut down on that feeling of imminent vomiting and the crawling feeling on my skin?”

Tell me the truth, wouldn’t you have a different view of the homeless population at large if the stench of BO and urine was replaced with Ocean Breeze™ or the lingering scent of lilacs?

I know I would be more inclined to pony up some change and ease off on the taser-reflex.

I know there are those of you that, for reasons unknown that are probably rooted in childhood abuse, disagree with me.

Can’t help you.

BB King once said, “Some people, if they don’t know, you can’t tell them.”

He was right.

Because there is no Fabreeze for stupid, that stench lingers no matter how long the AC has been on.

 
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Posted by on March 24, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Got something to say?

For God’s sake, wash your ass!

I don’t think I am asking for too much here.

I cannot name a time that Starbucks ever had a stank like this going on.

And the sad part is, it’s a self inflicted wound.

Starbucks did it to itself.

It all has to do with free electricity and lax policies concerning the homeless.

Every table is wired in a starbucks.

They do that so people like me will stay awhile.

The longer I stay, the more I will buy.

But here is the flaw in the plan.

The homeless will spend a dollar and stay all fucking day.

The government gives away cell phones with chargers and free cell plans.

The one thing the government does not give away is charging stations with free electricity.

So here is the one flaw in Starbuck’s plan.

I am positive that I am the customer they planned on with the whole setup.

As opposed to a $1.50 sale to someone who will then sleep in a massive BO stupor for 10 hours.

I can guarantee that little scenario is not on any business plan at the corporate office.  

I broke my nose years ago playing hockey, so I don’t smell much these days.

But the stench of the unwashed ass of the homeless guy at the next table is killing me.

“How can you be so cruel? You don’t know what his life has been like. Walk a mile in his shoes…blah, blah, fucking blah.”

Cry pussy, cry your eyes out.

All actions in life have consequences.

A dozen minor decisions pile up into 1 major issue.

Ignorance of the laws of life is no excuse.

“But thats not fair!”

Right, its not.

Doesn’t mean thats not how it is.

Sorry to get real on you, but that little rant I found balled up in the back of my head, so I dusted it off and put it out there.

Shit in my head has a shelf life.

I keep nothing past the due date.

That little philosophy will not win you a lot of friends and it will lose you a few, but at least you know that the ones that are left have a little backbone to them.

Excellent sign of people who I will piss off is that they use the phrase “There is nothing funny about ___”

Censoring yourself is like an addiction, it seems harmless at first and then you realize one day that it effects everything you do.

Trust me on this one, you don’t wake up one day with this type of literary tourettes.

Its a place you end up, not a place you begin at.

There is a scene in the epic tale Cyrano De Bergerac where Cyrano talks about being his own man:

“But, to sing, to laugh, to dream,

to walk in my own way,

free with an eye to see things as they are,

a voice that means manhood.

To cock my hat where I choose.

Not a word, a yes, a no?

To fight, or write.

But never to make a line I have not heard in my own heart.”

Edmond Rostand was the shit.

I wonder how he took his coffee?

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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That vile stench.

There is something to be said for kind gestures.

Or just basic customer service.

Either way, its just nice.

I changed jobs awhile back, moving to another local company.

My morning Starbucks is now a different one.

I fear change like an old school peasant.

Given the right situation I would be standing at the unlit bonfire yelling, “Burn her!”.

I am ok with that.

The show Cheers was a hit for the better part of a decade.

And the reason was the idea that there was a hip, cool place where “Everybody knows your name”.

Catchy tune, sticks in your head.

Today, something nice happened.

I came in to find a sizable line waiting for me.

Nothing new, plus, I had a book with me.

And then it happened.

“Here you go.”

The floater goes between the cashier and the barrista, getting items and orders together.

The floater handed me my hot water.

I drink the Starbucks via, the instant coffee, so all I need is hot water in the morning, but you still have to wait in line for it.

Its a minor, silly thing, but it’s nice.

Makes a difference.

So I am writing this with a smiley feeling in my head.

Doesn’t lend itself to sarcastic thought.

Pity, I do some of my best work when I am annoyed and semi-pissed off.

Which means you are stuck with shiny happy Mac instead of bitter.

Here I sit, watching Game of Thrones and sipping my coffee, the soul of contentment.

There are better situations out there, but this is nice.

And just like that, its gone.

My table is near the back, near the bathroom.

And there is a line for the toilet.

And the guy in line, right next to my table has a particularly fierce brand of BO going on.

You have to wonder why you leave the house, smelling like that.

And yes, I am arrogant about this.

But basic cleanliness seems like a foundational understanding that some are born without.

Who knows, maybe Stank boy was born with that, then life and experience stepped in and twisted him around to the point that a little stench is the least of his issues.

If you look at one way, he stinks, but he is minding his own.

I, on the other hand, smell delightful, but I have been told often, by the dedicated blog critics, that there is a vile stench that emanates from my written thoughts.

So who smells worse?

He does, but my stench will stick with you longer.

 
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Posted by on March 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Shit or garbage, you choose.

One of the great questions of mankind is what do little old men and rap music have in common.

Not a damn thing.

Except that I am stuck in the middle of prime examples of both as we speak.

On my left, sporting a dazed look and pants that demand both to be pulled up and that his mother (If still living) smack his stupid ass for leaving them down that far to begin with.

He also has faint rap music drifting out of his iPod.

And its shitty rap music.

I am not a fan of that particular genre of music to begin with, but the crap that he is listening to hits the bottom of the “Low rent” barrel.

Plus the kid has this dazed look on his face that I believe is caused by the shitty music.

And then there is the little situation unraveling on my right side.

And by “Little situation” I mean the old guy thats unraveling on my right side.

This guy babysat Methuselah.

Old enough that I cannot even gauge how old he is.

Old enough to have that “Permanently terrified” look on his face.

Old enough to have that vague Ben Gay smell in the background.

Old enough to have a continual head shake that you can’t help but see, even in your peripheral vision.

Old enough that I am worried about him surviving my cup of coffee before slipping out of his seat in a “Code Blue”, accompanied by the crappy jazz music currently piping thru the speakers.

Got the picture so far?

And I am stuck in the middle in my own little “Special” hell.

And the sad part is they are both bopping their heads, one to shitty music, the other because of aging neck muscles.

One side Ben Gay, and there is a smell on the other side that I have not yet been able to identify. Its either BO or AXE body spray gone tragically wrong.

Vegas money is on BO.

First of all, rap music should rhyme. (Old school rules. See also, “Kid & Play” circa 1984)

Second of all, who dresses the elderly? The old guy got up to use the bathroom, and his pants are as high above his ass as the kids are below.

Third, and final, I am not enjoying the new Starbucks as much as the old one.

The reasons are various, but all kind of boil down to me kind of whining about change and how much I hate the unknown.

But, putting my fears aside, at least its still a Starbucks.

Which means coffee.

And if this blog is about anything, not just this post, but the whole blog, its about my fairly out of control caffeine addiction.

And please don’t misunderstand, I am not saying coffee is a God, I am just saying it might be.

It’s the caffeine that makes me generally edgy and rude, which makes for good reading.

For me, that is. This is not about you.

 
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Posted by on February 10, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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