Coffeeshop Thoughts Vol. 1

It’s been a boring day today, and I’ve had some writer’s block lately, so I figured I’d just do a little brain-dump to pass the time.

Why Are People Dicks?

I’ve never understood what makes someone absolutely lose their shit in public, is it a common occurence for them? Do they have to deal with any consequences? How do they deal with actual problems in their lives? Furthermore, do these people have friends who put up with their shit, or are they alone in the world, and lashing out is how they cope? I know I’m an asshole because I want what I want, how I want it, and I’ll only compromise if there’s no other option. I also use humor as a coping mechanism, so when I poke fun at people, it’s usually because I feel shitty, and casually joking around makes me feel better.

Are the Patriots Going to Win the Super Bowl?

Yes. C’mon, of course they are, that team is more stacked than the entire Victoria’s Secret fashion show combined. I just want to see how many touchdowns Brady throws to the receiver core.

What the Fuck Do I Do Now?

I’ve just gotten my associate’s degree, AKA the GED of college degrees, and when I look at job postings, I don’t see anything that an associate’s degree is used for, making me think I’ve wasted my time, and should go back for my Bachelor’s degree. It took me a super long time to get my associate’s, and I had a 3.2 GPA, so I figure 4 year college can’t be too different. I’m just hoping that I can find something different so I never have to serve old people coffee again.

What Will the Next Stupid Social Media Fad?

I’m thinking it’ll be something regarding the election, something like “Election Day Challenge” or “Show Your Sticker Saturday”, something to get 18 year-olds to the polls. This is an important election, and I’m sure all of the candidates understand how social media can effect the outcome.

My Journey Climbing Mt. Douglas

Hiking is a weird concept for me to understand. Part of me gets why people like it, it’s physical, it’s outside, you get a nice view at the end, etc. That being said: FUCK hiking. I recently went with a friend of mine, and it was quite a day.

First, I had to be up at 8am, which is usually when I’d be in bed, watching YouTube videos of retail workers snapping and beating up rude customers. After rousting myself out of bed, I decide to be proactive and pack a cooler; if I’m climbing a big ass mountain, I’m gonna need a few beers to take the edge off. After finishing up my hiking survival kit, I drove over to my friend’s place to pick her up and head out. Now, she’s a bit more experienced than I am, and she’s definitely in better shape than I am, so when she said that Mt. Douglas was an easy climb, I was a tad skeptical. Upon arrival, I notice that the parking lot is half a mile away from the start of the climbing path, and primarily uphill. Great, I get a taste of what I’m in for today.

After trekking up the road to the trail entrance, I notice that the trail is awfully steep for a so-called “easy climb” and begin to question my decision. As we begin the climb, I notice that I forgot my water bottle in the car, half a mile away. After weighing my options, I decide that Miller Lite is going to have to do for the time being.

About half an hour into the hike, my legs start to get sore, and we take a break. From this height, I can see the entire valley, and it’s breathtaking. Even from halfway up. My friend starts talking about all of these crazy places she wants to go, and I’m thinking “Let’s settle down there, we haven’t even finished this hike, and we’re talking about going on another one?” I spark up a joint, refresh my beverage, and try to muster the energy to move.

Another half hour later, we’re almost at the top, and I’m running out of gas. I think to myself, if some crunchy granola hippy can do this tripping face on acid, I can too. I channel every 80’s action hero and football player and push through the pain. Fuck, I need to get in shape again. After running out of inspirational 80’s figures, we reach the top of the mountain.

I get it now. I get why people do this to themselves. From the top of the tower pictured above, you can see for miles. I can even see Sebago Lake, and I’m betting if I had some binoculars, I could see my house too. As I’m still enjoying the scenery, and my third beer-flavored water, my friend is getting ready to head back down. I’m not having any of that, I spent 2 hours busting my ass to get here, I’m gonna stay here as long as I damn well please. I’m thinking about how much of a bitch it will be to climb/fall down this mountain, and I’m trying to stall as much as I can so I can climb down this mountain safely and not look like an out-of-shape disaster. Before I go down, I get the wonderful idea to pee off the face of the mountain, and I stand by this decision, because it was awesome. I finish my last beer, and mentally prepare myself for the return journey.

The thing about going down a mountain; it’s a little easier than I thought. As we descend, I start to get a feel for the terrain, and begin to walk a little faster. Mistake. Not even 15 seconds after adjusting my pace, I trip on a root and fall on my face. After laughing to myself about how funny that probably looked, I reassess my speed. We’re now about 3/4ths of the way down, thanks gravity. We finish up our climb and walk back to the car, where I immediately fall into my seat, exhausted and a little buzzed. I think to myself, hey, it’s better than being at work.

One Day at a Gas Station Dunkin’

9am- I’m awakened by Juicy J’s soothing voice as he croons “GET UP BITCH, GET UP BITCH, GET UP BITCH, GET UP!” Ahh, another beautiful day. I stumble into the shower and stare at the spout for the next 15 minutes, trying to balance my need to stay warm with my need to eat breakfast.

10am- I finish my shower, only to find out that those “15” minutes were more like 25, leaving me with only an hour and a half to eat breakfast and watch COPS. I shovel down my breakfast, ( 3 slices of buttered toast, half an apple, and a glass of OJ, if you were wondering) and began to watch COPS.

11am- 35 blissful minutes of eating and watching dumb people get arrested. At 11:35, I begin my trek to work.

12pm- I step into my Dunkin’ to find that everyone in my tiny farm town wants to get a sandwich. The person who opened has been here since 4am, so they’re not really in the mood to help, and they quickly exit the building. After dealing with the crowd, who somehow forget their manners after waiting all of 3 minutes to order, I tackle the 20 minutes of work I have to do that day. Coffee count: 1 cup

1pm- Downtime. At this point, I’ve pretty much done all I need to do. I sit back, crank some music, and wait for either customers to come in, or a good idea to pop into my head. Coffee count: 3 cups.

2pm- I wander about the store, looking for things to do, and clean up after the animal that decided to leave a pizza box (and 2 slices of pizza) on top of the toilet, with sauce and cheese splattered all over the floor. Great. Coffee count: Still 3 cups

3pm- A large group of landscapers come in, spending 15 minutes deciding what they want to get asking me if we sell burgers and beer. After ordering 4 different drinks, 5 sandwiches, and enough hash browns to feed a small horse, they leave. No tip. Coffee count: 3 cups, working on 4.

4pm- On Twitter now, I’ve been obsessed with reading all of the thirsty dudes who comment thirsty dude things on famous women’s posts. God Bless the lowly social media manager who has to read all these. A geriatric gentleman comes up to the counter and orders his coffee, small black decaf. After confirming 4 times that his coffee was indeed decaf, the gentleman takes a sip. “That’s not decaf, MAKE IT AGAIN!” So much for the Greatest Generation. After making his coffee again, the exact same way, he takes a sip, looks satisfied, and walks out. A 8 year old kid comes over and asks for a blueberry coolatta, which doesn’t exist, but the kid is super polite, so I do my best to accommodate. After combining blue raspberry and bluberry coffee into a coolatta, I hand the kid his beverage. He takes a sip, gives a huge smile and puts a 5 in my tip jar. I’m sure his parents are wondering where that 5 went. Thanks, kid. Coffee count: 4 cups.

5pm- This is usually when the characters start to come out. The first one I get is a 6’5, wildly tattood man who smells strongly of weed and cheap cigars. He orders his coffee in Spanish, a language I don’t speak. After informing him of my ignorance, he repeats his order, only louder. This does not help. After pointing to every item on the menu, I decipher his order, and send him on his way. Coffee count: 5 cups.

6pm- By this point in my shift, my customer service energy is all but depleted, and my interactions with customers begin to sour. After shooing off some freeloaders who want to try every flavor of coffee without buying any, I start to prepare my store for closing. After counting the donuts, preparing the cold brew for tomorrow (and screaming into the walk-in for a moment), one of my regulars steps in. He’s all of 5’2, grey hair pulled back into floor-length dreadlocks, and he is my favorite part of my day. After regaling me with stories from the 1950’s, he orders his coffee, medium dark roast with blueberry and raspberry flavoring. He sits quietly for a time, sipping his coffee in silence, before exclaiming, as he always does, “This is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever had!” Before he leaves, he beckons me closer and slips me a 24oz craft beer: his usual tip. Coffee count: 5 cups.

7pm- This is game time, I’ve got 45 minutes to do something that usually takes 2 people an hour. I heat myself up a croissant, which must send the Bat Signal out to everyone in a 5 mile radius, because by the time I take my first warm, delicious bite, my store is filled with people. One person, a short Chinese woman who has no grasp on the English language, and takes me on a veritable Wheel of Fortune round to figure out her order. After completing the bonus round, I return to my croissant, which has become hard and cold. Shit. At 7:55, after locking the doors to the store, I begin to count my drawer and do my deposits. Suddenly, I hear a women’s voice pierce the air. What the fuck? How did she get in? I go up to the counter and ask her what she needs, and she starts off on a rant about how the last time she was here, 5 years ago, the store closed at 9. After directing her to the sign with the store hours on it, she veers away and starts going off about how I’m lazy and incompetent, and how she’s gonna have me fired. Oooookay lady, you do that, I’m going home. Coffee count: 6 cups.

8pm- I speed away from Dunkin’ like I’m Jesse Pinkman at the end of Breaking Bad. In 20 hours, I’ll be back to do it all over again.

Why My Life Would Suck Without Music

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Every morning at 8:30 I awake to the gentle, soothing sounds of “GET UP BITCH, GET UP BITCH, GET UP BITCH GET UP!” Juicy J has a knack for getting me out of bed. After jamming out with Mr.J for a minute, I get up, get dressed, and put on something more relaxing, (I’ve been leaning towards Mac Miller’s Swimming lately). Then I get into my car and push play on my “Driving” playlist, belting out lines from “99 Problems” while stuck in traffic. After properly hyping myself up for work, I start to veer off in different directions while I try and make 8 hours of Dunkin Donuts tolerable. After finishing my shift in Hell, I like to put on something happy to offset all the stupidity that I usually have to deal with working retail. Music is a constant part of my life, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Life’s better with a soundtrack, in my opinion. Most of my memories are hazy and faint, but certain songs crystallize these fragments and make them feel more significant. My life is divided into genres of music. I first started listening to Dad Rock (Zeppelin, Aerosmith, Pink Floyd, The Who, etc) in middle school, because that’s what my parents listened to, and I had nothing to compare it to. As I grew up, I started to branch out and explore other genres. Ironically, I got into rap with Cypress Hill, before I started smoking weed. I don’t think many people can say the same. Cypress Hill introduced me to a whole different sound: that dark, ominous production style that DJ Muggs birthed. Cypress Hill introduced me to a bunch of old-school rappers that I probably wouldn’tve had access to before; Snoop Dogg, Eminem, The Alchemist, Dr.Dre, Kottonmouth Kings (yikes) These were my staples up until college. These were the people I listened to and took advice from, as stupid as that is.

The songs I used to listen to on repeat don’t hit me the same: they have a hint of nostalgia to them. Every time I listen to “Hits from the Bong” I flash back to those worry-free days, smoking a dime bag out of a bong I made out of a liter bottle, a pen, and a trumpet mouthpiece, thinking I was on top of the world. Now, I look for music that blows my mind. For example, the first time I heard “Space Song” by Beach House, I was blown away, I’d never heard anything like it and I had to have more. It took me by surprise that something that awesome had been waiting for me, within my reach. I usually hate change and trying new things, but I’ll listen to pretty much anything once. I don’t understand it, but it’s exposed me to so many different artists that I would’ve shrugged off otherwise.

Whenever I’m feeling shitty, or unhappy, or tired, or angry, anything really, music can Image result for mac millerchange that, and that’s incredible to me. If work’s got me down and miserable, I put on Malibu by Anderson .Paak, and 15 minutes later, I’m belting out the words to “Heart Don’t Stand a Chance” with a smile on my face. That is something precious, there aren’t many things that effect my mood anymore. I can put on Jay-Z and feel like I can take on the world. I put on Mac Miller and close myself off to that world. Music is also something I use to relate to people: I’m not a big “people” person, I’m quiet and grumpy, and don’t like meeting new people. That all changes if I find out you like the same music as I do, I’ll probably like you a whole lot more and be nicer to you than if you kept it to yourself. I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t put on my headphones and escape for a while. I’m sure I probably would’ve snapped long ago.

6 Things I’d Rather Do Before Taking Calculus Again

I’ve been studying for my Calculus final for around 8 hours straight, and at this point, I’m at the “bargaining” stage of grief. There are many things I would do in order to never have to do this again, but these are the 6 that made me laugh the hardest when I thought of them.

6) Full-Body Wax

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I don’t know if my profile picture indicates exactly how much hair I have on my body, but I can tell you with full confidence that it would make Steve Carell’s performance in 40 Year-Old Virgin look like a brisk stroll down the beach, and he only got part of his chest done. The person waxing me might have to go to therapy after waxing me like a fancy pair of shoes before prom. The upside of a full body wax is 1) I get to see what I’d look like as a full-grown baby, and 2) no more radical equations.

5) Go Back to High School as an Adult

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Going back to high school as an adult would be pretty interesting, to say the least. One the one hand, I really don’t care to learn about the water cycle again, or have to deal with a bunch of children going through the beginnings of puberty, but on the other hand: I bet I could whoop their asses in gym class, and potentiality scar them for life with stories from Dunkin Donuts. The only thing I would actually be worries about is taking algebra again, which would still be easier than learning about imaginary numbers.

4) Have Nick Diaz Punch Me in the Face Once

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I’ve never really gotten too deep into the MMA stuff, but some of my friends showed me this guy knocking the bejesus out of someone who looked like Ivan Drago’s coked-out little brother. I’d like to see what type of damage this man would do to my facial bones, more out of morbid curiosity than anything else. The story alone would make never having to expand a logarithmic equation again worth it.

3) Work at Dunkin Donuts Forever

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I’ve worked at Dunkin Donuts for almost 6 years now, and I can say, with full confidence, that Calculus is worse. I’ve had to deal with crackheads trying to scam me out of food, drunks peeing on the floor before close, annoyingly entitled people who get mad when the prices aren’t the same as they were in 1976, and other less than friendly experiences, but I STILL would take all of that over having to do synthetic division without a calculator. Nothing against Dunkin Donuts though, the hashbrowns are amazing.

2) Get A Face Tattoo

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I’m not talking your average SoundCloud rapper style face tat, you know the ones I mean: teardrops under my eyes, AK-47 on my forehead, #blessed on my cheek-type deals. If I were to get a face tat, I’d keep it classy with a nice 4-leaf clover or a peace sign, you know, something that I could explain to employers if my rap career doesn’t take off. Having a permanent reminder to make smart decisions isn’t a bad trade off for not having to understand how to calculate the area under a parabola.

1) Take Pre-Calculus Again

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This is how you know that Calculus has beaten me down: I would take the prerequisite again. I got a C+ in Pre-Calc, and I’m sure I can top that, since instead of studying for one of my quizzes, I hit the local driving range and ran through 3 buckets of balls working on my short game. If Calculus is Darth Vader, Pre-Calc is that random Imperial Officer who got choked out on the Star Destroyer in Empire Strikes Back. No big deal.