I just posted the previous entry but doctored it to make it appear as if it was published when I wrote it. Nice.
Speaking of nice, last night was Whiskey Night at my new place. Earl, Juan, and Kevin came to my old place with six tall boys and a bottle of... something. It seemed cheap but the taste wasn't a bad one. The portion was a fifth and we finished it somewhat quickly. I now have empirical evidence that my porch is a decent place to hang out. It's no 905 Fullerton, but what is anymore?
Earl chatted me up about R. Stevie Moore while Kevin and Juan talked about college. At one point I went inside and found a giant pizza in front of Aaron and Neil. They were playing video games and made it through about half of the pizza. I bought the rest and it was eaten on the porch. It had begun raining by the time they finally left, and Juan and I weren't finished with a conversation that had me arguing on behalf of Miley Cyrus and Lil Wayne and against their fans. He said Lil Wayne had a moral responsibility not to put out music that sucks, regardless of whether or not people will buy it.
Waking up this morning was not quite as entertaining, but it also wasn't horrible. I slept on the couch that should be removed from my room by today (it belongs to the former occupant) next to three open windows. The rain blew in but hit the screen on its way and lightly misted my sleeping face. Dave's sleeping bag was my blanket. It was definitely one of the more comfortable makeshift beds I had ever made.
Although I do the same thing when I'm uncomfortable or when I have to pee, I overslept. The mist and cool breeze against a warm sleeping bag was just too damn comfortable. I finally rousted myself at about 7:05, giving myself a good 10 minutes before I was supposed to get to work. Luckily, the shop officially opens at 7:30, which I was on time for. Unluckily, my car had a flat tire last night. If it isn't still flat (Aaron, Neil and I re-inflated it and used Fix-a-Flat), it is definitely full of my garbage that I need to bring to my new apartment. The scooter is broken down and parked on Bryn Mawr, and I left my bike at Lucy's last night. Basically, I have no mode of transportation. I only option is to use the CTA. That said, I walked to work.
Walking, as many of you know, makes short distances seem far (funny haha). Because it's been a while since I've walked to a place with the purpose of being on time (as opposed to merely recreational walking), I misjudged the time it would take me, coupled with my late awakening, and so I was late to work.
Sorry, I don't really know where I'm going with all this. I suppose I'm a bit hungover. I'm pleasantly surprised at how well my body is taking to the after-effects of an evening spent drinking. I used one trick, though, that I learned from the late, great Chris Jackson: Gatorade. Maybe it's the electrolytes, or maybe it's the disgusting amount of sugar, but Gatorade works wonders for the prevention of a hangover. Chris told me to drink a bottle before passing out, but I drank one on my way to work this morning. I still have that morning-after whiskey-stomach whose trademark is being a little weak and is going to cause me to take a great-Mexican-food-style dump at some point. There's a downside: drinking coffee on a weak stomach has never been a talent of mine. This is troublesome because the other thing (the only other thing, so that's good) ailing me is the lack of sleep. Four hours isn't terrible. I won't complain.
Here's what's on my mind: tips. The acronym I learned had the word meaning To Insure Promptness and was in a book called A View From Saturday.
When I worked at Starbucks, I once used the (debatable) full name. The manager took it down because it was inappropriate. To me, the idea of tipping is inappropriate. Well, wait, let me draw a line here. Tipping for a meal at a restaurant is cool. Tipping a valet guy is understandable, and tipping your barber is a given. Tipping your barista? That line has been crossed.
Here, let me clarify: when you work at Starbucks, it takes two seconds to pour a cup of coffee, a shot of espresso is brewed by pressing a button, and the teas are pre-made and pre-packaged. What tips do in this situation is empower the "barista," allowing him to go out of his or her way to make your drink taste worse than it should. I tip, though, because sometimes I don't want to deal with the dirty looks that get into those greedy eyes that are fixed on the tip jar. When those eyes are not appeased, the look is piercing.
According to my Old Man, Starbucks is responsible for tip jars being in coffee shops. I don't know if this is true or if the coffee shop my dad frequented prior to the rise of Starbucks was actually a 7-11.
To sum that up, it should be taken into consideration that I used to work for Starbucks, I currently make less tips than I did for that beast, and the skill that my current job requires is far greater. This whole "being angry about not getting tipped enough" was brought upon by Earl casually mentioning that the tip rate at his store was $1.50 an hour, which is horrible (relative to other Starbucks stores where he had worked).
To clarify further: I love my job. For the amount of people that come in, I make a lot in tips. The volume of business that any Starbucks location has is enormous compared to a Mom and Pop store like this. In the rare occasions when I sit back and think about things pertaining to Starbucks, I get angry. I would be thrilled to see them go under.
Well, that's my brain. I'm going to finish my last twenty minutes of work with my bag of Cracker Jacks. That said, this entry seems to have a good amount of advertising and name-dropping that is going unpaid for. Hm.
Before I go, I must make note of something that could be world-record worthy: I have not used the bathroom since I left my apartment this morning. I have since had a bottle of Gatorade and a decent amount of coffee. I'm impressed.
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