Coffee Shop Diary: First World Problems

5 Feb
image stolen from bejustgood.com

image stolen from bejustgood.com

All right. New coffee shop. This place and Dinette and Ostrich Farm are all– they’re all the stereotype. 43 year old white people in tangentially creative fields with robust salaries. Drivers of unusual Mini Coopers with ski racks. Girls with weird old money inbred jawlines and purple hair discussing a Tumblr about Women in Tech. People using the word curate. Curate is the new monetize. Get paid for something worthless. I hate white people.

The feng shui is off here. Every seat exposed so everyone in the room can read your laptop. It’s hard to look at girls’ tits. So it was designed by an idiot. Then again, I’m not what they want here. Weird aging lecher who spends little and leers at girls and frighten them. Maybe it’s made so I wouldn’t like it.

Where the fuck is my hot chocolate, you cystic acne faced cunt. Well, who cares. I’m just renting the seat. And actually the counter girl is kind of hot. It’s just that her face is shiny. I wonder how much money, effort and angst goes into keeping her face merely slightly bumpy and oily instead of a Vladimir Harkonnen wasteland of infected roast beef purple pustules. She is trim. She has an alluringly tiny ass. The kind you can cup in one hand. I want to watch it winking in my mirror as she rides me. Try to see the good in people.

I wonder if they forgot my drink. I hope so. It’d be an excuse for self pity and another example of how I’m invisible. My life is Milton from Office Space. Muttering about how I was shunted into the roach basement. The other barista is back now, the guy who looks like the 20th hijacker, after a 15 minute absence. He was clearly taking a shit. Good for him.

Little mousy haired girl ordering. Baggy white pants. I cannot tolerate a woman who does not wear form fitting clothing on her lower body. In the age of yoga pants I must know every contour of your crack and cameltoe.

Still no cocoa. At what point do I ask. Unending stream of customers. Getting her attention is like making a tough left turn. I don’t want to loudly interject in front of them and look like an asshole. I should just meekly accept it. I should be a martyr for this cocoa. I don’t care about it; I don’t actually want it. I’m paying for it because I want to type in a place where there are girls. I’m afraid of losing ab definition and drinking a 400 calorie hot beverage at 11am will make me into a fat disgusting sack of shit. Let it go.

It is better for me, for the staff, for everything if I don’t ask about the cocoa. But I spent money, so I must have it. One of the purple hair girls takes out her phone and it’s Twitter. Hers looks like mine. Stock ticker of fraternity rapes and racial incidents and women in tech outrages. The Kardashians for college types. Though I’m next to the register the clerk still doesn’t look at me. Unfortunately I continue to exist.

Later a macchiato comes up. She looks at me and says hesitantly: I think this might be… yours? I’m forced to say no, I was waiting on a cocoa. Oh yeah that’s right. Her apathy, something I can only dream of. I need to work in a coffee shop.

The cocoa’s OK. On the way I out I walk behind the counter. Throw my gum in the private employee garbage. She looks at me askance. Take that, fiend.

11 Responses to “Coffee Shop Diary: First World Problems”

  1. Feyd's Art Deco Codpiece February 5, 2015 at 5:12 pm #

    OK now I’m lost; what is an old money inbred jawline ?

    All I could come up with was either it’s not prominent; chipmunky like Selena gomez,
    or it’s mannish & indented like that Demi Lovato skinpuppet.

    But who cares man. This kicked ass & chewed bubble gum.

  2. Ash Ketchum February 6, 2015 at 4:52 am #

    Oh DT, I spent last month in withdrawal but, as always, it was well worth the wait in the end.

  3. Anony-fucking-mous February 6, 2015 at 9:33 am #

    These media-types have us real good with their click-bait don’t they? We feed on non-stories, expressing mock outrage, indignation, and a little smug superiority for knowing better at the same time. I’d kill to have a twitter feed of any substance. Instead it’s all click-bait. Just like hers. Faux news stories designed to pull eyes and suck advertising dollars down. I always thought I was above it all, but I’m just another crab in the fucking bucket.

  4. Atlanta Man February 7, 2015 at 3:42 am #

    “Twitter. Hers looks like mine. Stock ticker of fraternity rapes and racial incidents and women in tech outrages.” That is how my Twitter looks too. Dude, you really gotta write a book. Just force yourself to write for 2 hours a day or something. There is this show on HBO my girl and I watched on Sundays called “The Affair” and there is a guy on there who writes a best seller because he is suspended awaiting a hearing for fucking a co worker(long story…good show in the end though). You are like that dude man, you have a fucking good book or three in that head of yours. Fucking “50 Shades of Grey” is some fan fiction, grade c, sexual illusion, mommy porn and is a best seller. You write better shit than “50 Shades” after a coke binge gone wrong with an angry black lesbian and a failed threesome. The fact I could even base that last sentence on a true story is proof you need to make a book happen! Don’t become a dead blog like The Last Psychiatrist…..still no book on porn, and no updates since last May.

    • pffffffftttsssssssiimmbllllllddddddnnnnnnnnn February 7, 2015 at 6:56 am #

      I disagree. I hate to be the one asshole critic here, but I feel like DT has been phoning all these bullshit filler posts in lately. If I gotta read one more post about how he wants to spray hot salty jizz on a girl, I ain’t coming back. I know. He’s written the same fucking hot salty jizz post, worded slightly differently, about fifty fucking times already. I get it. Fuck a novel, he should just get a job writing scene descriptions for Bang Bros.

      Even the Philipines and the fifth step post, there’s potential for profound insight in those two experiences, but he couldn’t get to the meat of it because he’s too distracted with his jerkoff fantasies.

      Snap out of it. Focus, DT. Search deep inside yourself and write something real.

      • Atlanta Man February 8, 2015 at 3:26 am #

        Getting your feet back under you as a writer after quitting drinking takes time, when he first quit remember the weeks at a time he did not post( he was working on him so I get it), now he is putting pen to pad sober and that is an adjustment. I don’t feel the raw, who gives a fuck, yes I would fuck a 15 year old type swagger of his old work, but it is not inferior product per se , just him sober.

        I think the difference is that he had new material non stop getting wasted because he was out there on buck shit copping black tar on a Tuesday running up in random chicks raw dick style. Now he is a controlled sober guy and doing his thing sexually but it is not as cool as the unrestrained wasted hedonist just banging chicks and pushing his liver to the max. He is 39 and has a six pack from hitting the gym, not malnutrition, that’s a big fucking change.

        I think being wasted he was one writer that laid it all out because who gives a fuck, he was wasted. Now he’s not wasted and we get his Year Sober post, that’s what he has as material to lay out as a sober dude. I’ll read it……..

  5. Wolf February 7, 2015 at 5:04 pm #

    Throw your gum in the employee trash. That’s so fucking perfect. People won’t even know what to do.

  6. Aldo February 8, 2015 at 8:10 pm #

    “Getting her attention is like making a tough left turn.” Hilarious.
    “Throw my gum in the private employee garbage. She looks at me askance. Take that, fiend.” Hahaha

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. Coffee Shop Diary: First World Problems | Manosphere.com - February 5, 2015

    […] Coffee Shop Diary: First World Problems […]

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    […] morning. I’m at Woodcat. Again, this coffee shop is poorly designed. Everyone can see over my shoulder. If you can read […]

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