Coffee Guy

I'm not exactly a people person. By that I don't mean that I'm a jerk or that I shun personal contact. What I really mean is that I rarely go out of my way to build any sort of rapport with random people that I encounter in my life unless I need to. If you're a coworker or a friend of a friend, sure, we'll talk a bit. If you're my upstairs neighbor who I already disdain for your bad taste in music, well, let's just say I'm going to do my best to keep my distance.

This also goes for people that I often buy things from. I don't particularly want the guy at Taco Bell to know what I like to order let alone my name or any details about my life. Basically I like to keep the people who sell me stuff as nothing more than a vending machine that says thank you and hopefully doesn't make pithy comments about the weather.

Despite all of this I let my coffee guy into my soul.

I didn't want it to happen because I knew the pain that I would endure when everything ended. Yet Coffee Guy broke me down. It might be the way he would greet me with "Good morning, boss!" on Tuesday through Friday. Nah, as much as I love being called "Boss" it was his Monday greeting that always got me.

"I made the coffee extra strong for you, boss. Mondays are a son of a bitch."

Yeah, Coffee Guy was the best. I say was because he has abandoned me. He disappeared without a trace. He has been replaced by a surly guy with a paper hat. My world has shattered.

The way I commute can probably best be described as sleepwalking. Sure, I'm completely dressed and "awake" from the minute I leave my house but in all honesty I'm not there. Not mentally. Hell, half the time I keep my eyes closed while going down the tunnel at the PATH because I know it by heart, I don't need the eyes, may as well trick my body into thinking we're back in bed.

The first time I feel really awake is when I get to my coffee stand. I chose this one because it was about two blocks from my building giving me just enough time to take a few enormous pulls on my large iced coffee which I pay two dollars for. Not $2.25 like the price says, $2 because Coffee Guy knows I never had change and he doesn't feel like making me take 3 quarters from him. Once again, Coffee Guy was the best.

Now I don't know what to do. I had to tell the new guy what I wanted, after a week Coffee Guy knew my order. New guy just threw the straw down on the counter with my drink and handed me a napkin; Coffee Guy put the straw in the coffee (leaving the top on so he doesn't touch the business end) and wrapped the napkin around the cup so that my hand doesn't get wet from condensation. New guy charges me full price, doesn't smile, didn't say thank you, and sure as shit would never call me boss.

I feel a need to go to every coffee stand in the city until I find Coffee Guy so I can beg him to come back to his old stand and make my mornings tolerable once again.

You know that scene in As Good as it Gets when Nicholson buys the fancy doctor to take care of the asthmatic kid so that Helen Hunt will go back to work? I always thought that scene was bullshit. I knew the idea was that Nicholson was doing it out of selfish reasons because he was OCD but I saw through that and knew he was going to be making a move on her eventually. No one would spend that much money, even if they were loaded, just to get their regular waitress to come back to work.

Now I get it. If Coffee Guy has been at home taking care of an asthmatic child I will cure that lil' bastard if it means that Coffee Guy returns to his stand. If Coffee Guy is in the clink I will gladly pay his bail, if he's had a falling out with the mob after betting too much at the turtle races I will pay his debt or let the mobsters break my knees instead. I will slay a fucking dragon with a nail file if the end result is Coffee Guy giving me my quarter discount on my delicious iced coffee tomorrow morning.

I know what you're thinking, you're thinking that I'm out of my mind and I should just get over it. Maybe strike up some sort of rapport with the new guy or just go to a different cart. I can't do that. I can't cheat on Coffee Guy. When it comes to coffee purveyors I'm a penguin; I mate for life, friend.

Also, if I were to strike up any sort of rapport with an asshole who wears a paper hat in public I'd kick my own ass. I have a little dignity.

Hopefully he just took the week off. If he's not there tomorrow I don't know what I'm going to do. Maybe find his new stand and start to convince my company to relocate. I'm telling you, it's worth it. The coffee is so good. . . or at least I wouldn't have to talk to a guy in a paper hat.

Move it, Zebra Ass!

I learned something about humanity this morning. Apparently people don't like it when you mutter under your breath, OK, maybe it was a bit louder than under my breath. Let me start over. People don't like it when you tell them, "Move it, Zebra Ass!" as you shove past them so as to not get run over by a bus.

This was not my fault. Zebra Ass was a heavy set woman who happened to be wearing a zebra print skirt designed for a slightly less heavy set woman. As she waddled to her destination she could not be bothered to pry her eyes off of her nook or iPad or whatever device she had that she shouldn't have been reading when walking down one of the busiest damn streets in America. From a half block away I could tell that she was going to be trouble, as could the rest of my wolfpack of commuters. I was just a split second late trying to move into a passing lane and I got stuck behind Zebra Ass.

Every day I encounter 4 or 5 people just like Zebra Ass and it is enough to drive me insane. I don't know how this happened to me but somehow I have ended up with a, gasp, job. A job that, double gasp, requires me to go to an office. An office, TRIPLE GASP, located in the financial district of New York City. I'm still utterly confused as to what exactly transpired to make this happen; last thing I remember I was stocking the "Bacchus" section at Nationwide with a tallboy of Old Style under the counter and Avail on the speakers. Now I work in the same building as Fitch Ratings. It's weird.

What's super rad though is that my commute has given me so many new kinds of people to hate. Enjoy!

After Work Sprinters: These guys only exist during my commute home. As we head to the PATH station at World Trade in a nice orderly group there is always some asshole who has to be weaving in between people, running into people and generally acting like if they don't make it onto the train right now all of the first born sons in America will drop dead. Here's the thing, the trains come every five minutes. When you miss the train you just sigh, take your turn in Words with Friends and, oh what's that? The next train is already here. There is no reason to run and act like a total ass. The only guy worse than this is the one who moves at the same super quick speed but is speed walking. It's pretentious.

Phone Addicts: Every morning I am shocked by the sheer volume of people who pull their phones out immediately after getting off of the train. The only thing more shocking is that half of these morons are so enthralled by their phones that they just stand still like their feet are stuck in the concrete. I run up the back of one of these people at least once a day. It's enough to make me think that people might need to evolve some form of brake light if we are expected to survive. Here's the really galling thing about these people, who is calling or texting at 8:15 on a Thursday? Not a single one of those calls can be even remotely important.

Slow Ricky Bobby: I have no idea why I couldn't think of a real nascar driver for this one so Ricky Bobby will have to do. These are the people who walk like they are guarding the lead in the last lap and they are already out of gas. They move insanely slowly but any time you try to pass they swoop down to block your way. They deserve to be actually run over.

Hooker Shoes: I had heard jokes about this before but I finally experienced it last week: I got to watch a very attractive woman dressed in clothes barely appropriate outside of the Diamond Club get her 3-inch heel stuck in a grate. It was hilarious. I actually didn't hate this at all. Heehee.

Tourists: I know that everyone in the world complains about the tourists in their city. I don't mind the tourists, hell, for the most part I like them more than the locals, at least none of them are Yankee fans. What I hate is that their favorite activity is standing the middle of the sidewalk 5 abreast while one of them looks at a map of the wrong city. If you are lost there are two acceptable things to do. 1. Keep going in the direction you were going and hope that maybe the world is like Dark City and your destination will eventually move so that it is in front of you. 2. Get the hell out of the way before looking at the map.

The Sandra Bullock: This one might confuse you because more often than not the Sandra Bullock is a man. I have nicknamed these as the guy who absolutely refuses to stop, kinda like the bus in Speed. These are the people that when cars are crossing the street he will walk out past everyone stopped on the corner and then maybe start walking up the street a little just so he doesn't have to come to a complete stop. These guys are morons and should be run over by steamrollers and then stomped on by the USC marching band playing "Louie Louie." (I can't believe that clip from Naked Gun isn't on YouTube, way to fail, America.)

Occupy Wall Street Urchins: Ugh. So, I walk past Trinity Church on my way to work. For those of you not in New York this is where the last dregs of Occupy Wall Street are hanging out. I hate these people so very much. I had the misfortune of walking past as one of them decided to air out their dreads as they hit me in the mouth with one of them. Politically we're on the same page.  Here's the difference between me and them; I understand that sleeping on the sidewalk next to a sign explaining why the banks are bad isn't going to change a single, solitary thing. Maybe when the movement was in full swing it brought a little bit of attention to issues the media might have otherwise ignored, but two years later all they are doing is pissing me off when I'm on my way to work. It's so stupid. Believe it or not no major change has ever come from doing nothing.

That's about it. Those are the brand new people that I hate in my new life of commuting. It's exciting. It's like Christmas every day. When I head back to work tomorrow I'm sure I'll find at least two new kinds of people to hate. Hooray!

Just like your favorite cold sore I have returned

Hey blog. April 17th was a long ass time ago. I can't believe that I have been neglectful of my pretty little blog for that long. I am the worst. Just a super quick life update and explanation then we'll move on to the hate in the next post.

Since April-ish I've been working a full-time big boy writing job. I write about politics for a lil' website called hngn.com. Actually, I have ended up writing about a heck of a lot more than just politics since I've been there. In the last week I have written about Star Wars, MLB Trade Rumors, a decapitated soccer ref, Jodi Arias having phone sex, the Texas abortion bill and Obama's love of broccoli. It's pretty fun and I actually like my job. I REALLY like my paycheck.

The bad thing about my job is that I'm spending 8+ hours a day sitting at a computer writing. When I come home I usually don't want to go right back to the computer to write a blog post even though I am often filled with rage. I normally just sit in my chair, watch Lizard Lick Towing and fall asleep with a Diet Dr. Pepper balanced precariously on my lap. I am a catch.

The point is that I have been missing my blog and I have been thinking a lot about stuff to write and always failing to do so. No more excuses, my damn fingers can deal with typing just a little bit more each day. Unless I get carpal tunnel. Then I'll get worker's comp. . . hello easy street! Just kidding, I have way more dignity than to ever say I had carpal tunnel. That's a made up illness, just like gluten allergies and Asperger's.

So, if you've made you've decided to join me back on the blog, mazel tov.

It's time to admit that our government is broken

For a while I had a little bit of hope that this country was finally getting over our gun lust. After the tragedy at Newtown it looked like we might make some sensible steps forward in order to curb the absolutely insane amount of gun violence that we experience in this country. Over the last few weeks I slowly understood that I was being foolish and naive to think such a thing was possible. 

First the most extreme parts of the bill were gotten rid of; there would be no automatic weapon ban or ban on clips with an asinine amount of ammo. Never mind the fact that there is absolutely no reason to need an automatic weapon or a magazine with 30 or more rounds other than to kill a bunch of people as quickly as possible, people feel like limiting what type of gun they can possess in any way is unconstitutional. I'll address this argument in a bit.

After getting rid of the parts of the bill that had actual teeth there was bunch of discussion and some bi partisan agreement that a bill mandating tougher background checks should be able to pass. All this bill wanted was to simply make sure that someone wasn't crazy or a known stick up man before purchasing a gun. Background checks are widely supported by the American people. When I say widely supported I mean 90% OF PEOPLE SUPPORT BACKGROUND CHECKS. If the senators and representatives actually voted in a manner that reflected the beliefs of their constituents this this bill would pass in a second, no problem. Sadly that's not the way things work. Politicians don't work for the people, they work for special interest groups and whoever will give them the most money; and the NRA gives a fuckton of money. That's how every hope I had crashed to the ground today when the gun bill was basically taken out back and shot in the head.

Saying that congress should be ashamed of themselves is an understatement. Being unable to pass a law that 9 out of 10 Americans want shows that congress doesn't give a shit about the American people. All they care about is getting re-elected or possibly getting elected to a higher office. The entire premise of American government is based on the people who are elected acting in a way that best represents what the people who put them in office want. Sadly this is just something that kids are taught in civics class and not the way that things actually work. I don't know how a person can still have any faith in this government ever doing a thing correctly. Whether it be the flat out refusal of the two parties to work together, blowhards filibustering for no reason other than to make a name for themselves or the notion that basic civil rights are still an issue that people believe is up for argument there are a myriad of reasons you can point to in order to say that government is broken. I have been frustrated with President Obama from day one for his inability to get any of the things he promised done. Now I'm starting to see that it may very well be impossible for anyone to change a single thing in Washington, that getting any meaningful bills through congress is a thing of the past. This infuriates me. It makes me want to march on the capital with a pitchfork and a torch, although then people might think I'm going after Frankenstein.

The point is that it pisses me off. And it should piss you off too. It's disgusting that our government has been taken hostage by lobbyists and people with unlimited money to throw around until they get their way. It's fucking ridiculous and unacceptable that year after year gun nuts get their way while more and more people die. The fact that they won't even allow a common sense law mandating background checks just reaffirms every suspicion I have had that the NRA doesn't give one single fuck about human life. Over and over I hear the argument that criminals will find a way to get a gun despite background checks. Sure, that might be true but why not make it as hard as possible for them to obtain that weapon? If a background check saves one life, hell, if it saves one injury it is 100% worth it. Sorry, I care about human life and think that it's a pretty precious thing and that as a nation we should do everything we can to keep our citizens alive. Yet the NRA would make me sound like a radical for thinking that.

Lastly I want to take a second to talk about the Second Amendment. I seem to view it in a radically different way than most people do. I blame my ability to read the entire amendment and not just the part I want to read to further my agenda like some people. The second amendment reads as follows: "A well regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed." Let's focus on the first part for a second, the part about the militia. Guess what? We don't have militias anymore. We have the biggest and most expensive military in the world. To me this negates the second half of the amendment. Back in the day people needed to have guns because they were expected to use those weapons to defend the country when they got called up to the militia. Now? There is no need for it. So in my mind there is no need for people to have guns. I know this is an extreme point of view but I'm sick and fucking tired of reading about shooting deaths every single day in the newspaper. If people want to own automatic weapons I'm fine with that, just sign up for the army and when you're done serve in the National Guard, today's version of a militia. Do a duty for the country and earn the privilege to own a weapon. 

Of course I understand that this will never happen, it's a pipe dream of mine. I'm the extremist, I'm the radical, I'm the one with the crazy thoughts. Don't forget that. Wanting to save lives and not live in fear is a platform that will get voted down by congress, even if 90% of the public supports it. We're broken and something needs to change, now.

The Absolute Least You Can Do

For the last couple of days I have been trying to do laundry here at my Fortress of Angertude. I know, it seems pathetic when a grown man says that he has been trying to do laundry for multiple days but the situation is a bit unique in my building. In a building of 8 units we have 1 washer and 1 dryer. That's it. So for the last couple of days whenever I have been ready to do laundry, or more importantly whenever I have remembered that I'm lacking any clean pairs of socks, the machines have been full. Grrrrrr.

I'm sure that I could take my laundry all of a few blocks away and have it done for super cheap but that requires a Herculean effort compared to shuffling no more than 15 steps from my bedroom door to the washers here. Plus I can hear when they are running so I know when I have a window to jump in. Eventually I get my turn and throw the first load in the wash with no trouble whatsoever. Above the washer the landlord has posted a sign stating; "Do not use Canadian Currency!" This cracks me up for a few reasons. First it makes me wonder if this was ever an actual issue. Was there some super cheap tenant who wanted to take advantage of the exchange rate while doing laundry? Secondly I sort of think that the sign absolves me of using any foreign currency as long as it isn't Canadian. I'm sure that I have some Hong Kong dollars, Colones or Yuan lying around that I can use next time I do the wash, maybe I'll give it a try.

After not too long I know that the washer is done and it's time to throw in the next load and throw the first load in the dryer. This is the point in our washing experience where the second sign that the landlord has posted comes into play; "Clean out the lint trap after drying!" As I am not a trusting man I decided to give it a check anyway. It was overflowing. Unless the person before was drying nothing but lint I don't see how it was possible that this came from only one load, it was as if no one ever emptied the lint trap. Ever. How frickin' lazy are people?!

Cleaning out the lint is the most minimal task I can imagine. It actually is the absolute least you can do. Since I am an anal retentive jerk insistent on proving to the world how much better I am than the unwashed masses I decided to time myself while cleaning the lint trap. In order to give people some benefit of the doubt I did not clean the lint trap quickly either, I did it as deliberately as I possibly could while sighing and acting like a snot nosed 7 year old told to clean his room. It took 9 seconds. 9 goldarned seconds. Yet I'm expected to believe that this was TOO MUCH TIME for some jerk in a hurry.

Yet every damn time I go to dry my clothes anywhere in public there is always a full lint trap waiting for me. Of all the courteous things that a person is expected to do on a daily basis this has to be the least taxing. I'd almost go as far as to say it takes more effort to not empty the lint trap. I'm sure people claim that they forgot but this is bullshit. There has never been a public dryer in the history of the world without signs reminding you to empty the lint trap, hell, a lot of dryers have them emblazoned on them. You will be reminded to clean the lint trap so often during the process of doing laundry that unless you are illiterate or the guy from Memento you are making a conscious decision not to clean it. I'm even willing to bet the Memento guy had it tattooed on his body somewhere, that's important life info.

So, come on people. Just make that tiny little bit of effort for 9 seconds and clean out the lint trap. Don't just do it for me, do it for you. Most importantly you should do it to keep from forcing me to place a live raccoon in the dryer with your clothes next time. Jackass.

Never Send Flowers

First off let's get it out of the way that taking romantic advice from me is like taking housing advice from Oscar the Grouch. Although one could make the argument that a garbage can really is the ideal place for him to live therefore he would actually be quite adroit at giving housing advice, but let's face it, he probably only knows garbage cans and who would want to live in a fucking garbage can? That being said, take the following advice with a grain of salt given my lack of expertise in the area.

NEVER SEND FLOWERS TO SOMEONE. I don't give a shit what the occasion is. Be it a birthday, an anniversary or to celebrate a successful colonoscopy sending flowers is a horrible decision. If you actually are going to visit the person feel free to bring flowers, flowers are not the issue here. It's the act of sending them from afar that I find distasteful. The thing that makes sending flowers such a catastrophe is that there are both short term and long term annoyances involved with this commendable act.

In the short term price is the principle cause of irritation. For starters every bouquet of flowers costs more than you would ever imagine possible for something inedible that will be tossed aside within a fortnight. Once you have recovered from this shock you will settle on the second cheapest bouquet available, since you are ordering from a website one could easily check up on you so you don't want to get the cheapest because you are classier than that. It is at this stage that you learn that the price originally quoted represents roughly 14% of what you will be spending.

• Want a little card so the recipient knows who the flowers are from? 5 bucks.
• Would you like some sort of receptacle for the flowers to sit in? Options ranging from 5 to 30 bucks.
• Do you assume the recipient already owns a flower receptacle? Too bad. You are forced into purchasing one of the above options.
• Would you like to throw in something else with the flowers? Maybe candy or fruit or your firstborn? 10 bucks to priceless.
• Would you like the flowers to arrive within a week? 15 bucks.
• Would you like the flowers to arrive within 2-3 days? 25 bucks.
• Did you really fuck up and need them there posthaste? 40 bucks.

It's insane how many options there are. If I am forced to buy a flower receptacle can't that be quoted in the original price? I have no other option, same with the delivery. I'm not the cheapest guy in the world but I ain't exactly made of money. If I am sending flowers in the first place it's a pretty big deal so how about we be upfront with the cost. The way it is now I feel like Kobayashi after 40 or so hot dogs. I'm already committed so I can't go back, yet every additional dog I have to shove in my face is more painful than the last. Yet plod along we do and eventually the flowers are sent. Usually they arrive with great fanfare and all of the effort seems worth it.

Until the emails start coming in. I have sent flowers using both FTD and ProFlowers. I fled to ProFlowers after the horror that was FTD only to learn that I wasn't fleeing the horror at all, I was doubling down. You see, once they have your contact info they like to remind you to buy more flowers. Apparently I need to be reminded to buy flowers on an hourly basis. Even porn websites that I may or may not have perused spam me with less regularity. The regularity of the spamming is a little offputting, the specificity of the spam is damn right creepy. These emails make, how should I put this, assumptions. What they like to do is take the name of whoever you last sent flowers to and incorporate it in to the advertisement. So when you have recently broken up with someone and get an email telling you, "Don't you think that Hildegard deserves flowers this President's Day?" I find myself yelling, "Fuck no she doesn't!" at the computer. While such an email serves as pouring salt into a fresh wound it isn't something that you can't get over soon enough. It's an email I received in the run up to Valentine's Day that caused me the most distress;

"Do you want to guarantee yourself a hot and steamy Valentine's Day? Don't waste time and send a bouquet along with some mood enhancing chocolates to Martha today!"

Martha is my mother.

They could make a real killing if they offered an option for years of therapy with the price options after that doozy.

I must shower before this goes any farther

Showers. At their worst they are an essential part of life that you can plow through with minimal effort. Sure, there are times that I don't want to take a shower but I know that the world appreciates the days that I don't smell like a water buffalo carcass in mid July, so I jump in and wash myself quickly and ten minutes later I'm good to go.

That was the worst case scenario, when you are craving ten more minutes of sleep instead of showering. Yet when showers are at their best they are exquisite. When I'm suffering from one of my all too common hangovers few things in this world are as wonderful as resting with my head against the wall as water that is one half degree cooler than scalding slides down my back. The entire room fills with steam and each time I inhale I can actually feel the steam cleansing my brain of all the pesky headache causing hangover demons. In moments like this I believe that heaven is real and I must be there. Yeah, I like showers that much.

Sadly that is something I may never experience again. Well, at least I won't experience it for a damn long time. You see, my shower sucks ass. It is awful. It is not the worst shower on Earth, I'm sure, but it is far below what I would consider "acceptable." The awfulness of the shower is deceiving in a way. From all outward appearances it looks fine. The water pressure is more than sufficient. The shower is more than large enough. When you first turn it on it's pretty warm so you figure that in a few seconds the water will get hot and it'll be business time.

Nope. The water never gets hot. Ever. It starts out warm and never gets beyond that. I swear that the fucker is programmed to get to about 3 degrees below where it should be just to taunt me. If there was no hot water at all I could accept it. I would be unhappy but at least the shower wouldn't be toying with my fragile emotions. I've gotten in a fight with a shower before,* I'm certainly not above doing so again. Then to make matters worse the warm water doesn't last very long. You have to jump in and get your business done right quick unless you want to finish up in arctic water.

This all could have been prevented so easily, people should be encouraged to take showers when they are touring apartments. Seriously. Showers are a pretty serious part of a person's daily routine. A great shower can be just what the doctor ordered to kick you in the ass and get you going in the morning, a horrible shower forces you to start the day on the wrong foot. I should totally be able to throw my clothes to the floor and test out the shower before I sign anything. Yet I'm pretty sure every real estate agent or potential roommate would be so skeezed out by this that I would never be able to land an apartment. I just need to know if my needs are going to be met. Otherwise I'll be forced to adapt a routine where I rush through my showers cleaning only the essentials as I day dream about the next time I'm going to be in a hotel with unlimited amounts of scalding water. That's a sad existence, friends.

It's only through trying the shower first hand that I will know if it meets my lofty standards. Everyone wants something else out of their shower experience, I can't trust the word of others if I don't have a full understand of what they expect out of a shower.If I knew that the shower in this place was going to mind fuck me every morning into thinking it will reach hotness only to crush my hopes day after day I might not have lived here after all.** If only I had not been afraid of making a social faux pas when I first saw my place, if only I hadn't assumed that the shower would be as glorious as the one I had left behind in Chicago, if only. . .  Asking these questions only makes the pain worse. Please don't resign yourself to a lifetime of unhappy showers, be bolder than I was. So, next time you are apartment shopping just ask if you can try the shower out, maybe you can avoid making the mistake that I have.


*Back in college I was dating a broad who had a stopped up shower. For some reason she thought I would be capable of fixing it. So as a buddy and I tried to snake the drain we consumed mass amounts of Icehouse and Jameson. At a moment of frustration I just started screaming and punching the drain. I'm pretty sure I won the fight.

** This is total bullshit. My apartment is awesome. And affordable. And my roommate is totally rad. The only thing that would make her cooler was if she was willing to let me live here for free. I can deal with the bad showers, this place rules, but I needed to make a strong point, even if I completely negate the point in a footnote.