Archive for October, 2013

October 12, 2013

Decaffeinated Rage

Nothing bothers me more than not being able to grind coffee beans and let them meddle with steamy water, and permeate the entirety of my home with their luscious aroma. Not having any sort of electrical functioning power tends to be one of the few things that will get in my way from taking part in this ritual. However, the person in front of me in line who takes the last Hearty Veggie & Brown Rice Salad Bowl bothers me even more than not taking part in my obsessive-compulsive-I’m-an-addict routine.

That part about the lack of electricity is true. I lacked proper power in order to create my own brew that gives me mental power. What happens when I lack proper caffeinating? It’s not pretty.

All that was on my mind were two things when I stepped out of my SUV into the sunlight: I need coffee. I need veggies. Now. Just as I was approximately two-feet and three-inches away from the glistening doors that beckoned me with delectable aromas, happiness, and pleasure, a couple cut in front of me and opened the doors, and stepped into line. This irked me.

Now standing in line in the crack house, I scanned the cold section sitting beneath the case filled with artery clogging, diabetes inducing pastries, and spotted the very last Hearty Veggie & Brown Rice Salad Bowl. I not just wanted it, but needed it.

The couple in front of me continued to chatter animatedly, which only made my pre-coffee self more agitated. Silence before coffee, please. But the sole thing that kept me from shoving my ipad down the chatty female’s esophagus was the Hearty Veggie & Brown Rice Salad Bowl.

And that’s when she took it. The woman with ebony witch hair took the key to my happiness like it was nothing but lunch. It was more than lunch, lady. It was the key to my ultimate happiness and not murdering you in front of all these people and coffee beans.

Angrily I ordered my iced Grande, hazelnut, soy coffee. As I stepped into line behind the infuriating couple, I glared into the back of the witch’s head, hoping that maybe my thoughts would sear the back of her skull. However, she did not lose any hair or apparent physical damage. I was disappointed. All I could think about was grasping her by her ponytail and slamming her into the glistening doors.

My name was called. Sticking an iconic green straw into my precious brew, I sipped. And sipped. And slowly my anger for the Hearty Veggie & Brown Rice Salad Bowl thief dissipated. The coffee was good. Sweet. Mellow. Perfect.

This is why decaffeinated rage is a very dangerous thing. Witches with ebony hair may end up murdered in every Starbucks across the nation.

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