OCD at the Local Coffeeshop
What is wrong with people?
I just went to go get coffee and an egg sandwich from my favorite coffee shop around the corner. I had been walking Chico, and decided to carry him in with me while I made my order.
Before I even got into the shop (or even picked him up to carry him in there) some asswipe started making huge barking noises directed at Chico from his car. Many of you know that Chico is a little min pin; a hearty, fat bastard, but a little dog nevertheless.
Chico flinched, already freaked out by the pit bulls in our neighborhood (that is a whole other rant). It was easy to see that the sounds this guy was making were having deleterious effects on my Mouse. The asswipe did it again.
"Hey!" I shouted, "I bet if he was a pit bull and you weren't in your car with the doors locked, you wouldn't be fucking with him, would you? Why don't you go fuck yourself, you stupid prick?"
Perhaps not the most intelligent or mature response to the situation, but it got the desired effect. He looked at me wide-eyed, shut his mouth, and as the light turned green, sped off. I don't take kindly to people terrorizing my dog or any of my other animals, and I will happily puncture someone's artery in their defense. Verbally or otherwise.
So that leads me to the beginning of my rant...I picked up Mssr. ChicoMouse, Esq., and headed into the shop, the idea of coffee and eggs on a roll quite appealing.
I gave my order to people who already know what I want (I know these folks; I sent flowers when the owner's husband passed away) and since there was nobody in there except for a man and his little girl (who didn't like that I'd told the guy in the car to bugger with such delicate syntax) I sat down on a chair next to the door with my little dog in my lap.
In walks a man - and he's one of those people that you can tell something's not quite right: he was fondled by his Scoutmaster and later realized he enjoyed it; his Dad dropped him on purpose during a game of "upsy-daisy"; or somebody accidently gave him a partial, yet unsuccessful, lobotomy when he actually went in for a hernia operation - I don't know. All I know is, is that this guy went from being a neurotic coffee monger to a MAJOR pain in my ass in .2 seconds.
"You shouldn't have that dog in here," he sniffs, wagging his finger at me. I wanted to break it off.
"Sir," See? I was being polite. "Sir, I made an order. I'm sitting with him on my lap waiting for the order. People bring their dogs everywhere."
He wasn't having it. He tightened his asshole and replied:
"This is an eating establishment. It's against the law to bring that dog in here. You could be fined, they could be fined. What with all the hair and bacteria particles and..."
And he kept going.
I sighed loudly.
"So in other words, the fact that the doors to the street are wide open and it's almost like we're sitting outside, and that I can spit and hit a place that I can bring my dog into, all the bacteria is here, right now, because I brought my dog in here?"
He went on about it again.
"So I'm to believe that you bathed him, groomed him, and didn't let him walk on the street before you brought him in here? Because otherwise he has tons of bacteria and filth on him."
I had it. I picked Chico up, stood up, and started to walk outside to wait for my coffee and food. I didn't want this freak to cause a problem for the coffeeshop.
"Sir, I understand - in fact, we all understand - that you have OCD and an unhealthy pre-occupation with germs - in particular, my dog's germs. So, I'm assuming that YOU showered already? That you are groomed? Did you change your underwear? Did you let your feet touch the ground before you walked in? Because those are all deal-breakers right there."
I was starting to get worked up.
"Because I'll tell you - I just woke up, I haven't showered yet. I didn't even brush my hair. Next thing you'll tell me is that I can't come in here, you obsessive-compulsive freak."
The shop was silent.
Johnny, the cook, bagged up my coffee and egg sandwich.
"Here you go. Pay me later, eh?"
In other words: Please don't kill the customers. They really aren't as weird as you are.
I just went to go get coffee and an egg sandwich from my favorite coffee shop around the corner. I had been walking Chico, and decided to carry him in with me while I made my order.
Before I even got into the shop (or even picked him up to carry him in there) some asswipe started making huge barking noises directed at Chico from his car. Many of you know that Chico is a little min pin; a hearty, fat bastard, but a little dog nevertheless.
Chico flinched, already freaked out by the pit bulls in our neighborhood (that is a whole other rant). It was easy to see that the sounds this guy was making were having deleterious effects on my Mouse. The asswipe did it again.
"Hey!" I shouted, "I bet if he was a pit bull and you weren't in your car with the doors locked, you wouldn't be fucking with him, would you? Why don't you go fuck yourself, you stupid prick?"
Perhaps not the most intelligent or mature response to the situation, but it got the desired effect. He looked at me wide-eyed, shut his mouth, and as the light turned green, sped off. I don't take kindly to people terrorizing my dog or any of my other animals, and I will happily puncture someone's artery in their defense. Verbally or otherwise.
So that leads me to the beginning of my rant...I picked up Mssr. ChicoMouse, Esq., and headed into the shop, the idea of coffee and eggs on a roll quite appealing.
I gave my order to people who already know what I want (I know these folks; I sent flowers when the owner's husband passed away) and since there was nobody in there except for a man and his little girl (who didn't like that I'd told the guy in the car to bugger with such delicate syntax) I sat down on a chair next to the door with my little dog in my lap.
In walks a man - and he's one of those people that you can tell something's not quite right: he was fondled by his Scoutmaster and later realized he enjoyed it; his Dad dropped him on purpose during a game of "upsy-daisy"; or somebody accidently gave him a partial, yet unsuccessful, lobotomy when he actually went in for a hernia operation - I don't know. All I know is, is that this guy went from being a neurotic coffee monger to a MAJOR pain in my ass in .2 seconds.
"You shouldn't have that dog in here," he sniffs, wagging his finger at me. I wanted to break it off.
"Sir," See? I was being polite. "Sir, I made an order. I'm sitting with him on my lap waiting for the order. People bring their dogs everywhere."
He wasn't having it. He tightened his asshole and replied:
"This is an eating establishment. It's against the law to bring that dog in here. You could be fined, they could be fined. What with all the hair and bacteria particles and..."
And he kept going.
I sighed loudly.
"So in other words, the fact that the doors to the street are wide open and it's almost like we're sitting outside, and that I can spit and hit a place that I can bring my dog into, all the bacteria is here, right now, because I brought my dog in here?"
He went on about it again.
"So I'm to believe that you bathed him, groomed him, and didn't let him walk on the street before you brought him in here? Because otherwise he has tons of bacteria and filth on him."
I had it. I picked Chico up, stood up, and started to walk outside to wait for my coffee and food. I didn't want this freak to cause a problem for the coffeeshop.
"Sir, I understand - in fact, we all understand - that you have OCD and an unhealthy pre-occupation with germs - in particular, my dog's germs. So, I'm assuming that YOU showered already? That you are groomed? Did you change your underwear? Did you let your feet touch the ground before you walked in? Because those are all deal-breakers right there."
I was starting to get worked up.
"Because I'll tell you - I just woke up, I haven't showered yet. I didn't even brush my hair. Next thing you'll tell me is that I can't come in here, you obsessive-compulsive freak."
The shop was silent.
Johnny, the cook, bagged up my coffee and egg sandwich.
"Here you go. Pay me later, eh?"
In other words: Please don't kill the customers. They really aren't as weird as you are.
posted by Billychicat 9:46 AM
2 Comments:
Even as a little snot-sucker at the tender age of 6, I knew that germs were never quite as bad as they let on or build them up to be. I thank my lucky stars for having a mother(and being from somewhat, at times, a poor family)who taught me through self-demonstration, that the "5-second rule" applied with most food. Sometimes, even the "30 minute rule" would apply.
Yes....Ladies and Germs, I'm a fucking troll. I was taught that wonderful "Waste not, want not" thing, also known as "better pick it up off the floor, 'cause y'aint gettin' another helpin'".
My mother was the first one(other than a wonderful science teacher in middle school I had) who taught me that there are literally TONS more bacteria, germs and God only knows what, in the air we breathe and the water we drink, than there could ever be on a dog or cat or on the ground(which by the way, would probably be much safer to eat off of than a fucking table at Burger King or Micky-D's wiped down with a disgusting rag!).
Yes. What the fuck IS wrong with people? Simply and plainly....ignorance, taught through generations. You know.......like most ignorance is learned.
Ultra kudos to you my loveliest of the lovely, for holding your ground.
....and another thing....
Chico is CLEANER than that asshead could ever HOPE to be!
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