Live in the now!!!

Once, I was vacation with my then boyfriend and his family. Lovely people. We took a break from the beach and went to town to get some subs (hoagies, grinders, heroes, shut up.). Once arriving at Subway, I'd soon realized that these baby boomers had never been to a Subway chain. Really? Honestly.

They stood there, mouth agape at all the choices available. They spent about 15 minutes discussing the merits of splitting a footlong, since they both like turkey, but maybe you should get the meatball and I'll have a bite and then you can have some of the turkey oh but wait you don't like peppers can they do half peppers?

Soon after, I researched flame throwers online.

But, let's face it. They live outside of the city, cook most of their meals at home and were brought up in a "going out to eat is a special occasion" family. Gotta give them some slack.

However.

The person to whom I am not offering slack is the New Yorker who doesn't know the ordering system at Starbucks.

Tall. Grande. Venti. Hell, I'll take Small, Medium and Large.

But don't give me "what sizes do you have" bullshit or the "can I get a big coffee" or the "oh wait - do you have anything that's not too strong?" or "do you have anything smaller"?"

Or..."Can I get a GRANDEE?"

Fuck you. You live here. Since you made the decision to emerge from your bomb shelter, why not do a little research before coming to the busiest, angriest breakfast spot in the city?

And don't give me the "I'm not a regular" excuse. You go to a foreign country, you learn the languange. You live in the city, you learn the code. Grab a coffee-to-english dictionary or fucking step to the side while I order.

Overheard in the DR

Also Doesn't Know: Scotch Tape, Sharpie...

From OverheardInNewYork.com.

Guy: Do you carry Frisbees?
Duane Reade lady: What's a Frisbee? --Duane Reade, 89th and Columbus

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Blank Stare Bingo

I love blank stares. I think they're always good for a snicker and require no effort. They're especially wonderful in a food service environment.

Guy and Gallard Cafe has a new online service where you go onto their site, order some food, go pick it up or have it delivered. Nice.

Last week, I decided to (as greek dad says) "take the whirl." I ordered their Spicy Thai Chicken Salad. First of all, why they chose to name their salad "Spicy Thai" when ingredients included CORN, AVOCADO, CARROTS and BBQ CHICKEN is beyond me....but I digress. Ok fuck digression: it's not Thai, it's not Asian, it's not even foreign! It doesn't require a passport! It's Southwestern, kids! Not even well-executed...mr. add carrots! Don't make me call Bobby Flay on your ass.

Anyway...I ordered the salad, waited 15 minutes and headed up to the G&G.

Here's the tricky part: there are two G&Gs on Park Ave. I had ordered my salad to be picked up at G&G#1. G&G#2 is across the street.

G&G#1 had no record of my order. I behaved. I swear. I said "ok, must've been a mistake. I'll go across the street."

G&G#2 had my salad. Terrific. I put the taser away.

I thought I'd be a friendly customer and say kindly to the Young Man With Snazzy Hair Net: "You know, I'd ordered on your web site and chose to pick up my food at G&G1, but it's over here. I just wanted you to know in case some one else has the same problem."

::BLANK STARE::

I say again "Well, I just wanted to tell you guys, in case more customers are coming in with the same confusion."

YMWSHN: "But the food is here."

"Yes," I valiantly continue. "I'm just telling you guys in case there are other people who don't know which place has their food."

::BLANK STARE::

YMWSHN: "...you have your food."

"Got it. Yes. There is no problem with my food. I'm just saying - you know what? Nevermind. Nevermind. All set. Ok."

YMWSHN: "Where's your credit card?"

"No, see, I was going to pay in cash. Online there's an option to pay with cash."

::BLANK STARE::

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Lying Liars at Duane Reade

I fucking hate being a hostage to Duane Reade. I hate that they’re constantly rearranging the store. I hate that they have 13 Going on 30 prominently displayed next to the cash register for no reason other than to tempt me (Private to DR management: Price it at $5, and you’ve got a deal.). I hate that when there are three people in line in front of me, I know I’m going to be waiting no less than 15 minutes. I hate that when you drop off a prescription, they tell you to come back later in the day to pick it up, and when you do, you’re informed that they don’t carry that medication. WHY CAN’T YOU TELL ME THAT WHEN I DROP IT OFF IN THE MORNING? Why Duane Reade? Do you get off on wasting my time? Do you, faceless cashiers, enjoy taunting me and then blankly staring back at me when I get pissed like I’m the asshole?

While the above prescription story is true, it was a while ago, and my anger has mellowed to a low level boil at this point. Other indignities have followed. For example, not 15 minutes ago I walked into the store to purchase eye drops and deodorant. I had a $5 rebate thing that I got for using their “club card” (Why can’t you just give everyone the same discounts? Why must I hand over my phone number and e-mail address to get a quarter off a toothbrush? Stop wondering! That way lies madness…). I did not, however, have the club card on me. I stopped at the counter and asked if I could still use the rebate. I was greeted with (surprise!) a blank stare. It was endless. After a solid 20 seconds passed, I was beginning to think I was being either crazy or unreasonable. Irritation level: Purple (equivalent to a phone conversation with my mother that goes on ten minutes too long). Finally the cashier says, and this is a direct quote, “Yes.” Irritation level: mauve (Mom buys me lunch). So I’m off to pick up my purchases and return to the line. That same line. One person in front of me is buying cigarettes with his girlfriend. Turns out girlfriend thinks the cigarettes will be cheaper at the airport because apparently airports have all the best discounts. I’ll remember that the next time I pay $8.37 for a gin and tonic at La Guardia. Does this guy say, “Fuck off, I want a cigarette now, so I’m buying them here, and by nagging me about this now, you’re holding up the line.” Of course not! Instead they debate the issue.

BF: Are you sure?
GF: Positive.
BF: Really? Cause I really need some smokes, and I’m gonna be pissed if they’re more.
GF: What are you gonna do? Break up with me?
BF: Maybe.

Needless to say, I hate them both. I have no idea if he ended up buying them or not. I was too busy praying for a piano to fall out of the sky and land on my head. Irritation level: burgundy (Mom wants to know when I’m going to have a baby.).

And then I’m finally, finally, FINALLY at the front of the line with the original cashier. I try to pay for my stuff with my rebate and am told (surely you’ve guessed this by now) that I need the club card to use it. Irritation level: neon green (Mom gives the son of one of her friends my phone number.). I asked why she had told me otherwise when I first entered the store, but it was already a lost cause. I stormed out without eye drops or deodorant. I probably could have just paid for them, but I was mid-storm out when I realized that, which means I’ll have to go back later today.

And I was so happy about that rebate when I got it. I knew those douchebags would find a way to ruin that for me too. Congratulations Duane Reade. You win again.

Overheard in the DR

From OverheardInNewYork.com.

It's Short for Wigfield

Duane Reade cashier: Hey! Hey, security! What's your name?
Duane Reade security: Huh?
Dunae Reade cashier: Your name, fool! What's your name?
Duane Reade security: Wiggy.
Duane Reade cashier: What?
Duane Reade security: Wiggy. W-I-G-G-Y. That's not my government name though. --Duane Reade, Broadway & Canal

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Why I Hate You...

First in a series, this award goes out to a special customer who's irritated us enough to bring commuter sweats to a boil.


Why I Hate You...Networking Starbucks Customer

Yes "Ted," we see you. You've got the attention you'd asked for. We see you as you loudly proclaim your need for a quad latte because you only need 2-3 hours sleep MAX. We stand in awe before you when you turn to us behind you with a wink and assert that you need your "fix." We bow down to the ballsitude you show when you squeeze your self into that corner and reach into the forbidden barista zone, just to grab your own lid.

However, we will NOT be checking out your new gym around the corner that "blows the big boys out of the water." We do NOT want to watch you shake hands with every barista:

"HiI'mTedandyournameis"

"Hihowareyoui'mtedhowlonghaveyoubeenhere?"

"Hehyousureknowhowtoworkthatsteamerdon'thurtyourselfnow"

Please stop promising them skin care products from your girlfriend's job...unless you actually show up with the stuff and give us some.

Sir, it's 7:45 in the am. I shouldn't even be out of bed. I shouldn't be sober. Please don't network with the baristas. They don't care about your gym, your squat weight, nor your penchant for 'extra room.' They just want your free shit and their free coffee.

Ted, that's it.
I hate you.

One Line Versus Three?

Heart is racing.
Palms sweating.
Vein in forehead twitching.

Prepping for the big game? Nervous about an interview?

No, fucker, I'm buying tampons at Duane Reade.

So what's the big deal, right? You go in, you find your item, you stand in line, pay the cashier and you're done. No my friend. There's something I like to call the "are you in line?" shuffle.

You know what I'm talking about: there are helpless idiots, drooling on the linoleum, trying to figure out where the checkout line is and why no one is moving. "Are you in line?" "Yep" "Well, which one?" "There's only one line." "But the sign says 'form one line at each register'." ::blank stare::

So, I'm posing the question: Which is better: One long line down the cereal aisle or multiple lines are each register?