Triple grande caramel mocha with a shot of self-esteem, please.

While passing out cups of java joy, I couldn’t help but notice you keep conversations brief and cordial for most customers – respecting their morning zombie-like haze. Yet, day after day you have delivered a shot of insults with my beverage. I don’t seem to recall asking for a tall-half-caf- vanilla-make-fun-of-my-hair- latte. Nor did I ask for a grande-criticize-my-outfit-mocha. What did I ever do to you mister Starbucks man. I apologize if I somehow managed to offend you with my order, but I find your vicious attacks are very unnecessary.

I’m willing to let a few insensitive comments pass before 7 a.m., but I must draw the line. Consider today your warning… the line has been drawn. Next time you stand there with your graying hair and expanding beer belly, be careful as you inform me that I that I look very old – old enough to be your mother. I also suggest that you choose your words wisely when telling me I would be lucky if I could ever find a boyfriend, and nobody would marry me. Once you hand over that cup, you’ve fueled a beast and I warn you – there’s no turning back. I can, and I will go Arabian Mocha Java on you, sir.

My sarcasm is typically intended for good humor, however you’re playing with fire. I’m fully prepared to unleash a flurry of hurtful jabs in your direction – Ralphie and Scutt Farcus style. So hand over that cup, and nobody will get hurt. One more poorly chosen line from you and I’ll show you why there is in fact a reason to cry over spilled milk.

One Mississippi, two Mississippi…

Oh mother dearest – please don’t worry about controlling that 3 foot beast running down the condiment isle. Seeing that you forgot to grab the child leash so charmingly disguised as a monkey, I’m sure you are feeling just a bit overwhelmed. After all, how does one expect a mother to manage a shopping cart and child without a Labrador-like restraining device? And yes, the high pitched screaming and tantrum throwing is perfectly acceptable considering the circumstances.

So, don’t mind us as we reach around your precious angel for a jar of Vlasic bread and butter chips. And as for the minor traffic jam your “little peanut” has created at the intersection of juice and crackers – no worries. We didn’t really have anything else to do today. We’ll just wait until you and all of the other parents finish counting to three before we scope out the Chex Mix inventory. That’s when something magical happens, right? Thank goodness you were bestowed the gift of counting to three slowly enough to create the illusion that your little terror mysteriously saw the light and adopted a socially acceptable demeanor.

If you would like, I’m happy to join in on the counting next time. Because let’s be realistic… we’re going to share this experience again once we hit the cookie isle. And as friendly warning, I may not be as patient if your little sweetie pie comes between me and the Double Stuff.

Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right – here I am.

Life is full of difficult decisions, and you often find yourself having to pick the lesser of two evils. Not out of laziness or lack of interest – but purely because all options simply suck. For example… you board the bus at 6 a.m. only to find that you’ve stepped into a chamber of bacteria, oozing out of parkas and wool mittens. You quickly assess the situation, hoping a golden beam of light will illuminate an open seat surrounded by sunshine, daisies, and a babbling brook. Instead, the flickering lights reveal your grim options of slush covered seats.

15 seconds to choose a bus mate… who do you go with? The man with the rattling phlegm filled hack? The woman that has already sneezed 5 times and is yet to cover her spray of snot? What about the lady you thought was safe last time, but turned out to be a flatulent culprit? Or, do you take your chances with the personal bubble invader, and hope she stays within her defined portion of the seat?

Of course, the bubble invader is the least offensive to the senses. So, congratulations Mrs. Space Invader. While your elbow and leg was rhythmically bouncing against mine through the entire ride, and you cracked open a bag of Doritos for a crunchy, (very crunchy), early morning snack… you have proven to be the least offensive person on the bus this morning. Take pride in this achievement. Walk into work - head held high as you welcome your coworkers with your recognizably Doritos aroma, knowing that even at your extra cheesiest, you were in fact chosen as the lesser of this morning’s evils.