That Time I Ruined Martin Scorsese's Night:


We're currently experiencing second summer, just in time for me to be in the mood for knit things, cocoa, fall foliage and Sam's Octoberfest. I suppose it would be worse to have a surprise February throwing a wrench in things though. Grey slush, raw cold and a general feeling of helplessness against the elements. I'll take 80 degrees over that any day.
I got a long overdue dose of sunshine and fresh air Saturday exploring Borderland state park with Gwen.
Armed with cameras we set out into the woods, unfortunately having the same idea as the rest of the suburban south shore. When I venture into the woods I want to at least pretend I'm having a brief "moment with nature".  As opposed to becoming an unwilling spectator in a petty couples argument:

"Do you ever notice that you'll ask me a question, but if I don't give you the answer you want YOU JUST KEEP ON ASKING IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN? DO YOOOU!?"

FUCK I just want to take pictures of leaves and mushrooms. Get off my path.
 Anyway, we managed to find some decent fall scenery whilst trudging through the mud being eaten alive by mosquitoes:




Also, remember that movie Shutter Island? The scene of the cabin on the lake, that was filmed here. Kind of a big deal. Not really though.


I remember when they were in the area filming these scenes. I was working at Starbucks at the time. There's kind of a stereotype regarding Starbucks baristas, I think. Snooty, condescending eye-rollers in green aprons, pissed about having to hide their various non-standard hipster piercings with bandaid bits. Well, it's not entirely without basis. You see when I worked there my coworkers and I dealt with many snobbish, impossibly anal people on a daily basis. I think it just rubs off on you after a while. You learn to fight back with the same techniques. And others.
Secret decaffinization.
Substituting half & half in the skinny bitches skinny latte.
And for the greatest offenders, the Everything Latte.
Which I'm pretty sure was a #7726 original, born from extreme boredom and people bonding over not taking their jobs very seriously.  It literally had everything in it. One pump of every syrup, one spoonful of every powder we had available to us.  It tasted like the medicine that used to make you cry as a child.

  One night I was working with my dear friend who's name I will not offer up, but feel free to guess.  We were three minutes away from the perfect close: Everything is clean, put away, and when the clock hits 9:30 we immediately punch out as the drawers are pre-counted, and make a race out of getting out and locking the door after arming the security system.  I believe my all time record as a supervisor was 9:31.  I don't think anyone has ever beat that to this day. I'm REALLY serious when it comes to leaving work.

  Anyway, as we begin to each put one foot through the blazing light at the end of the tunnel, a giant black Escalade (of course) pulls up.  This is where emergency plan B goes into effect. This last-ditch effort consists of bolting like you mean it to the back room while staying low behind the espresso machines, turning off the music and waiting silently. Watching the intruder on the security cameras from your secret hiding spot, you pray and hope with every fiber of your being that they give up and retreat back to where they came from because you have already dumped every last ounce of coffee anyway. Sometimes this worked, sometimes it did not.  This night it did not.

The time limit before the hiding game started to feel kind of ridiculous was approximately one minute.  This bitch was standing her ground and we trudged out to the floor, heavy hearted with feigned "OH HI!"'s and "Sorry about that!"'s. "How can I help you?"'s, barely audible through the sound of two sets of violently grinding teeth.

At this point, "This Bitch" (this is her birth name as far as either of us were concerned) throws us a giant peroxide smile and a ten foot drink list.
"Thank GOD you're open!!!! I TOTALLY just made it, didn't I AhahHa!!!"

 This Bitch demanded something like as follows:
3 non-fat skinny vanilla lattes
1 non-fat skinny caramel latte, on the dry side
2 non-fat skinny caramel lattes no foam
1 non-fat dry cappuccino
2 non-fat wet cappuccinos
1 coffee frappuccino light, 3/4 pump vanilla
2 non-fat mocha lattes
3 non-fat caramel macciatos
1 non-fat caramel macciato, decaf
2x decaf mocha frappuccino light, less ice on one....
and so on, and so on...
This Bitch just undid hours of work and careful preparation for a timely escape and then had the nerve to LOL in our faces about it.

We already had our trigger fingers ready to go on the heavy cream. We were a whirling dervish of revenge and it spiraled out of control.  What we passed over the bar that night was the coffee equivalent of making someone bite the curb.  I forget exactly how many out of the list became everything lattes.  I believe there were a few. 

I would have felt a tiny tinge of guilt, normally.  Almost undetectable, but I'm sure I might have if it were not for the fact that despite all of this, and making multiple trips to help her bring this nonsense back to her monster SUV, she did not tip us AAANNNYYYTHING.
(Obviously before she knew what we had done. So she totally should have tipped us. No excuses).

And it is during this last trip to the car that she casually informs me that she is an assistant for the movie crew in town.  That movie with Leonardo DiCaprio and Michelle Williams.  Directed by Martin Scorsese.
This would explain all of the non-fat nonsense.

Upon this knowledge, my dear friend and I were beside ourselves, collapsing on the floor in the back room in fits of hysteric laughter. I believe I recall fist-pumping of some sort.
Hollywood. We sure showed them.

Upon posting this I do realize that I will probably never be eligible for re-employment at Starbucks, but I'm pretty sure I'm ok with that.  More importantly, I wanted to let the world know that I made Martin Scorsese an everything latte.

(Mr. Scorsese, if you're reading this I'm sorry. But it's funny now, right? - Love, Jackie)

No comments:

Post a Comment