cafe, gripe, snark, mild scatology/tmi
There is a man at one of the tables with a headset, conducting lengthy phone calls about real estate at the top of his lungs, and it feels like the cafe has become haunted by a Rich White Male Entitlement Elemental.
I want so badly to just, like, move to the table immediately next to him and whip out a kazoo or start beatboxing or something, just loud enough that his clients can hear me. Or maybe eat another six or seven sausage biscuits and just go over and flatulate shamelessly at him.
re: cafe, gripe, snark, mild scatology/tmi
Everything this shithead says reeks of sleazy careerist hustle, it's giving me flashbacks to the financial-sector pricks I used to transcribe when I lived in Boston, and if you don't hear from me for a couple days, it's because I gave the POS the Space Rabies and am under observation in some CDC clinic somewhere. Take care of each other while I'm gone--no crummy human lvl 5 biolab can hold me.
