electrons wrote:I will start by writing that I am relatively drunk. Ok.
My father called me yesterday and asked if I could help him with a computer problem at his office. Being an elementary school "technology coordinator", I figured I could at least look into it. Basically, when I got there (chicago burbs), I found out that the Zip drive that he backs up all his daily data with had a jammed up USB cord and bent pins in the connection. But, to be safe, I called around to find a local computer store and brought it in.
There was a 40 year old dude and a 19 year old kid who worked there, the 19 year old helped me. He screwed around with a pair of plyers and tried to pull the pins back in place and repeatedly plugged the device into one of the many PCs in the store, trying to see if it recognized it. Literally every time he was about to plug it in he would pause and give me a look and say something like, "keep your fingers crossed" of "I really hope this works" as if he were a orthopedic surgeon or a demolition expert under severe pressure. It was so sincere it made me completely uncomfortable, cause I was ready to just buy a new Zip drive and move on with my life, but he eventually convinced me to "really want it to work" as well.
Anyway, after about 10 minutes of fiddling with it, he did get it to work. 40 yr old boss guy was asked how much it would cost for such labor and a new USB cable. Yaddah yaddah yaddah, he asks for 10 bucks. I explain that I have to pay with a card cause I had no cash, unless he could wait till I went to the bank first. He responds with: "There is a Starbucks next to the bank. Get us each a coffee and we'll call it a day." I agree.
Now, I don't really drink coffee, and I've been to Starbucks probably 4 times in my life, so I have him write the order because I don't understand him.
Venti Black Guy (I swear to God that is what he wrote and was correct)
Caramel Moccaciato
I go to the bank, get to Starbucks...there is a 50 something dude behind the register, and 2 young women from Ireland that are baristas. I hand him the paper and decide to get myself an Iced Decaf. He looks at me. "Iced decaf what?" I am stunned. "Coffee," I explain. He is completely perplexed. "We don't have just iced decaf coffee." At this point I realize that I am so far out of my element that I should just fucking retreat and give the computer guy 10 bucks and run and hide. But I muster: "Latte?" He scoffs, plinks at the register, and orders the Irish girls to make a decaf latte, and "should probably add some whiskey" in a tone that doesn't sit with me well at all. I promply put $.08 in his tip jar, grab my foreign beverages, and go to collect my Zip drive.
I return to my dad's office, grab the device, cables, and (whiskey?) latte, fumbling to remotely lock my car, and clumsily drop the Zip drive to the pavement. Fucking of course. I snap what I can back together, bring it in, get it to sort of work, and explain to my dad that within a week or two, he should invest in an external hard drive. I go to Johnny's Beef on Arlington Heights Rd and have the best fucking Italian Beef I have ever had in my entire life. It nearly brought me to tears.
I drove home with a homemade Italian Lemon Ice and the realization that I am 31 years old, that life is ever-changing, and that I am okay with the fact that it changes without me.
ahh, that was nice. the food sounds good too. you should be a food critic. i can see immediate returns with that career trajectory! you could call it "emotional food".
oh and no iced decaf? cold milk, decaff espresso, ice cubes, sugar. but you probably knew that already...
