You'd Think They Could Just Do Inventory

The upside of having worked in the restaurant business is that you know to tip well, and when to do that. The downside is getting poor service when there was no need to . . . and knowing that there was no need. The ultra-downside is having a brother in the business also, and knowing the intricaties of having all your chicken stolen at 3 a.m. (stupid padlock) and actually having chicken for your customers by the lunch rush, cause the customers . . . they want chicken burritos and they don't care about your freezer burglar problems.

So everyday I go to the Starbucks in Roseville because 1. it has a drive through and 2. they are much like crack dealers. Realistically, I think a drug habit may be cheaper at this point but just so much more unseemly. Now everyday I order the same thing . . . a grande (though at times I rebel and call it large) soy latte. Everyday. Yummy soy goodness with caffiene mixed into it. They should just see my truck pull up and wave it out the window.

Now every Monday, they are out of soy milk. So we have to have this conversation with the talking box. "Hello, what do you want?" (that always annoys me because I was once a well trained McDonald's employee and you never, ever ask the customer what they WANT . . . that would be vulgar. It's always may I help you?) The Monday person always starts like this . . . the other days are better. "Yeah, I'd like a grande soy latte, please." Best not to confuse the obviously not very well trained employee with "large". "We don't have any soy today." Never soy milk, just soy. Like they have pods somewhere that they are squeezing or something. "Ummm, then give me a non-fat vanilla latte instead." They then repeat it to me but in Starbucks speak, because there is a certain order to things at the Starbucks. Funny, they can't say "can I take your order" but they make sure to repeat my order in Starbuckese. "Vanilla latte, non-fat . . . pull up for your total."

This is only on Monday . . . and I know I could go the the Starbucks near my house instead. Park my car, go inside, wait in line (Roseville hasn't discovered Starbucks addiction yet), get my own cardboard wrap, go outside, walk to my car, start my car and drive. But the drive through means I don't have to have too much human interaction. Those who have met me . . . we all know how we don't want Emily and too much human interaction.

Despite what the doctor's said when I was six, I can drink milk. I'm not allergic to it (just everything else minus cockroaches and chocolate). However, I do not like to drink milk. Even mixed with caffieney goodness. So during third hour something was wrong . . . and it was wrong with my mouth. Finally, I figured it out. I had dead animal taste in my mouth. Now I know that they don't kill the cows to milk them . . . but maybe it's the vegan in me (ignore all that steaking eating). It was definitely a "ehwweh, I have animal on my breath" feeling and I had to go chew some gum and you all know how teachers feel about gum chewing. It's a sign of the apocalypse, the gum chewing.

Now I know that the world does not cater to my weird food rules, like "family chicken" and "I don't want to know that it came from an animal" (again, ignore all the steak eating) or the whole "I could just eat soup" kick. But I used to help with inventory at the bar and I know that my brother keeps track of what he sells everyday. (Today he made some "killer" sangrita. Evidently, not necessarily good but really strong) One would think that someone would figure out that they run out of soy milk every Monday and order an extra case on Friday. In fact, I know that is someone's whole job . . . that and making sure that the drive through people don't say "whatdawant?". There is no need for it. If I wasn't addicted, they would definitely lose my business.

By the way, if someone steals all your chicken . . . you go to four Publix stores and buy them out of chicken breasts. I don't know what the Publix does after that, however . . . because they would be out of chicken.