How Fucking Hard Can It Be?
I take a half-spoon of sugar in my coffee. I don’t like it to be all that sweet, but I do like a bit of the edge taken off the bitterness. Any of you purists out there can kiss my arse.
You would think, seeing as taking sugar in one’s coffee is hardly the height of exotic hedonism, that your average muppet working in a coffee shop would be moderately skilled at applying the substance with a degree of familiar efficiency. You would think this especially, given that standard coffee shop employees (there is no such thing as a ‘barista’, fuck you and the horse you rode in on) tend to be a cut above the kind of peculiarly deformed, blue-skinned, mentally stunted troglodytes that generally lurk nervously behind the service counter of fast food establishments.
And, given that the particular skill of stirring sugar into a beverage of any sort – even weird ones like banana martinis and those fruity, vaguely tea-related cups of weasel piss that new age hippies seem so oddly attached to – is not a particularly challenging task, you’d imagine, however much you might perhaps struggle at first, that this would be a skill that with a reasonable amount of dedication and practise could be acquired by even the vaguest and most distracted of coffee shop employees. And you would be wrong.
For some fucking unfathomable reason, absolutely every single bloody time I order coffee from anywhere where they bung the sugar in for you (there’s lots of them here), and no matter how often the muppets stir the bloody stuff, I absolutely in-fucking-variably get a mildly dissatisfying beverage compounded by a mouthful or two of thick, undrinkably sweet hell-in-a-fucking-paper-cup misery at the very bottom. And given you can’t really spew the stuff out all over the place with great cry of ‘Egads, those degenerate, poisoning pig-farmers have beset me with their colossal incompetence once more, the blighters!’, and given that by the time you realise what is happening it tends to be too late anyway, there is often no choice but to swallow the filth.
And yet, somehow when I stir the bastard myself, this doesn’t seem to happen. I am not convinced that this is because I have unusually excellent coffee stirring skills, although this is presumably a possibility, but I am nevertheless baffled as to why this superficially simple task seems so utterly beyond these retards. It’s just stirring a cuppa – how fucking hard can it possibly be, for the love of god?
Bob Marley – Stir It Up Oh yes indeed!
I’m going a little off topic here but I’ve been looking for an opportunity to relate this for ages. I thought the recent Harry Enfield/Paul Whitehouse series was extremely hit and miss, mainly miss, but one piece of absolute perfection each week was the bloke going into the coffee shop where he was completely and hopelessly in love with the young woman behind the counter. I jusst sat and sighed at these brief moments of perfection, whilst funnily enough my other half sat incredulously and said ‘I just don’t get this at all, what’s meant to be going on here?’. Pfft, gender, eh? I bet she’d stir your cofee.
I know I’m not being a “good listener,” as the saying goes, but you might try asking for it black and then adding your own sugar. They sell it in little packets, I believe. It’s what Jesus would do.
Fuck off C&B. I’m whining, don’t you dare bring common sense into this.
Crash, those two are really erratic but when they are good they are genuinely inspired.
Mea cuppa
Jesus wept.
Also, the phrase ‘a tiny bit of milk’ seems oddly difficult to understand. If someones says that, er on the side of not enough milk, you can always add more later. If I wanted a latte I’d put on fucking dress and order one!
The problem is, if you ask for ‘coffee’ you get an Americano, which is code for piss-weak dishwater. I want a COFFEE – with COFFEE in it – one that tastes of fucking COFFEE you retards.
Funny how Americano is European coffee, just massively watered down. Hmm, once again irony escapes the nations ken!