My Christmas Was in June

I stopped into the local Starbucks today, on the way to work. I seldom carry cash, and it's the only neighborhood coffee shop that doesn't have the $3-5 minimum purchase requirement for debit card purchases.

I'm very conscious of music, so whenever I walk into a place it's usually the first thing that registers. It sounded eerily like the kind of 19th Century European churcy music that makes caucasoids feel warm and fuzzy in December.

"Is this Christmas music?" I ask the Plain Jane standing in queue in front of me.
"I think so," she responds, motioning for me to notice all the snowmen and Crapmas knickety-knackety sh*t for sale. "It's a little early for me."

"Me too," I replied.

The line breezed through pretty quicky and I was up to bat.

"Large coffee, please."

The clerk turns around to pour the beverage and returns to the counter. "Can I get you anything else?"

"No thank you," I say as I hand over my charge card.

He runs the card through, turns around and says, "Venti Christmas blend. $1.90. Happy holidays."

The fist thing that struck me was that he actually corrected me and my 'order' with the "venti" thing, but it took me an extra few seconds to process the f*cking "Christmas" remark.

I stood perplexed, looking at the bright red paper cup, the snowflakey sleeve and my credit card in my hand, feeling like I just got a reach-around from Tiny Tim's mother. Then my eyes started darting around the place, waiting for Santa or Frosty or some other Christmas a**hole to come by to add some holiday flavour to this nightmare.

I left in a daze, trying to ascertain whether the three weeks after election day had been cancelled without my notice. I chuckled to myself as I made my way to the exit as another patron smiled at me and said, "I know."



And god chafe us, everyone.