We've got rules and maps and guns in our backs.

I've lately taken to assigning team names to my co-workers and I during any given shift; Steph & I were 'Team Amazing', Ocean & I were 'Team Awesome', Andy & I were 'Team Rock-On!!!', etc.

Rachel and I are 'Team Dum'. We were 'Team DURRR!!!' at first, simply because we both spent the majority of our shift together making retard noises (she has an advantage, as she herds them for a living...), but tonight proved that the new name is a tad more applicable, as it seems the two of us cannot get through a shift without horribly mutilating ourselves. Take this exchange, for example:

"Rachel, did you just cut yourself on that broken glass you were washing?"
"...yes."
"Do you need a band-aid?"
"...yes."

At which point I pretended that I knew what I was doing and tried wrapping band-aids that had more in common with limp pasta noodles than anything else around her spurting wounds. I think I managed to cover at least one of them; nor can I feel superior, as I did the same thing to myself yesterday, resulting in Kimmy having to play nurse-maid while I paled at the sight of my own blood, and then I ripped open my pinkie finger tonight while trying to change the paper towels in the bathroom.

That's what I get for working at a place where the common practice is to open the towel dispenser with a paper clip. I will say nothing of a certain someone's attempt to pour garbage from the LARGE trashcan into the SMALLER one, because apparently I am a BAD COMMUNICATOR.

Right.

I swear to god, we are both imbeciles. I now have only four working fingers, and my work week just began. Hope you like Life Brand Band-aid fibres in your non-fat half-caf lactose-free machiatto with no foam and a dash of cinammon, jerkwads.

While I'm ranting: if you plan on coming to Beano, please take a moment to read our menu before ordering. Chances are good that it's quite different from the one at Starbucks, or at Second Cup, or (god forbid) Tim Hortons. DO NOT assume that we all make the same drinks; in fact, if you even utter the phrase "...they have it at Starbucks...", there's an even better chance that the foam in your drink will not be made from milk. Hell, you'd be lucky to be leaving without one of us throwing something at you.

Also: please don't ask me to suggest something for you. I'm here to serve you your coffee, not make decisions for you. If you put me in this position, I will serve your drink in a sippy-cup and make you wear a bib, you halfwit.

Please don't ever tell me that you're feeling 'frothy'. That's just something I don't want to hear from a grown-up.

One last bitch: don't come in at the end of the night and ask for the fresh baking, when the food we have at the front is perfectly fine. You know perfectly well that we bake later on in the evening so that we'll have it ready for the following morning; that's why you've timed your little passive-aggressive visit to our establishment to occur at this precise moment. The food we have ready for you is probably only a few hours old, and when we're talking cookies and brownies and shit like that, that's plenny fine. Plus: you may come in every night, but that doesn't make you a preferred customer. Familiarity breeds contempt, assface. Your paltry $1.25 purchase does little to sway me; I have no problem being That Guy, the one who lies to you about having no fresh baking while plates of it sit in plain view behind the counter. Suck it.

...gee, you'd think I hated my job or something.

Actually, despite all this, work has been great lately. Who am I kidding? Work has yet to really suck at Beano. This is mainly because my co-workers tend to be super-awesome-fantastic, and I'm not just saying that because most of them can read this (but you are: I'd give each of you a puppy made out of ice cream, were I able...), but it also has to do with the fact that I don't actually have to wake up until 3:00 in the afternoon in order to get to work on time.

Which is why I'm posting this at 4:00 in the morning: 'cuz I'm allowed, bitches.

Hey, this new Feist is actually really good. Yes, I know Let It Die was some sort of tribute to French Pop Genius Serge Gainsbourg (I think that's his name; I always get confused when it comes to the French, but then again, I'm Canadian...), but fuck me silly, did that the album ever put me to sleep. Seriously, the thing could've been used as anesthetic during surgery...The Reminder, though? Aces.

And this new Nine Inch Nails? I'm sorry, Mr. Reznor, but after three good songs, it just fucks off into pointless, insipid noise. I don't care if it's your new big concept piece about how we live in a fascist state that disguises itself as a free society (hey, there's a new one one...); it's goddamned boring. At the very least, I could always expect some sexy hook or delicious groove to accompany your usual angst-ridden, fishnet-drenched bitching; now that you've actually got something to say, your music seems to have gone to shit.

Oh, but look, the CD's heat-sensitive, so it changes colour when you play it! That makes up for EVERYTHING!

Ahem...STAR WARS NERD POSES NUDE TO RAISE MONEY FOR...well...something. I think. Actually, he's only half nude, really...and to be honest, I wanted to make fun of him, but the more I think about it, the more respect I have for a guy who's able to poke fun at himself and make some money at the same time. Hell, I could learn something from him...

...okay, now I'm depressed.

I'm gonna go play video games now, because Holland won't liberate itself, y'know.