Lingo Slinger

Before I could start the day, I had to get coffee… and something to eat, since I knew I would likely be working through lunch. I went to Tim Horton’s to grab a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. I ordered my usual; egg & cheese on a toasted croissant, only to be met with an unrelenting policy maker donut baker who had a chip on her shoulder.

“We don’t toast croissants anymore”

“Oh really? Because that’s what I usually get…”

“Yeah well they burn and they’re a fire hazard in our toaster”

“Oh… that’s strange. I’ve never had a burnt toasted croissant either.”

“Would you like to pick something else?” she says with an attitude and an eyebrow raised.

I want to pull that fucking hair net over her ugly face and start beating her over the head with my TokiDoki purse. But I don’t…

(bitch)

“Just give me whatever is easiest for you to toast. And I’ll have that. Don’t wanna stress you out here, just want breakfast.”

I left the store slightly annoyed that the one Tim Horton’s I never go to, outright refused to give me what I always order at other locations.

The day prior, I had seen a dead puppy on an on ramp to the highway. There’s nothing worse than seeing a dead puppy I tell you. I shook my head as I remembered the poor pup on the road. Then… just as I was rounding the corner to my street, I notice something dead on the road… only it’s not a squirrel, a coon, or a bird… it’s a fucking kitten!! How likely is it to see a dead puppy and then a dead kitten the day after?! My heart ached for puppies and kittens.

When I got in the door my phone was ringing like a bastard, so I answered it.

I knew it wasn’t gonna go well as soon as I heard the asshole on the other end who obviously had something lodged up his sphincter.

“Is this Ms. Eckersall?”

“Uhhh yah.”

“Ms. Eckersall, are you aware that you have an outstanding 407 ETR bill?”

“Oh do I? Yeah no… not exactly a top of mind thing I guess. How much do I owe?”

“Well m’aam, it’s been handed over to us now and if you can pay it today, I will cut you a deal for $320. I strongly suggest that you do this before you ruin your credit permanently.”

“$320??? Are you on crack? I didn’t do $320 worth of driving on that fucking highway!!”

“Well m’aam, it has been over a year and interest has been accruing. So shall we make arrangements to take care of this today?”

“No thanks. Not today.”

“And why is that?”

“None of your goddamn business”

“No need to get snippy with me Ms. Eckersall, I’m just trying to help you here. Trying to save you from a bad credit report.”

“Ohhhh you’re trying to help me are you? How fucking naive do you think I am? How about this… You go lodge a dick up your ass and calm down, and I’ll pay when I feel like it.”

I hung up.

Fuck… When it rains it pours. Customer service shit show, dead puppies and kittens, a collection agent with a God complex… What else?!

I walked down to my mailbox chowing down on my shitty breakfast sandwich, still wondering why the bitch couldn’t have just thrown a croissant in the toaster and given me what I wanted.

I grabbed the stack of mail and noticed the self-addressed stamped envelope with my address on it, which I had sent to a publisher only a week and a half prior. I knew it was a rejection letter.

When I got home I taped it to my rejection board… a little board I had created to save all of my rejection letters. The chick that wrote Harry Potter had 21 rejections and was turned down by some pretty stupid publishers. That’s what keeps me going.

At least I had my coffee.

I opened the lid and began sipping my coffee. Something tasted off… It didn’t taste right. I felt my blood begin to boil… Uh oh… A total loss of control was imminent.

Angrily, I stormed off to my car, coffee in hand and drove back to the Tim Horton’s.

I flung the door open and the bitch looked at me as if to say “Oh… You again.”

“Can I help you?” she asked with the same bitchy look

“Well, I don’t know… It might stress you out too much or go against your policy. But maybe you can try, how about that. My breakfast sandwich was shit by the way… And you seem to be the only Tim Horton’s in town with this ridiculous fire hazard rule of yours because no one else has a problem with a fucking toasted croissant. And why does my coffee taste like puke? I’ll tell you why… Because the cream is fucking off and it’s floating on top.”

I slammed it down on the counter knowing what a relentless bitch I was being.

She lightened her look and her tone this time “Would you like another coffee m’aam?”

“NO… I WOULD LIKE A FUCKING TOASTED CROISSANT, AND IF YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT A FIRE I WILL STAND THERE WHILE YOU TOAST IT WITH A GOD DAMN FIRE EXTINGUISHER!”

Another associate was standing behind her by this time and glaring at me as if I was the one with the problem, which in fact… I was.

They whispered something, and she reached for a croissant and popped it in the toaster, giving me the look of death. But I got what I wanted, even though I ended up feeding it to the pigeons.