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Once again I proved that everything is a pain in the ass (EIPITA), and I lost my dignity in the process.
You see that fifteen cents? That's my dignity and that's all my dignity is worth.
You see that mermaid with a crown? She owns me. She's sitting there lording over my dignity, laughing and scoffing at me.
Nikki and I agreed that we would try and go a week without buying anything. However, I found a loophole because that pact does not include loose change scattered throughout the house. You see, that's not real money, it's forgotten, it's spent already, it doesn't even exist. I only needed $1.50, that's what a small coffee costs at Starbuck's.
(Side rant) Hey Starbuck's, as long as I continue to buy coffee from your legal crack house, I will never, ever, ever, refer to a cup of coffee as "venti" or "grande" or "tall". I have a Bachelor of Science degree and I still can't figure out which is which so just give me my small (as we say in America) coffee and shut up.
(Back to the story)
I knew exactly where to find $1.50, hallway cabinet, big drawer on the right. I calmly opened it, casually flipped through the coins and quickly realized I was way short of $1.50. Immediately I could feel my biological responses kicking in: adrenaline, sweat, dilated pupils, clammy hands, the whole works. Quickly I ran to the bathroom, opened another drawer and found nothing. Same thing in the kitchen. Now I'm frantic, rifling through drawers like a burglar. I'm checking drawers that don't make sense. Sock drawer? Nope? I know there's some change with the potato chips. Nope. I can't think straight. Now I'm re-checking all the drawers like you do when you've lost something. I'm shaking. Then it comes to me. The truck, there has to be change in the truck. I run outside, and there it is. Amazingly, when I add what I recovered from inside with what I have in the truck, it totals exactly $1.50. It's my day.
I jump in the truck, race to Starbuck's, plop down my change look the barrista dead in the eye, and ask for a small coffee. No snide look from her this time, she must realize I'm desperate. She pours the coffee, brings it over and says the most hateful thing I have ever heard in my life.
"That will be $1.65 please".
No way. It's been $1.50 for at least two years. I ask her when it changed. "Today", she says.
I start sweating, my heart races, my head pounds. This must be withdrawal symptoms. Now I know what a crack addict feels like. I could pull out the credit card, but that will break the pact with Nikki. I almost cry, then I gather myself. Suddenly I'm 7 years old again and in my saddest voice I let her know that's it's been $1.50 for as long as I can remember and I don't have any more money. She's not budging but the manager is frazzled and just wants me to move along and tells her it's OK. I quickly turn and leave the joint like a thief in the night with my small coffee.
I got what I wanted, but lost part of my soul in the process. I burglarized my own house, I nearly broke a pact, and I begged and pleaded with an 18 year old coffee pourer, I mean barrista.
Oh yeah, I proved once again that everything is a pain in the ass.