I lost My Dignity at Starbuck's

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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.

Everything is a pain in the ass...

Everything is a pain in the ass (EIAPITA).  These flip-flops prove it.  They are one small thing out of millions of things that are a pain in the ass, but they are the most recent, so they have become the placeholder for now.  A material icon and representation of the concept of all that is a pain in the ass.

I'm pretty sure my dad taught me this concept, though I can't exactly pinpoint it to a day or a particular thing.   I only know that  over time what has always been a fact of his life, became a fact of mine.   At some point it became a running joke between us.  I would say "Dad, you know what this is...."  and he would reply "It's a pain in the ass!!!!!"  EIAPITA manifests itself in many forms.  It can be physical (I bang my head, I hit my elbow, I roll my ankle) and it can be mental (I just sat down, is the remote seriously 5 steps away).  It can be trivial ( I spilled all the coffee I just ground), or serious (I gave myself second degree burns using the iron to get ready for church).  Regardless of its form, EIAPITA permeates every pore of my being and makes me shout at the world and the creator for making everything so damn difficult!

Now then, back to the flip flops.  How in the world can EIAPITA have a role in a cheap pair flip-flops you ask?  It's not the flip flops themselves (their construction, design, quality,etc..), it's the way they came into my life that make them a PITA.

Nikki and I were getting ready to attend a wine club event (more on that in another post)  and I got ready in plenty of time.  It was hot, so I wore shorts, a white button down cubano type shirt, and sneakers.   I then sat down to catch a small part of the football game before we had to leave.  About 15 minutes before go time, Nikki walks in to have me attach her bracelet, glimpses at my shoes and declares, "Oh no, you can't wear those" (PITA #1).  I plead my case that we are going to a pig roast, in a barn, in 100 degree weather.  I'm quite sure these shoes will do.  Since you know about the flip-flops already, I'll skip the cursing and tantrum part about not having time to go to the store and move on.

We zip out the door, but realize we have to stop by my sister's house to drop off a birthday gift and bring back some borrowed items (PITA #2).  Sorry sis.   As we're leaving the neighborhood, Nikki uses her iphone to confirm there is a Kohl's in Napa on the way (that's actually an anti PITA).

We make it to the downtown area in good time, I take my usual route and make the usual turns and....are you freaking kidding me!!!!! Main Street is blocked for an event (PITA #3).  I navigate, get close, park, and jog over to the the store.  It's 100 degrees out, so I start sweating, not what you want when headed to an event (PITA #4).

I get in, make my selection, head to the counter and realize there are 6 people in the line ahead of me (PITA#5).  I run to the other side of the store, and there are no people in line (Anti PITA #2).   I smile, tell the clerk that's all I have, and she begins the search for the barcode.  And you know it right away, don't you?  There's no f*@%*$g barcode on this pair (PITA #6).  Now I have two options.  1. I can have her ask for a price check, or god forbid she go do it herself or 2. I can run back to the other side of the store myself because I know it will be quicker.  I opt for option 2 (PITA #6).  I pay quickly, run out of the store, back to the truck and we're on our way.  Damn, I'm still sweating (PITA#7).

So, you see, I now have a pair of flip flops, and they're fine.  I'll get good usage out of them enjoying what remains of the summer heat.  But every time I pick them up and put them on, I'll be reminded of the circumstances in which they were obtained, and I'll be reminded, once again the everything is a pain in the ass.

Hey everybody, you know what these flip flops are?