So, I started my first day of work at a mainland Starbucks today. Not bad for a first day. Nothing like Maui, but then again I knew that before I even stepped in the door. Way busier than Queen K, and a lot more crowded behind the counter - sometimes as many as 8 partners on the floor! There are a few drinks that I am having to learn - but no big deal. The store is a mansion compared to Queen K... 2 floors and a balcony, bathrooms, and a huge back room. Crazy. Takes about 15 mins to do a thorough lobby. Only made about 10 frappacinos today, and not one of 'em was caramel - talk about shock! I'm generally covered in that caramel shit by the time I come home. Yes this is very different.
Couldn't help but want to call and tell *** how my first day in Seattle Coffee Hell was... but, aparently that's not allowed anymore. That's what happens when you abandon possibility... you lose the right to call and say how your day went.
How's this for luck? On my way back from picking up my car from the shipping dock this morning, I got pulled over. Couldn't fucking believe it. I went into a complete panic when I saw the lights. One, my bank account does not harbor money for speeding tickets and Two, just coming from the boat I hadn't put my registration back in the glove compartment yet. Shit. As I sat there, waiting for Mr. Cop to stroll up to my window, I frantically debated on what to say, on my best bet to get out of a possible citation. They say tears work... but crying wasn't really an option as tears haven't been easy to come by for me lately. Just think of the negative number in your bank account if you get a ticket, Sara... that will make you cry. C'mon, you can do it. Gulp. Nothing. "Hawaii, huh?" Congratulations you can read, officer. "Yep, just picked up my car an hour ago." "I'll need to see your license and proof of insurance." And registration? In all my haste, I hand him my insurance card and a credit card. "Uh, you can have that back, Ma'am." Fuck. "Sorry, guess you don't need that. Hell, I don't need that. Not like there's any room left on it." I force myself to shut up and hand him my brightly colored Hawaii ID. "You just moved here from Kihei?" "Yep." "Why?" The million dollar question. And with that, they come... tears. Not a plethora of them, just two - one from each eye, slowing streaming down my cheeks. "I don't know now... mainly because I couldn't afford it anymore." AKA, I can't pay that ticket you're about to write, so PLEASE don't write it!! Sniffle, sniffle. He sighs and goes back to his motorcycle for a few minutes and I am sure he is writing me a big fat ticket. No doubt about this one. I am definitely going further into debt today. Fuck. He comes back. "My wife and I have a condo in Kihei. We love it there." Lovely - good for you. Must be nice. Just give me the God damned ticket and get it over with. Seriously. "You were going 56 in a 40. I'm giving you a warning today. Take care." I just stare at him as he walks off. Either the guy has a real fondness for that condo in Kihei, or he got the not-so-subtle hints that a ticket could be somewhat financially tragic. Or, maybe it was the tears....
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