Had the pleasure of seeing the Washington Nationals beat the Brewers in the bottom of the ninth last night. Great game.
And then this morning I suffered a rather amusing indignity. I stopped at Starbucks on my way into the office. (By the way, in case you didn’t know, I’m back at Burness Communications, my old place of employment, as a Web consultant. Anyhoo.)
I order a breakfast sandwich—a new offering from our favorite bohemian corporate goliath. They’re actually not bad there. And the teenage girl asks for my name. I tell her. And I even spell it out for her. She scribbles it on a piece of paper with a Sharpie pen.
A few minutes later, when my sandwich has been microwaved in that that huge thing that’s supposed to look like a pizza oven or something, she picks up the paper, and in front of the entire line of waiting customers, yells, “breakfast sandwich for NEWMAN. Hello, NEWMAN? Is there a NEWMAN here”?
Gimme a goddamned break.
