I wish people would leave the business-speak at work when they are not actually at work. I’m once again grabbing a quick bite to eat at the marvelous Pastry Cupboard. This guy says to the cashier, “I’m having an issue with the milk. The top popped off.”
It would have been enough to just say that the top popped off.
The bathroom here requires a key. (This part of Market Street is a mix of development and sketch.) But the person who used it before me returned it to the cashier without locking the door, so after I used the bathroom, I went ahead and locked it up. There are rules. And it’s polite.
Last night, Spencer and I returned to Bi-Rite after a monthlong absence. I celebrated by making another dirty joke about your hotness.
“Whatsay we buy a pint of Bi-Rite, go to Sausalito and when Tim Lincecum comes home we give him the ice cream and hope it makes him Bi-Sexual?” I offered gayly.
In response, Spencer presented me with a list of problems, most notably that we don’t know where, exactly, in Sausalito you live and, also, that there was no scientific evidence that ice cream could do what I wanted it to do.
“Also, you’re creepy,” she added for good measure.
Most distressing, however, was the new line policy that we obeyed but everyone after us ignored. To curtail the line that has traditionally sprung up all the way down the block, Bi-Rite had posted two sets of stanchions and instructions to line up at the second set when the first set was full. But when we emerged from the shop triumphant with our respective soda floats, everyone had ignored the signs and the second set of stanchions. Disappointing.