Mundane

Last night I had a dream where Annie got mad at me because I only filled one of the containers we keep coffee cup sleeves in. I woke up thinking “I know I filled up both of them last night when I closed!”

A few nights ago I dreamt that one of our regulars who I’ve seen everywhere lately was waiting for the bus (as far as I know he owns a car, so I have no idea why he was at the bus stop in the dream) and stopped in at my house because it was raining. I was telling him about the Alison Krauss concert this weekend that I got tickets for Charlie’s birthday. He tried to convince me that I wouldn’t like it because her new album was awful. I woke up thinking “Oh, yeah, I haven’t gotten her new album.”

Several nights ago, in yet another dream, two regulars – the really obnoxious older trophy wives with obvious face lifts and too much collagen who don’t understand the physics involved in hot milk versus cold milk being poured over ice – were ordering their drinks. After I made the lattes the women both picked up six-inch-tall stacks of napkins. I tried to stop them, pointing out how they didn’t need a hundred napkins a piece. There was a lot of shouting on my part about their wastefulness and consumerism and entitlement. I suppose my subconscious was relieving a little pent-up frustration.

In waking life, they both usually take one or two to wrap around their cups, which annoys me because I think it’s wasteful and pointless. People do it all the time and like to point out how incredibly hot or cold the cups are to me, like I have any control over it, and despite the fact that they have sleeves. My biggest pet peeve is when someone takes a hot sleeve to put on a cold cup. I know I’ve probably built up a tolerance to the heat and cold of the cups after years of coffee service, but seriously. Is it that painful? If so, you may want to consider changing up the temperature of your drinks.

Of course, when people do, I find that annoying, as well. When someone gives me a specific temperature, I quietly fume. The worst was the guy who wanted his brewed coffee at one hundred and twenty degrees. He told me this specifically. I had to pour ice in a cup with a thermometer until I got the 200-degree java down to his exact measurements.

So I’ve been having a lot of dreams lately with people from work in them, which I think sucks. Not only do I have to see these people everyday, but they’re in my dreams, which aren’t even that entertaining. I need a vacation.

I think Charlie and I have decided on the more-affordable day trip option. We’re both taking a week off: Saturday through the following Friday. We plan on seeing his dad one day; spending a day in Bloomington; probably going to Chicago one day and possibly staying overnight; one day will be devoted to absolutely nothing; another day will be devoted to Serious Cleaning; then he and Cavan are going to King’s Island with a mutual friend.

I’m going to stay at home with the dogs so we don’t have to pay to board them. I’d bought myself a ticket when I got theirs as a surprise, but the more I thought about it, the more I didn’t want to go. I don’t go on rollercoasters but they both love them. From what I understand, even when an amusement park isn’t all that busy you still stand in line forever to get on a ride. And I could definitely not be convinced to do so. Cavan doesn’t want to do the water park part of it and I don’t see standing around taking photos being that much fun after about two hours or so. As I discovered this at last year’s State Fair, you can only photograph so many morbidly obese people and dudes in stone-washed denim shorts with mullets before you start to feel like an asshole.

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