Toffee's Journal

International Roast

Saturday 28th October, 2006

I have about 5 more minutes here at the interent cafe in venice and I thought I might let you know some of the more... interesting coffees Ive had in Prague Venice Vienna and Budapest. (Please forgive the terrible typing- apart from anything I cant find the apsotrophe on italian keyboards....).

First and most horrible, Worst Coffee Of The Trip:

Budapest Museum of Fine Arts
Their "espresso" is brewed coffee that has sat there for who knows how long that is poured into a little cup. Apparently that makes it espresso.

Most Expensive

San Marco Square, Venice (Not surprising)

$15 for a cappucino. Mediocre.

Venice in some side street. (again not surprising.

Anyway, timeās up. Good luck with exams!

Why I am Wrong for my Job

Thursday 8th September, 2005

So i was listening to the radio the other day and they were doing a segment where you had to call up and say why you were wrong for your job. This girl called in and said "I'm a checkout chick and I'm wrong for my job coz I hate people especially all my customers."
And I thought: "So? If I had the opportunity I'd commit mass murder everytime I went into work. There are two main reasons for this:
1. They're all fucktards (see below).
2. I could bludge and drink free coffee for four hours.
In an interesting twist, there are two factors which restrain me from bloodthirsty mayhem:
1. My boss is fucking scary and would kill me.
2. I'd have to clean up all the blood. Ugh.

Hypothesis: Almost all (in the measure theoretic sense) customers are fucktards.

First, my favourite story. The other day we were really busy (like REALLY busy) and this woman comes up to me- pushing in front of other, less idiotic fucktards- and thrusts a silver thermos into my face. And she says "Your soy milk is off. I bought this coffee an hour ago and left it sitting open on my desk and now look at it! It's like pudding! I've drunk soy milk for 20 years and this only happens when it's off!" I wanted to slap her. Dumb bitch. ANY coffee you leave sitting open for an hour on your desk goes to crap- especially soy.
OK, so most customers think they're better than you- like they've never worked a menial, underpaid and unrespected job. AND they expect you to clean up not only their mess, but their filthy brats' mess- including macdonald's syrup, vomit, chewing gum. Pigs.
I have a message for the world:
Thankyou and good night.

The Epic Quest:

Tuesday 2nd August, 2005

Otherwise known as:
The Magical Quest for the Seven Deadly Signatures of Doom

I received my Quest instructions via email. The Almighty Goddess of Bureaucracy herself had communicated to me that unless I recovered the Seven Deadly Signatures of Doom by the evening of the final day of the seventh month, my blood and that of my kin would be spread over the great land of Uni. And so, panicked, I signalled my intentions the Great One by frantically closing my inbox, curling up into the foetal position in the corner of my room and sobbing for my mummy. This was not my first Quest: it was yet another in a series of arduous, life threatening and hair raising missions the Great Goddess had sent me on.

And so, after regaining my composure, I set off. Some of the Signatures I obtained quickly, through methods of stealth and ambush. Others I had to bide my time for and stalk my prey patiently, but in the end they too came into my possession. And so soon, the final day of the seventh month dawned and I was missing but one signature. None of my clever ploys had managed to bring this one to light and I was beginning to despair. In one last deperate attempt before I doomed myself to eternal damnation in the hellfires of... hell(?), I approached my prey's habitat directly: the maths staffroom. Alas! I did not discover my final Signature there! It had been abducted and spirited away to the great dark land of Conference! I would not be returned until the next week! I WAS DOOMED!!!!!!!

And here I am, back at uni, back at work, back in Canberra. How I wish I'd found that last Signature...

Fight or Flight??

Tuesday 19th July, 2005

Well those of you who know me know that I prefer the second option: flight. As such, when I haven't handed something in at uni, or there's someone annoyed at me, I generally curl into a little ball in my room and hope it goes away. (As an aside, I know my room is safe because I am camouflaged by all my clothes on the floor- no-one can spot me!!!) Well, unfortunately, I have a few hangovers from last term- lecturers who want to speak to me (argh...) etc. One particular gent, whom I fear the most, has the unsavoury habit of eating lunch in the same place I do, and at around the same time. Keeping in mind my preferred confrontation technique then, all I can do is scurry past him, and hide in the darkest corner of the room, hoping to blazes he doesn't look around.

Today I thought, as I huddled closer to the wall, trying desperately to blend in, how strange it is that such a seemingly non-threatening man could inspire such terror in me. And then I had these great images of a horror movie, where the typical cast of idiot teens ran screaming from armies of mild-mannered, polite, sweet, greying, balding, skinny, frail and generally harmless old men. I can see it now: the busty blonde dying of fear as one caught up to her and said: "Tiffany, we need to talk. I'll be in my office this afternoon." I think I'd sympathise with her.