*Evil Grin*

As those of you who are following the Countdown Posts know, it’s essay season. So, there I am, heading to campus at 10:37 at night so I can write essays—because I’m so fucking exhausted and sick of academia that if I don’t actually leave my house, work just doesn’t get fucking done. I went a little out of my way in a quest for tea—I am a mad tea fiend and, seriously, if I have to write these stupid fucking essays, then at the very least I must have tea, or someone will die—and, on the tea-quest, I had an . . . interesting encounter with the coffee shop counter-boy.

It all started rather innocently—or, well, as innocently as I’m capable of being anything, anyway—when I asked the nice counter-boy to please fill my travel mug with hot water (I had brought my own tea bag and sweetener). Then, well, then things got out of hand.

Me: I have a request.

Counter-Boy: *raised eyebrow*

Me: Could you fill this with hot water?

Counter-Boy: Well, you see, we’re all out of water.

Me: Please? *smiles sweetly and bats eyelashes*

(Okay, yes. I was flirting. But he started it.)

Counter-Boy: Well, since you asked so nicely. *takes my travel mug, fills it with hot water* You know, it’s ballsy to come in here with a Starbucks cup.

Me: It’s just a travel mug!

Counter-Boy: But you still bought it.

Me: No, I didn’t—my friend works there and she gave it to me.

Counter-Boy: But still. You’ve got balls, coming in here with that and asking for free stuff.

Me: Well—yeah, no, I’m not even going to deny it. I do.

Counter-Boy: Yeah, well, you’re still advertising for them.

Me: Not if I cover up the Starbucks logo with one of these. *points to coffee shop’s cardboard sleeves*

Counter-Boy: Yeah, you could do that. But then you’d have to pay for it.

Me: Or I could just be light-fingered, since they’re right there and all.

Counter-Boy: There is that—you could distract me, and then who knows what could happen.

(Inside My Head: Oh, really? You wanna pull that? Just you wait . . .)

Me: I could. Or I could be cheeky and do it right in front of you. *looks him in the eye as I take a sleeve, then grin really, really big*

Counter-Boy: *laughs* So, you a student around here?

Me: Yep. *is fixing tea*

Counter-Boy: What year?

Me: Fourth. *is still fixing tea*

Counter-Boy: What program?

Me: English. I was a Psych major, but then I realized I was miserable.

Counter-Boy: I find that Psych majors make intimidating girlfriends.

Me: *wicked smile* Well, luckily for me, my girlfriend doesn’t mind.

*Counter-Boy’s eyebrows shoot up, eyes go wide, and mouth makes a little ‘o’ shape as I walk away trying not to laugh*

So, after all is said and done, two things are—or should be—very clear: one, that I am not above using flirtatious behaviour to get what I want; and two, that I love shocking people. I seriously walked out of there laughing, and couldn’t wipe the grin off my face for twenty minutes. That little exchange made my night. (And yet, I wonder why the Sorting Hat keeps trying to put me in Slytherin . . . *shakes head*)

Seriously, though, I have to give the boy credit. He was oozing charm, and not the tired, clichéd kind. It’s not often a man can hit on a woman by saying she has balls and pull it off—he was definitely on his game. It’s almost a shame I’m happy and in love with Milady and don’t go for boys.


I think this goes without saying, but as we live in a world of rampant asshattery, please allow me to state for the record: this is my intellectual property. As such, please do not copy, circulate, edit, alter, take credit for, or otherwise appropriate this material without my express permission. Thank you.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s