Why i'm not bloody getting a job in Starbucks

Reasons i hate working in retail, bar work or restuarant work or any job that involves working directly with the public and thus deleting important pieces in the jigsaw of my soul are as follows.

A) You get paid pittance for working harder than, say, some dumb broad with a rich husband and a face like a bee chewing a wasp, has worked in her whole life, and probably work harder than the plastic surgeon has worked on her whole body. And then you have to serve this very woman. She sneers, i fume.

B) the general customer often feeds their dying senses of self and lack of decorum by treating you with more disgust and contempt than they would condeming a dog who's just taken a dump on their new victorian imitation rug. And then eaten it.

C) The general customer has the tendency to ask stupid questions and make unreasonable requests, for example
1) 'Can't you make my coffee any hotter? It was luke warm yesterday' (well if you do insist on sitting outside in the middle of winter to inhale a quick succession of Benson and Hedges, then be my guest)...at which point i'll turn the temperature on the steamer to 'fresh from an active volcano' and watch with sick pleasure as your leathery face contorts in pain. Ah, sweet sweet vengeance.
2) *clicks fingers* 'Can i have an expresso' (You're in a pub, and it's an espresso, but fine)
I make an odd expression as though thats exactly what they've asked for, which, effectively, they have. 'An espresso?' i say. 'an EXPRESSO' they repeat. Tits.
I'm being pedantic, but its not the presence of one incorrect letter, its the gall with which they assume they're right and i'm some half witted servant girl.

Not bitter at all. Never.
So yes, my reasoning for never wanting to work in Starbucks.
Instead i'll waste my time filling a blog with mindless self importance, dillusion and drivel.
ENJOY.

Don't panic dears, it's just a snow storm

Yes, i realise its snowing outside. No it's not life threatening. Hypocondriacs with shovels wake me up far too early, digging out their cars in a blind bloody panic that they won't be able to drive to the gym and work off that meduim rare steak with extra peppercorn sauce they'd had the night before. Housewives sprint (as fast as you can sprint through knee deep snow) to the corner shop to stock up on bread and milk in a frenzied bid too make sure their spoilt lumps of offspring don't starve in what is surely the brink of a natural disaster. And then there are those half wits who pretend its completely acceptable to pretend like its a breezy summer day and struggle to work in their high heels and probably deserve the broken ankle they're bound to suffer. And all because they dont have an outfit that goes with their snow boots that they purchased for an over rated holiday in the alps.
Of course im generalising and still bitter about the outside and probably natural proceedings of everyone else. Of course they'd react that way to heaps of snow pressed up against their windows like hungry toddlers at a sweet shop. Why wouldn't they. :/
I was quite enjoying the snow, mindlessly stamping footprints into the unspoilt pure parts, squarely (why squarely i don't know) refusing to walk in the sullied, used paths, freshly hurtled through by children. I was then pelted in the ear with a snow ball from some atrocious little dipshit from a carpark roof. At which point i decided the world was doomed and sulked the rest of the way back to the house. Very adult of me of course, but by then i had already decided the day had gone to shit when i fell over tring to put a sock on and the printer had run out of paper. Never a good sign in the morning. Not that the two things are related in any way but when they happen within an hour of eachother it's one in the same when it comes to a sure sign of the day ending with my soul leaking out of my ears. (Or in todays case, snow.)