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Let me just take this moment to say that this time next week I will be in Mexico. Holy goodness. Let me also take this moment to say that although I feel I have done nothing overly strenuous with my brain in the last several days, I nonetheless feel like my brain is currently the equivalent of one of those short, old, squatty green cars in which the driver has to constantly grip the steering wheel and shove their torso forward to get the car to advance while it sputters and coughs and gasps for life. In other words, I have actually experienced this week what most people consider a standard amount of time spent at work. 38 hours. 38 hours in which Satan and all his minions decided to circle and poke and prod and essentially wreak havoc on our coffeehouse, destroying my recently established mental sanity and blowing it to smithereens. It's time for a new list:

Why I Don't Do 40 Hour Work Weeks

1. Our register software went through an update, which means approximately 2 things improved and 8 things de-proved. Apparently, this is pretty standard. Really, Comcash?
2. Comcash Tech Support's favorite thing to do is to put people on hold. For 5 hours. Thankfully, another staff member experienced this, but even just hearing about it made me want to punch the phone in the face. 
3. The power on 1/8,765th of DC's grid went out for 7 hours on Friday leaving us espresso-less, computer-less, and without the ability to see the dirt on the dishes we were washing. 
4. We had a very ingenious Friday night event take place in the dark. Even the bathrooms were without power. For the ladies, I can see making that work. Fellas? I don't even want to know how that went down.  
5. When the power came back, a light blew downstairs along with a very vital fuse in our espresso machine which left us, once again, espresso-less. (For all of you non-coffee drinkers out there, this meant we essentially could not offer half of our menu)
6. One person made the snide comment that "Things go wrong here a lot" at which point I desperately wanted to retort, "Yes ma'am, which is something we clearly are big fans of ourselves. If you're annoyed, I suggest you call Pepco and complain to them about not being able to have your hot vanilla chai as we obviously suggested they blow half our power out and they seemed to think it a stellar idea." 
7. I tripped over the stupid black mat behind the counter. About 85 times. 
8. My co-worker spilled iced coffee on my pants. 
9. I spilled iced coffee on my pants. 
10. When reaching for the broom, I somehow managed to turn the faucet on full force thereby spraying water all over God and creation and the entire back wall of the kitchen. 
11. I wondered what slushy Freezer drink would feel like between my toes and proceeded to find out by dumping part of the contents of the blender onto said appendages.
12. The attractive, yet smarmy waiter across the street whistled at me while I was putting up tables. Again.  If he calls me "darlin'" one more time...

SIGH. Ok. I'm done with my diatribe. Turns out I find venting via type rather cathartic. Now to pack, to bed, and back to the joys of service tomorrow. Vive Mexico indeed.