Quote of the Day: Friedrich Nietzsche

"I love those who do not know how to live for today."


When I was a teenager I used to like to cause trouble by doing things the legal codes the State of Washington likes to define as "malicious mischief." (Sorry, no details because I know both parental units read this blog.) Now I mostly like to cause it with my words both of the written and oral variety. This week though I accidentally kicked it old-school and as a result I can never show my face in the Edmonds McDonald's ever again which is all right because I have been there exactly once in my life. (I despise McDonald's. I will never eat a hamburger from there, even if I am starving. It's blasphemy to call those things by that name.)

Last Monday, Stacey and I decided to hit the drive-thru for some kind of sugary treat because it had been that kind of a day. Stacey got an ice cream cone and I ordered a caramel frappe. I was under the impression it would not have coffee in it because when you order that drink at Starbucks it does not contain coffee. I was cool with that because I don't drink coffee. Anyway, my drink had a distinct coffee taste so I went in to complain after determining that it did indeed have coffee.

The manager was less than sympathetic to my plight. He said, "You ordered that."

"I know but I did not know it had coffee in it."

"Well it does. It comes with coffee."

"Could I have one without coffee then?"

"No, you ordered it, sir."

"I don't want the coffee."

"Well, the mix comes with coffee, sir."

"Really?" (I am still confused why there is a mocha caramel frappe and a caramel frappe if they both contain coffee.) Can I get my money back or exchange it?" At this point I was just trying to save face. He was very smug and it had been a long day.

"You can buy a hot chocolate. It has chocolate in it."

"Thanks for your help," I said as I walked off.

On the way out, I went to throw my frappe away in the garbage but I missed. Turns out the can had one of those really small openings and frappe went everywhere. All over me, all over the floor, all over the door, the tables of innocent bystanders, and back on the counter.

You know how in old Westerns the bar gets real quiet before the gunfight starts? That's how it felt. With everyone staring at me like that it was clearly the calm before the storm. I inched my way towards the door but thought better of running once I got there so I turned around and said, "That was an accident. Sorry." I made a move towards the counter and the manager turned his back on me while everyone else bore holes through my head with their dagger eyes.

So anyway, my primitive reptile brain kicked in and I hightailed it out of there. I jumped into the car and said, "Go before the cops get here. I can never go back there." I almost expected my friends from high school to be there instead of my wife. Stacey just laughed and said no one was calling the cops for something that silly.

She sounded like she knew what she was talking about but that didn't stop me from singing Rage Against the Machine to myself as I lay in bed wondering how the next day was going to go down. Where the cops going to get me before someone recognized the company logo on my jacket and e-mailed my CEO?

Five days later, it's clear she was right and no one really cared about something so petty. That was good news to my adult self but my teenage self is a little sad that all the stuff I did with my friends in high school wasn't as hardcore as I thought it was. I bet no one even called the cops on us once. Sad.