Society 1: Giggling Skanks 0
Here's the scene:
You're at a coffee place to get a cup of coffee so can choke down the rest of your crappy work day without falling face-first into your keyboard. Not a vanilla latte, coconut mocha, sugarfree, no-whip $7 novelty, but a cup of coffee.
In front of you is the nightmare scenario of anybody with anything more important than a trip to the nail salon on their schedule: She's about 20, generally blond, wearing pink Ugg Boots, a pink baseball cap, a pink North Face fleece, black tights, and an obnoxious pair of sunglasses some nine sizes too large for her tiny, little skull. Her pink Motorola Razr is stuck to her head.
You can't tell when she's asking a question or making a declarative because every single sentence ends with an irritating upward inflection. And following her conversation means navigating through a million "likes" because it's just too hard for her to compose anything resembling a terse, coherent thought. You can't help but listen because she's carrying on as if the person on the other end is right in front of her.
So it's finally her time to order. Does she hang up? No. Does she tell the flameout stoner barista to wait? Oh, you bet. She won't let a modicum of courtesy interrupt her mindnumbingly pointless conversation. Nope, the world revolves around her petty, little existence.
And you have to wait for this idiot to order the most absurdly complicated beverage ever conceived before you can get your black coffee and scurry back the cubicle before the boss realizes you're gone.
If you could shoot daggers...
