Bobby Brewers

I'm sitting in this cafe across from my hotel. I don't like the place. It's convenient and that's about it. There's too much ice in my overpriced orange juice. And too much foam too. I can understand getting a little too much head on your beer, but your orange juice? Scoop that shit off.

Then there's the internet connection. Which is ridiculous. Always slow. You'd think I'd learn from the last time I came here and almost threw my laptop on the ground. What else can I bitch about? Let's see...

When you walk into the place you are greeted by a sea of overfriendly people. It's actually nice. All these friendly smiles. Then you place your order, go upstairs and the smiles seem to disappear. Everyone is either a bitch or an asshole. And they all look the same. Black jeans, black t-shirt, black hat and some kind of Chuck Taylor look-a-like shoes. I'm surrounded by robots.

I think I made that last part up. Surely they're nicer than that. Just because nobody is paying me any attention doesn't mean they are rude robotic bitches. C'mon, I know better than that. I'll give them a second chance. I promise. I've actually heard they have good pancakes here. And the veggie meatball sub is supposedly pretty good too. And they have free movie showings in their upstairs "theater". It can't be all that bad.

So, next time I'll go elsewhere for Internet. I know this place doesn't meet my needs. And I won't get the foamy orange juice. It'll just make me wince and say it all over again. And it will happen again. But I will come back for the free movie and some fruit salad tomorrow morning. And I'll get a cookie. Those are good. And I'll try to smile. That usually works wonders. Somehow, as much as I know this, it's so easy to forget.