We keep our sleeves behind the counter. You know, those little cardboard doohickeys that protect your hand from the heat of the drink? The ones you grab by default from an accessible container at virtually every other establishment? We keep them away from you. Hidden. And we put them on some beverages by default (the really, really hot ones), and on some only if asked. So you constantly have people:
1) Getting their drinks.
2) Realizing the drinks are too hot for their delicate hands.
3) Looking furtively around the serving area.
4) Taking their drinks to the condiment bar because surely there must be sleeves there.
5) Sometimes pacing the length of the store hunting for the Sleeve Dispenser or perhaps a Sleeve Tree.
6) Finally asking in tones ranging from apologetic to totally freaking irritated, "can I have a sleeve?"
We force people into this pointless waste of precious life-minutes because it's apparently better service to give them sleeves instead of just assuming they'll take sleeves. People complain about the policy on our surveys, and still we are resolute.
I realize this may sound like small potatoes, but today was the busiest day I've had in months, and going through steps one through six about five hundred times has driven me up all four walls and left me on the ceiling.
It was my last Saturday shift ever, though.
It was my last Saturday shift ever. I may just repeat that to myself for a while.
What kind of powers, Lisa? Are they as cool as mine? According to this thing, I "conquer rivals using a death-dealing tail made from mental energy. He likewise developed the talent to change shape into a hat, however only when angry. Lamentably, Jim Smylie becomes powerless in the presence of adamantium." Don't piss me off, people. I'll turn into a trilby. Maybe even a panama.
I've seen one one anime and one live action show based on Journey to the West and I have never thought of any dick jokes until now.
What is wrong with me?