When I went home in January, I went to Tim Hortons a lot. It’s like Dunkin Donuts, but Canadian. I love them, eh. Mom, Tori and I went to a dinner at the Olive Garden one night because they received terrible service a few months before there so as a peace-offering for mild food poisoning, they gave Mom a gift certificate. I discovered this after we sat down and ordered. On the way home we stopped for coffee. I wanted a tea latte because it was 7 pm and I have enough crazy going through my head at night without the help of caffeine. We went through the drive through and the girl on the speaker had to repeat everything about three times. None of us were confident we would get what we ordered. Tori ordered a double double (two cream, two sugar) and I forget what Mom ordered. Tori insists she asked for vanilla creamer but neither of us heard her say that. “I ALWAYS get a double double vanilla!” she yelled from the back seat. “Ah, yeah, except this time.” She didn’t appreciate or believe it. I wouldn’t exactly call Mom and I “great listeners” or “interested in what others are saying” but I swear she did not say vanilla. I held onto my tea for a bit before I took a sip because it was crazy hot and Mom was driving in a way that made me think one instance of brain damage would not be my only run in with vehicular-induced naps. She turned left at a red light. That’s not a standard traffic option, in case you were wondering. So after Tori and I made sure she knew she ignited traumatic feelings, I had some tea.
The taste, the taste. I hate it when people compare taste to something awful that they never actually experienced, like dog shit. Really? You ate dog shit? I doubt it. Go test it and then you can compare it, clown box. The tea tasted not like tea. It tasted like hot water and something mildly bitter. I thought “wow, weird” and then just held it for a bit. After we got inside I took another sip and I thought maybe they used a pot or something that had coffee in it at one point and they didn’t rinse it very well. “Dude, drink this. It’s weird, right?” Tori took a sip and made the bitter face. “Yeah, what the fuck. It tastes like coffee.” And then a lightbulb went on…”Ummm, tell me they put a tea bag in some coffee!” I was more excited that I had solved the ten minute tea latte mystery than I was angry. I took off the lid and went over to the sink and no lie, there was a tea bag in a regular cup of coffee with cream. It was hard to be mad at that much stupidity. First, I get that the average Tim Hortons customer generally orders plain coffee but a tea latte is not something I invented in my new Pacific Northwest smugness. It’s on their fucking menu. I would like to say that they sent my mom a really nice email apologizing for our bad customer service experience and probably gave her a coupon. Mostly I blame the education system of America for not preparing American youth to translate Canadian coffee and tea instructions, eh. The picture above is a different, standard and delicious experience I had there. I even bought a bag of beans to bring back to Seattle with me. However, I guess I will stick to coffee there. Tea lattes are beyond their realm of expertise. You’d probably get your ass whomped for drinking a tea latte at the hockey rink anyway.
As I was typing this out, I yelled “mother fucker!” because I couldn’t get Tim to capitalize. I kept backspacing and typing tim instead. About six times. Captain asked what was wrong with legitimate concern. “You don’t have to react every time I say mother fucker. It’s usually not important.” I said this with accusation and not apology. Then I laughed because he should know better. We are launching Operation Cohabitation tomorrow. He had today off so I sent him as the advance team to scout locations in his current apartment complex that meet all my requirements for said cohabitation. He probably didn’t wear camo to do this. He texted me a picture of two layouts that we can look at tomorrow. You know, those layouts with lots of boxes and circles that are supposed to represent sinks, toilets, beds and washer/dryer units except they all look the same so I assume you have to shit next to the bed. He gave up on TV tonight and is playing a video game. There is more storytelling in some of these than stabbing and fighting. And captions. WTF? I am feeling very judgemental toward the developers of this Conan nonsense right now. At least he’s letting me drink in peace.