weak nights

Howdy, Partner: Now Bend Over

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

 

Previous to working at [redacted], I had: cleaned trash cans, floor mats and menu boards at a Taco Bell; been paid $2/hour for babysitting a nine year old who chased me around the kitchen wielding a knife; and done time behind a deli counter in Lake Tahoe, where vacationing San Franciscans would order absurdly complex sandwiches for children who really wanted American cheese on white bread, and who looked at me like I said I’d invented the internet when I nodded at their UCLA hats saying I’d gone there too.   

So how hard could slinging coffee be, right?  I drank enough of the stuff and [redacted] did have that 100 Best Places to Work decal in their windows.  Plus, I’d realized that my degree in American Literature and Culture was not immediately going to provide fiscal success and I needed a paycheck.

My Monument Will Be a Titty Tombstone

Israel Turns 60, Moves to Florida

Say It With a Gag Gun

Everyone can agree that traditional methods of celebration are boring.  Agreements on things that are boring are the worst kind of agreements.  That ain't what life's about.  That's how come Weak Inc. invented  a zany new take on the classic goof, the gag gun.  You remember the gag gun?  Those silly weapons clowns and cartoons would use to shoot a flag that said "bang!" Well they're back and better than ever.  Simply point the wish-weapon in the direction of whoever you want to surprise, and pull the trigger...on happiness!  Fun for all occasions, including:

Mother's Day!     
Imagine the look on mom's face when she's staring down the barrel of steel, her life flashing before her eyes like a tv with bad reception, as she's swiftly forced to accept death by progeny, when all of a sudden instead of a hot leaded brain enema, she's met with this banging message of love and honor.   

Graduations!

For the grad in your family, convince ol' egghead that you're murderously jealous of her academic achievements by making her face some weight.  Tearfully force poindexter to admit that she does not think she is better than you, then pull the trigger on this flaggy show of support.

Birthdays!

Ain't no better time to confront your own End than on the very day you were born. To finish on the same day you began is like a tidy poem derived from math.  Lead a rousing, gun-point rendition of "Happy Birthday," proposing to help "blow out the candles" by playfully inserting the gun in your own mouth.   At the height of fervor, let this gag o' the year rip and prepare to be the subject of an impromptu "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow."

Plan B for Hillary Clinton

As Barack Obama is coming into focus as the likely Democratic nominee, speculation is swirling. What will become of  his opponent, Hillary Clinton, who has groomed herself for the Presidency these last four decades? A few suggestions, if I may:

• Hillary and Al Gore could form an unbeatable team in next season’s Amazing Race.

• she could sign a multi- million dollar contract to endorse a new fragrance line, one as classy and provocative as Hillary herself.

• Ms Clinton could always return to Narnia and re-establish her Reign of Eternal Winter.

• You know what would be great? If a trio of multicultural, middle-aged women who are all best friends with Hi-C whisked her off to vacation. Can you imagine straight-laced Hillary her first morning underneath the sun of a Tuscan vineyard?

She'd come out the first day in a bee keeper's hat and stiff leather brogues, clucking her tongue over the bright sunlight, the ancient plumbing, and "that ridiculous language!" Over the course of an unforgettable summer, she'd be seduced!- by a gorgeous 20 year old named Victorio and the irrepressible spirit of the Tuscan countryside. Come harvest, she'd be dancing arm in arm with the old vineyard keeper, Signorio Felice, in the stomping bucket, barefoot in a white dress soaked through with unfermented wine. They laugh like children! "Bellissimo! Mange!"  What better way to learn about wine, love--life!

See Hillary? Whatchoo waitin' for! Pack your bags, withdraw from the race, and soar. 

 

Celebrity Sightings: Starstruck at [redacted].

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

Geena Davis is really tall and, while polite, has a huge head.  Officer Raineesha Williams from Reno 911 gave me a congratulatory "um Hm!" when I remembered her drink.  I happen to know that a number of commercial actors do not, in fact, have the conditions they profess to suffer from on the TV.  Jack White gets soy milk.  The guy who played Eddie on 6 Feet Under used his own head shot as a screen saver on his laptop, and he hit on every woman who passed him in way that said, “I’m not a gay, I only play one on TV.”  It's Pat was truly gracious after I made an inane comment regarding Nora Jones and she seemed like a pretty awesome mother. 

Around the same time a co-worker lent me his copy of Freaks and Geeks, Busy Philipps started coming in almost daily for a medium drip coffee.  Unlike the majority of our regular customers, she was an impressively regular person.  Word behind the counter was that she had dated a Barista.  During the morning, we would chat about the sugar content of the low-fat muffins and when I got off work, I’d pop in whatever disc of Freaks and Geeks I was on, and she would appear on my TV.

While my Busy Philipps period felt bizarrely post-modern, the only person who made me feel physically overcome with excitement in two years of working in "high profile stores" was Courtney Love.  I've never really been a fan; she was good in The People VS. Larry Flynt, right?  But I was totally star-struck when Courtney Love walked up to the counter. 

Her face was pretty weird looking, and I tingled with the anticipation of the scene that was about to unfold, the craziness that she could pull from her proverbial hat.  She ordered a latte, I rang her up, she paid in cash and left a reasonable tip.  And then we both waited as her drink was prepared, Courtney sitting at a table, me pressed against the counter.  She got her drink when it was ready, took a sip and walked out the door.  She didn't spit on anyone or throw a chair, she didn't even say a swear.  Anne Heche made twenty times the scene that Courtney Love made.  Still, in the midst of some mundane task at [redacted], I often recalled the excitement I felt when I saw her first walk through those glass double doors.

The Lead Singer of Vampire Weekend is Some Dork

Hip or not man, this kid's a real doofus. I mean look at the fella.  He looks fresh off the stage of some high school quad eating area (I mean to say his band probably gained a following during high school, and is made up of band geeks).  These dorkos missed some much needed poundings along the way by the big dogs of the campus.  The only string section these nerdwads should be familiar with is the string of beatings received in the section of their face.  This kid's professor father is probably all proud of him, thinking back fondly on the times he and his achieving son spent in their socks, listening to significant LPs and perfecting guitar maneuvers in the downstairs den.  It is a blemish on society that we let former band geeks get away with being anything besides a national embarrassment.  They were dorks back in the day, and just because they got quirkier in life, doesn't mean that original seed of dorkiness has germinated into anything besides a massive dork flower.  Which reminds me, what is this kid's name anyways?  Lewis? Probably something that rhymes with "dork flower." (Most likely 'spork cower'--like he is such a weakling that if you threatened him with a plastic spork from your high school cafeteria, he would all cower and stuff.  Stork glower? In the sense that a snork would glower at him as a baby, because he knows what a massively shameful geek-o-the-week times a 1000 this kid is going to be.  Alas, my wit has exhausted me.  "Look outside the raincoats gone, oh, oh oh..." indeed.

I, Wonder

Take a Hike, Internet Comedy

Everyone knows that comedy on the Internet has more than run its course.   There are simply too many funny videos to keep track of these days, it's enough to drive a body, INSANE.  Wait, there's a doctor on tv right now commercializing the prevalence of genital herpes.  Apparently, genital herpes is pretty common.  If this advertisement (pronounced the British way ((and "British" pronounced the American way ((("American" is pronounced the Italian way)))--anyways, if this advertisement is any indication, couples likely to have genital herpes are the same couples that dress in pale yellows and relax on whitewashed planks of their deck behind their waterfront home.  Couples with genital herpes enjoy sunsets just as much as couples without genital herpes, maybe even more so. 
Well, I Love You...

The End

'Mad' scientists increasingly seeking terrorist benefactors

AP Wire, Libya – Following the success of such eccentric scientists as Emmet Brown and Tony Stark, fringe scientists and engineers are increasingly turning to the deep pockets of international terrorism to unwittingly fund their research.

The people behind so-called "crackpot" inventions face an uphill battle when competing for venture capital domestically. Cancer researcher Glen Heibeck says, "That's why I'm taking to the hills of Afghanistan. Hopefully I'll get kidnapped and asked to build an atomic bomb or something. Maybe then I can get my hands on some smart fabric or perhaps some aluminum tubes so I can finish my research."

It's a plan that has worked for cash-strapped inventors and entrepreneurs for decades.

"How else are you going to get the necessary plutonium for the Showtime Rotisserie fuel cell?" asked Ron Popeil, inventor. Popeil has sold over 2 million units of the Ronco food dehydrator, but admits he is troubled by the knowledge that the technology behind it was instrumental in a Sarin gas attack in a Tokyo subway in 1995.

Though most do not share the goals of their bamboozled benefactors, inventors willing to take the risk can reap big rewards. The Tamil Tigers were conned several times by different inventors, causing their campaign of ethnic cleansing of Sinhalese and Muslims populations to be severely cut short, but did give American consumers such conveniences as the Flowbee, Pocket Fisherman, and the Chip Clip.

Mark Grossman, inventor of The Clapper - a remote device for turning off lights, originally intended to replace suicide bombers - acknowledges his invention never would have gotten off the ground if not for his ties to Palestinian nationals.

"I just hope al-Qaeda or Hamas has some need for a weaponized barbecue grill or sandwich press."

It may not be the excesses of Western culture themselves that are an affront to terrorist groups, but rather the means used to attain them. One terrorist spoke on condition of anonymity: "We've been selling opium for months saving up for that detonator. All we're trying to do is take back our land from the corrupt world bankers and Zionists, then this guy steals it so he can make a folding chair you take hiking. You can't help but feel a little betrayed by that."

Just Say No: No, Seriously.

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

While I worked the night shift because it didn't interfere with my substitute teaching, many of my compatriots worked the same because it didn't interfere with their recreational drug regimens. After 4 pm, the walk-in fridge was basically a lactating humidor. Someone was always selling and I blame Group Thought for my maiden voyage on shrooms.

While that experience gave me little more than a profound appreciation for Badly Drawn Boy's album Bewilderbeast and the revelation that the world and all of humanity is a series of interlocking machines, my co-workers' reminisces of past use taught me so so much.

There was Walter, who said that after the FIRST time he did PCP, the friend he did it with jumped to his death from a high rise window. After working with Walter's sister at another store, I asked him who was older. He replied simply, "I don't know" and went back to cutting the tigers out of a roll of Siddhartha Blend stickers.

And then there was Mecq'ah.

My mother warned me against dropping acid (and unwashed hair) by invoking a film strip she'd seen in high school. It showed an aged hippie wandering aimlessly, plagued by constant flashbacks. In doomed tones, the audio reel said these flashbacks would torment him for the rest of his now useless life.

Mecq'ah had done enough LSD to make that PSA a reality. After a co-worker read his birth name on the schedule, she asked how he'd arrived at "Mecq'ah." "You know how a ketchup bottle says 54," he said. "It's kind of like that, plus my Grandmother was Cajun."

One hot summer night, with a line of customers to the door, Mecq'ah stopped all the blenders and doubled over with laughter. After a moment, he composed himself and explained, "they are so adorable, and so funny."

Surprisingly, I found we had a mutual acquaintance: a friend of mine he'd worked with years before at a non-[redacted] job. He spoke with supreme tenderness about how she'd pick him up at his shelter and take him out for long drives and hot meals. He said he'd always wanted to tell her how much that meant to him. Hoping for a Hallmark moment, I told all this to my friend. "All I remember is I had to fire him for stealing and now I still see him everywhere," she responded.

A year after I left [redacted], I was walking down my block when I heard someone screaming my name. I turned to see Mecq'ah hanging out the window of a passing BMW SUV, flailing his arms in my direction. I was startled to see him so close to my home, but took comfort in the fact that I was about to move to a new apartment, one Mecq'ah had never visited. But late one night, months after I had moved, he left me a voicemail saying I should go roll up my car windows, because it had started to rain. I figured it was another flashback, until I walked to my car and realized he was right.

Previously:
Bad Santa: Bad, Bad Santa.
Just Have It Your Way, You Expletive Expletive
The Eye of the Siren

Election Primer

With the impending 2008 presidential election a mere seven months away, national polls indicate that most Americans have not yet made up their minds about which candidate they favor.  While the Republicans were able to hoist up a single candidate, the Democrats remain evenly split between two candidates.  In Weak Nights' ongoing effort to improve the inner lives of its readers, we now present to you a primer of the most important criteria yet for selecting a president.

How the 2008 Presidential Candidates Would Look With Ponytails

Candidate: John McCain

Type: Baby's Breath

Comments: The official Republican nominee famously spent five years in a Southeast Asian prison camp during his adventurous youth.  After an experience like that, who could blame him for not wanting to spend five minutes in front of a mirror.  Expect a trim, easily managed ponytail held back with a simple rubber band.

Ponytail rating:  8.0

Candidate: Hillary Clinton

Type: The Silkworm

Comments: No stranger to the traditional ponytail during her husband's administration, First Lady Clinton was famous for accessorizing her ponytail with a headband or couture derby hat.  But now that she's Senator Clinton, she has reinvented herself as a no-nonsense leader with a vision for the country... as signified by the long braid she acquired while on a Native American vision quest.  Her spirit animal?  The mythical albino bat.

Ponytail rating:  7.2

Candidate: Barack Obama

Type: Untamed Heart

Comments: Senator Obama's multi-ethnic heritage ensures an unruly but passionate puffy ponytail that would appeal to people of all demographics.  With this particular pony, he's saying "you won't get the kind of straight, shiny ponytail you've grown accustomed to in politics, but you'll see something different and you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Ponytail rating: 8.4

And now for the fallen candidates, which we include in this primer due to their Vice Presidential nominee potential.

Candidate:  John Edwards

Type: Auburn Wind

Comments: Few doubt that Senator Edwards' ponytail would be the shiniest, best-conditioned ponytail in Washington, but would you be surprised to know that its potential for split-ends is off the charts?  We don't need a Vice President who spends two hours a day applying hot oil treatments.  Voters beware.

Ponytail rating: 5.1

Candidate: Mike Huckabee

Type: Cobra Smoke

Comments: Governor Huckabee has made a career of charming people with his down-home colloquialisms and Baptist piety, but make no mistake: his ponytail would be just as charming.  No matter your position in the room, you will feel like Huckabee's ponytail was watching you, and you'd always be glad for it.  Things will feel a lot less lonely whenever Huckabee's ponytail is around.

Ponytail rating: 8.7

Candidate: Mitt Romney

Type:  Stallion's Promise

Comments:  Just when you think you've got geometry pretty much figured out, along comes Mitt Romney, whose ponytail somehow makes his jaw look even more square.  It's a new kind of hyperdimensional square though, so put away your protractor and just appreciate it.

Ponytail rating: 9.0

Weak Nights Brain Teaser

Here is a riddle for those who can read: A man walks into Albertsons, collects no groceries; he walks straight to the checkout line, reaches above the magazines that are about soap operas and retrieves a DVD on sale for the fair price of 19.99, plus traditional tax. The DVD is Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, starring Dustin Hoffman and Natalie Portman. The man is not mentally disabled. Why does he buy this DVD?

A: He is a fan of Dustin Hoffman

B: He is a fan of Natalie Portman

C: He is a fan of crappy whimsy

I Been There Pal

By this point in Life, you're probably looking for some sort of Guidance.  "What the heck am I supposed to do?" You might be asking yourself. Well, you're in luck.  Because I know a lot about this World.  I "get it," so to speak. I'm not like those people who don't understand things, and how they work.  The main difference between "them" and "me," is that me have--I mean, "I" have the drop on anything this topsy-turvy marble can toss at you.  When it comes down to it, we're all just spinning round and round on this big blue marble trying to make some sense of what those before us figured out.  Well, I can't tell you how this is going to end, and I can't tell you flat out what to do, but I can give you fellow travelers some hints:

Pogs
Windows XP
the name "Maleek"
Horse Shoes
Grand Canyon
Left
Ballet Folklorico
El Nino
T-shirt

The rest, my friends, is up to you.  Happy trails...

Bad Santa: Bad, Bad Santa.

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

He was christened Bad Santa on account of his full white beard, round belly and penchant for sweater vests. Well, sweater vest. Unlike the woman who made the entire block smell like stale urine, Bad Santa always paid. With crisp bills pulls from a manila envelope, folded and tucked under one filthy arm. And he always seemed to have enough for coffee and sometimes enough for an entire Ralph's birthday cake, which he would bring with him into the cafe and enjoy with his beverage.

One day, he came in and went straight to the bathroom. He stayed in there a long time, but we were preoccupied with a late morning rush. When the line had cleared, I handed Newbie a rag and bottle of sanitizer and told him to go spot clean the bathroom. He returned to the counter seconds later looking like a PTSD case.

His facial expression was so suffused with horror that I was convinced he had seen more than the usual bathroom grossness. So, I grabbed a co-worker and we went to investigate. We walked into the bathroom to find a thick line of blood smeared waist high around the entire perimeter, more blood on the floor and toilet and the sink filled with bloody paper towels. My coworker downed three successive shots of espresso, put on several pairs of plastic gloves and two aprons and she cleaned the shit out of that bathroom with her own mixture of sanitizer, bleach and tile cleaner.

Previously:
Just Have It Your Way, You Expletive Expletive
The Eye of the Siren

Just When You Thought It Was Safe...

PEEPTOWN - THE TRAILER!

In a town run by candy, one man stands alone...

WEAK NIGHTS UNDERCOVER

Just Have It Your Way, You Expletive Expletive

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

In the barista business, you come to dread the sentence, "Can I show you what I mean?" With those white cups in their eager hands, customers feel empowered to mime all manner of requests. And while their creativity is noted, it is not appreciated.

Drink orders speak to you. A sudden switch to decaf says, "I'm pregnant!" Half soy milk, half low-fat milk, one shot regular, half shot of decaf, two pumps sugar free vanilla syrup and whipped cream says, "Hey, I'm a fucking asshole."

That was the drink I made every day for a successful realtor on the Westside. She was very thin. Like Karen Carpenter thin. And when her trainer gave her the tragic news that she had gained one pound, she stormed the counter accusing me of messing with her soy to cow milk ratio.

Interestingly, [company name redacted] doesn't actually order "low-fat milk." They order non-fat and full-fat milk and to make low-fat milk, the barista combines the two in equal proportion. Adding soy to the mix does mean making a third milk recalibration. Well, Skeletor the Realtor could see that my degree had failed to equip me with the concept of thirds and she was gracious enough to make sure I got me some education on the subject.

I once heard Barry Levinson order a PA to get him "a medium, ice blended coffee, not too much mocha syrup, blended twice and scanned for large ice fragments (reblended if necessary), whipped cream on top, if it wasn't runny." I heard him say those words and thought, "that man has a very small… sense of hubris."

Fun Holiday Traditions

BRING THE SPIRIT OF THE SEASON INTO YOUR WORKPLACE!

If your co-workers forget to wear green on St. Patrick's Day, pinch them!

If they aren't wearing a pumpkin on Halloween Day, scare them!

If they don't wear red on St. Valentine's Day, kiss them!

If they wear white shoes after Labor Day, step on their feet!

If they aren't wearing red, white, and blue on the 4th of July, shoot them with fireworks!

If they don't kiss you under the mistletoe on Christmas, give them herpes!

If they aren't grateful on Thanksgiving, poison their gravy!

If they don't wear a sweater on Grandparents' Day, throw them down the stairs!

If they don't see their shadow on Groundhog's Day, bury them alive!

If they don't look for eggs on Easter, boil them alive!

If they don't blow up Parliament on Guy Fawkes' Day, RAPE THEM.

No court in the country will convict you. Have an Irish day!

Peeps Go Green For St. Pat

    That's right, green is the new yellow. At least for today, these little candies are drunk and look like they might be sick. And you reader, should be too.  Happy St. Patty's from your friends at weak nights.

The Eye of the Siren

For two years, Kelsey McConnell worked at a popular coffee chain.  This is her story.

Being Irish, I can make a night out of whiskey, potatoes and spinning yarns. With the village children gathered at my knee, I tell tales of my years working as a barista at [name redacted to protect The Man]-- Tales that leave them squealing with delight, until they sober up and ask if they will suffer a similar fate after they graduate from college. And then I laugh and say, "yes, yes you will. If you major in American Literature."

But after I impress upon them that the liberal arts breed poverty, I reassure them that working at a [redacted] can be an enriching experience in its own right. From coworkers' diverse walks of life, the desires and shameful secrets of paying customers and a bathroom accessible to the mentally ill homeless, I gained enough wisdom to fill a pyramid...

The Castaway: Free Coffee and Street Alchemy.

Vagrants tend not to offer many personal details, so we baristas developed our own names for many of the homeless regulars. The Castaway looked basically like his namesake: tall and very thin, long crazy hair, clothes in tatters. I would see him walking a wide loop around the Fairfax/Melrose area, eye fixed forward and otherwise expressionless.

Without fail, he dropped a fistful of dirt and grass into the coffee that we would give him sans charge. The only day that I ever heard him say anything other than "free sample" was the day he brought in his own cup and tilted it forward so I could see that there was a small flower in the bottom. It was pretty, really, its bright yellow petals and green stem against the white of the cup.

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A Fun, New Game!!

Got nothing to do on a lazy Sunday afternoon? Here's a great new spin on an old classic to lift your spirits:

Simply Precious

Please enjoy:

Weak Nights NIGHTS

Having trouble satisfying your man, ladies? Look no further... And fellas, you don't know the meaning of the word "HOT" until you see this...

Ryan's Rant: Advice From a Democrat

If the words "Clinton" and "Obama" give you a headache, why not let Ryan be your Advil??

WEINER DANCE!

Is That...Ketchup?

Dave Sedaris' Pipin' Hot Pizza