Dunkin Donuts saga.
Nothing is better than ordering from a Brooklyn Dunkin Donuts operated by African Americans. It is the only place where I can go to have the same question about my cream and sugar coffee asked to me 8 times. Cream and sugar usually means it has cream and sugar in it. Not there. It means ask me 8 times about what I want in my coffee. It would be acceptable but there are only really 2 things that can be added to coffee so it’s like, hey, ask me no more than 2 questions. The worst part was that I had to help out a cop. I don’t generally like cops but the person behind the counter was so oblivious to the menu that she had no idea what was going on. I forgot to tell you she was the manager. I then made the mistake of ordering a sausage and egg croissant which took me 15 minutes to get and was almost frozen. I bit into it and almost choked on insanity. This guy assembled the cold egg, sausage and cheese croissant and proceeded to hand wrap it and hand it to me. No heat at all. I swear he had too many paint chip flavored iced coffees. It was crazy.
15 minutes later I shit my brains out in some apartment we were looking at renting that had toilet paper. I’m not sure how the broker really took it when I closed the door and came out 5 minutes later. Who cares the apartment sucked. There was a home HIV test box on the floor which I can’t say wanted to make me live there.