Spitters - Blech

The end of the year...again
I didn’t get a post up yesterday, mostly because I was tired, a lot happened at work, and I wasn’t quite sure what I was going to talk about. But, now I have three things:
1) sidewalks
2) The Bus
3) Out of Date Blogs
Sidewalks in Los Angeles are a scary place. Not because of the unknown strangers, but because of the spitters. Maybe I walk too quietly, maybe people of deaf, but I’ve had too many near misses from people spitting. I used to tell my brother that when he prepared to spit, he sounded like a cow attempting to push food from stomach two to stomach three. It’s the same sound.
Why must people spit on the sidewalk. Can’t they spit into a napkin or handkerchief, or something - why the sidewalk. (The gagging Ginny says) You know it’s not just saliva - the spit is slippery. Oh, I have to talk about something else!
The other thing about the sidewalk - There’s a guy who lives on our sidewalk, he sleeps between two trees, and is usually sleeping on my way home from work, but just getting up when I leave for work. I’ve been trying to get into the habit of saying good morning and hello. It started because I had a near miss from his spitting.
At first his response was all grunts. So, it would go like this:
“Good Morning! Have a nice day,” dumb girl says.
“Hrumph,” says neighbor.
It went like this for a couple of days.
This morning, he was up and moving around, so...
“Good Morning! Have a nice day,” dumb girl says.
“Good Morning to you too,” says neighbor.
“Thank You,” - I was shocked that he said something back.
“Hey where are you going?”, he says.
“I am going to work - Have a nice day,” and that was that.
That’s it. There’s nothing more to the story. I’m sure that if or when Alex reads this he will shake his head. It’s a habit, I will talk to most anyone - especially if they seem like they need to talk.
I tell this story a million times, but it’s a good story...
One day at Mud Bay Coffee, I was behind the counter making, um, coffee. It was raining outside, it was Christmas time. The majority of our customers were women, who worked, who had kids, had big houses, and big expectations. They also had weird drink. A customer, known to me as Pineapple-Latte-Lady, had twin boys, and she had come in for her afternoon tall Pineapple latte.
[in the background as I write this, one of the train doors has stopped working, and I’ve spent the last couple of minutes at the South Pasadena station]
Anyways...A Pineapple latte is difficult to make. If the milk isn’t just the right temperature the syrup will crystalize, and the milk looks like it’s curdling. Yuck. So - you’ve got to pay attention when you are steaming the milk. Because if you get it too hot, you have to start all over again.
Anyways, PLL sat down and began to enjoy her drink. I sat behind the counter proud that I had yet again conquered syrup! She asked me how school was going.

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