Hypocrisy At It’s Finest

On the day we drove out of Minnesota for our much needed vacation, we decided to make one final trip to Caribou Coffee and the adjoining Panera Bread.

For those of you who are not in the Midwest, you’re probably wondering what Caribou Coffee is.

Caribou Coffee is angel’s tears in coffee form, put into your cup by someone who is really good at pretending to care about your day, with inches of sugary sludge and coffee strong enough to make you grow chest hair if you’re a woman, while not having the acidity that nasty ass Starbucks has.  It’s on every corner in Minneapolis, and it’s found in North Dakota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas and Missouri.  Also Seoul, Korea.  It is my favorite, and whenever I go home, I usually drop around $100 at Caribou coffee and I buy tons of coffee beans from them.  Easily one pound of coffee beans a week.  Because they are next to godliness.

And no, they did not pay me to say that.  But if they sent me free coffee beans, I would not object.  Hint hint Caribou Coffee.

 

Basically Angel's Tears

Basically Angel’s Tears

Anyway, because the commissary on base stopped selling Caribou Coffee beans just before we left, I had to get my fix.  So I drank far more coffee than I should.  Every day.  All day.  It was awesome.

The day that we left, Alex went into Panera Bread to get us bagels for the road, and I got our coffee.  We had this awesome little Asian woman make our coffee.  I have no idea what her name was, but she was so funny and she made awesome coffee.  Seriously Caribou, where do you find your employees?

When I came out, Alex was madder than hell.

“You won’t believe this,” he tells me, as he straps himself into the car, burning his tongue on the angel’s tears.  “I asked a really cute little old lady if I was standing in the right line and she screamed at me that I wasn’t, then went to sit down.”

I shrugged.  This was not uncommon for women in their eighties.

“After she sat down, she started to scream at this old man that nobody treats veterans with respect and that she can’t stand people who are rude to veterans and active duty military.”

I choked on my Turtle Mocha made of angel tears, trying not to laugh.

“Did you tell her that you’re technically a vet and currently active duty?”

He shook his head.  “There was no point.  She would have probably gotten mad at me.  You know, because I’m a big dumb youngin’ who can’t figure out where the line is.”

He had a point.  He then continued, “It’s so weird, every day we’ve been in Minnesota, we’ve had awesome customer service and everyone was friendly.  Our last day here, an old woman screams at me and complains nobody is nice to military.  What the fudge?”

So we ate our bagels and began our drive out of Minnesota, wishing we didn’t have to leave.

 

Have you ever been treatly really poorly for something completely stupid?  What’s your worst customer service experience?  Let me know in the comments!

The Corn Gods Must Be Crazy

Alex and I decided to be really stupid and drive to Minnesota last month.  It’s a two day drive, and I always forget that time seems to stop in Iowa, because it feels like an eternity to get through Iowa.

Since I am from Minnesota, and every Minnesotan can agree with me on this, I believe that Iowa is not a real place and that it needs to fall into a hole in the earth.  Of course, I’m exaggerating, but seriously, Iowa is not a real place

Not real by association

Not real by association

Since Alex has lived in a total of eight different states, he has no love or affiliation with any place.  Since he spent a lot of time on the east coast, I consider him an east coaster, but I was born and raised in the same area of Minneapolis and lived there for 18 years.  My mom still lives in the house that she bought when I was four, and I still talk to a couple of my high school teachers.

I’m very, very overly proud of my home state and home town.  Something that baffles my in laws, but I think it just adds to my quirkiness.

Anyway, I’m getting off topic.  As soon as we get to Iowa, I scrunch my nose and complain that Iowa is basically hell and not a real place.  Alex starts to get agitated with me.

Alex: Why are you so against Iowa?  What did Iowa ever do to you?

Me: It exists.  Isn’t that enough?

Alex: NO!  THAT IS NOT A REASON TO HATE SOMETHING!  THAT’S WHAT HITLER THOUGHT ABOUT THE JEWS!  THAT IS NOT A VALID REASON TO HATE A PLACE OR SET OF PEOPLE!

But by the end of the day, Alex would be agreeing with me.

Not a real place

Not a real place

There’s this chain of fast food restaurants in the Midwest called Culver’s.  They fry their burgers in butter, they serve beer battered cheese curds from Wisconsin, and their ice cream is actually frozen custard and they make it fresh in every store.  You can get a heart attack just looking at their delicious food, and it’s a treat for Alex and I to visit every time we’re home.  I looked on the Culver’s website and find that there’s a Culver’s in Des Moines.  I figure that this was the time for Iowa to redeem itself.  They also had a Caribou Coffee, which is my favorite chain of coffee stores, and I will go into my love for Caribou in a later post.

Alex and I were starving.  The biscuit and gravy breakfast from the Super 8 Motel was not sticking with us.  Alex and I are both hangry (so hungry that you’re angry).  I get the directions on my phone to get to the closest culver’s restaurant, and as we’re getting closer, we realize that we’re in a residential area.  When the maps says we’re there, we’re in front of a condemned house.

Strike one, Iowa.

Alex says screw it and we’ll find something once we get to Minnesota, which at this point is only two hours away.  I pull out some veggies from our cooler of goodies, but carrots are just not a good substitute.

As we’re back on the highway, I see a sign stating that Culver’s is the next exit.  I get excited and then I mistake the next exit for the exit following.

So we missed culvers.  Again.  Alex was furious.

I can’t blame him.

Then I see a sign for caribou.  Alex tells me that if he can’t get cheese curds, I can’t get a turtle mocha.

So we’re both in the car, in silence, the dogs are sedated in the back, and we’re both staring ahead.  I decide to change things up a bit.

Me: How about we play I Spy?

Alex: Sure.

Me: I spy something yellow.

Alex: is it corn?

Me: Good!  Now I spy something green.

Alex: Is it corn?

Me: Ugh… Fine, I spy something husky.

Alex: Wait, wait… let me guess… It’s corn!

Me: I SPY A MUSICAL BAND KNOWN FOR ROCK AND ROLL!

Alex: IS IT KORN WITH A “K”?

Me: I SPY SOMETHING THAT IS DYING!

Alex: LEAH! THE ANSWER IS ALWAYS CORN!*

CORN EVERYWHERE

CORN EVERYWHERE

Me: THIS IS WHY IOWA ISN’T A REAL PLACE!

When we finally got into Minnesota, after getting lost in Des Moines, driving through hundreds of acres of corn, Alex and I came to an agreement.

The corn gods must be crazy.

 

Have you ever been to a place where you were just so frustrated by how little there was?  Have you ever gotten lost in a strange town because apple maps were designed by assholes?  Let me know in the comments!

*Our I Spy game lasted close to an hour.  Only two other times were the answers not corn: When I spied something spinny, which was a wind turbine, and I spied something beany, which were the soybeans.