Awesome! A while back, I mentioned that I'm not exactly enamored with the overuse of the word "awesome" and more to the point, the misuse of the word. I'll refresh your memory.
Awesome is a term that once meant and should be only reserved for those things in life which are...well...awesome. Mountain ranges, extraordinary beauty, epic moments in history. Come to think of it, epic is getting a slam dunk into the incorrectness hamper too.
But we're here to discuss awesome. The fact that the word peppers sentences from here to Timbuktu, is soooo not awesome. To add insult to injury, it's all but replaced "cool". That's not cool with me, because I love cool. Is cool going the way of the dinosaur to sit alongside groovy (another of my favorite words) and balderdash?
Today was a case in point. I'm at Starbucks and smiling pleasantly at the amiable twentysomething male at the register sporting a sideways black baseball cap covered in "bling" that was once known as "pieces of flair" and place my order, which surprisingly, I didn't fuck up. What do you think he said? Exactamundo!
Waiting for my coffee, I witness Barista Dude chatting up his coworkers. First, he repeats my order, which, as Starbucks policy dictates, is repeated back to him. His response?
"Awesome!" That's it. One word. One, glorious, unencumbered exclamation of joy and exuberance. Or just sleepwalking through a life filled with meaningless sound bites. Take your pick.
His co-worker: "I get off in two hours and I'm going to pick up my girlfriend."
Co-worker: "We need a bag of decaf beans for this customer."
"Awesome!" All with a shit eating grin slapped across his face.
Oh, and because this next exchange so beautifully illustrated the meaning of the terms "douche canoe" and "twat waffle", a term which I was explaining to Kevin just moments earlier, I have to share it here.
Man dressed in what look like ordinary guy duds, not in any way a hipster or over intellectualized individual, orders - no kidding - a soy, no foam, 110 degree vanilla latte. Really? Really? You pretentious fuck. You want it at 110 degrees? You gonna be that specific?
Oh, but there's more. Barista gets the order wrong. Butt Brittle tells her "It doesn't say 'vanilla' on it." Barista self deprecates to make amends and squirts a splash of vanilla into the cup. Butt Brittle shoots her a look that says she has wronged him. "This isn't 110 degrees."
Are you serious? You can feel the temperature, Mr. Asbestos Digits? What, is it one degree off? Barista tells him she's "a jerk" and tosses the beautiful latte straight into the trash and feverishly prepares him another as he condescendingly offers "that's okay."
Oh...is it? Is it really? And by the way, you're holding up my order, you Starfuck. So I stare at him. I stare a hole into his 110 degree heart. Because when people piss me off and astound me with their displays of brilliance in the category of assholery, I stare at 'em. Just to unnerve 'em. It's fun.
Then my name is called "Lindsay", because Sir Awesome Sauce was riding so high on cloud caffeinated that he didn't hear me exactly...and I look at Ms. Barista and say...