The Things I DON'T Do For Duvet Covers

So back in March, I made the trek of my lifetime by hiking over 4 miles across Wellington with a massive amount of bedding and blankets like a pack mule that nearly caused me to pass out. If you haven't, you can read about this memorable experience in my previous post about duvet covers.

Since then I've had a less than easy transition into the kiwi life.

The room I had rented was making me sick. I know it sounds weird, but I really think it was against me, like the room and I did not vibe. Almost immediately I became sick with a cold that refused to leave me alone. Then I got the flu. Then I got whopping cough. Then I became ridden with flea bites and had to dispose of my mattress. Then I discovered that a sound I had been previously excusing due to the age of the house was actually a rat living in my wall. That's when I decided it was enough, and found a new place. Before moving out though, I had to spend 3 weeks sleeping on the couch with the only personal space I could claim coming from a frigid room with just a lawn chair for me to sit on and a dead rat in the wall.

The flea thing was a hassle and a half.

It was two weeks before it sank in that the itchy dots on my body were flea bites. At first I thought I was just having an allergic reaction to something, or that maybe I needed to clean my sheets. The bites came in slowly, with just a few speckled here and there. By the time I got rid of my mattress, I had them littered all over my left arm, my legs, and my stomach.

It wasn't a sure thing that they were fleas at first. Bed bugs were going around Wellington since the beginning of the year, so initially that's what I dubbed them. However, once they spread to my flatmate's room and we had an exterminator come in, he proclaimed them fleas. Which, discovering after careful consideration, I probably inherited from the rat.

Disposing of my mattress cost me $80. Medication from the pharmacy cost me $20. My portion of the exterminator cost was near $40. The bug bombs that I purchased from the supermarket were $15. And in the end, I had to get rid of ALL my blankets. All of them.

That's right, my special trip across the city that I nearly became physically sick from? Worthless. The washing machine did not get hot water, and the dryer didn't get hot either. So I couldn't even attempt to salvage an extra duvet cover or pillow case, and I didn't dare keep anything that potentially had a hidden flea nesting in it.

That is, I didn't dare keep anything that potentially had a hidden flea nesting in it except for Duvey.

(JOKES guys, I haven't REALLY named my duvet cover...but the name just HAPPENS to keep reappearing throughout my stories...)

For the record, I don't ever bite or try to consume my duvet covers. That was just for the photo. You know, to be cute or what not.


So here I am in my new apartment, still in need of purchasing my own bed which will be over $100. Then of course I'll need to buy sheets and a duvet and... ow, my wallet! But in the end, I'm very happy to have that stage of my Wellington life behind me, and I look forward to this next chapter.

My new flat is also much closer to my job. While I was plagued with whopping cough, colds, and bug bites, I was also walking 50 minutes to and from work 5 days per week. Now I only walk a leisurely 25.



Cheers to a new stage of life, and new experiences to come!



.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
xxKa

Wellington: Earthquakes and Te Papa

I've been meaning to write a new entry for a while now, but life became pretty hectic and I fell into darkness for a few weeks (ok, months). Now, I'm doing more swimming than sinking so it's time to get back at it!

Being the capitol city of New Zealand, it's no wonder that Wellington is filled with lots of culture. It is the only city I've ever visited in New Zealand, so I can't say much for the rest of the country, but I'm sure every place here has it's own unique beauty and personality. This post is going to focus on two aspects of Wellington that I've experienced so far (see title).

Wellington is at the southern tip of the North island and is situated on a fault line, so it experiences some earth quakes. At the end of last year, they actually had a pretty big one. I know one person who's house was destroyed because of it. Since I've lived here, I've been through 3 and only felt or noticed one of them. I didn't even understand what it was at first, I thought my eyes were playing tricks. My bed seemed to shift from underneath me, and jerked to the left then back. It was only for a few seconds and I didn't even realize it was an earthquake until my flatmate texted me.

Of course after finding out I had experienced my first earthquake that I hadn't slept through, I had to message all my friends in Wellington (so basically just my friend Toshi).




Before I came to New Zealand I tried to research where to live because up until the move, I had no knowledge about anything related to this country, except for the fact that they used many parts of it to film the Lord of the Rings movies. In fact, there's a LOTR film location in Wellington, which I accidentally walked through today when I was hiking without realizing it (I saw a sign afterwards pointing towards the trail).



Can you see how I might have missed this location? (Google is so useful)

While I was researching, I came across a blog by an American girl who lived in Wellington and that's when I found out about the earthquakes. Honestly, I almost didn't come to Wellington because I was really worried about them. I had never experienced one before, and when I saw that they got them quite frequently I thought 'nope'! But I'm really glad that I didn't let that influence my decision in the end, because those fears were a bit exaggerated compared to what the average earthquakes here are like. Hell, I've slept through the 2 out of 3 that have happened so far. Realistically there's probably been more than 3, and I've just slept through everything.

However, a big earthquake would not be considered unusual for Wellington. At Te Papa, a museum and one of the most famous attractions here in the capitol, there's an exhibit dedicated to earthquakes, fault lines, plates, climate, and things like that. Inside the exhibit, there's a small house that people can enter to experience a simulated earthquake that's 10 times smaller than the actual earthquake you learn about (but still pretty powerful). I went in and watched a video that showed the wreckage and destruction caused by this quake, and also heard interviews from a few survivors. It was very intense; I couldn't imagine living through something like that. The entire house was shaking and they played audio from the actual earthquake of all the buildings and structures crashing.

(Here's an image I found on Google of the earthquake house at Te Papa):



Te Papa is a really cool museum. The best exhibit they have is one called Gallipoli which tells the story of World War I through the eyes of New Zealand and what was happening in the country. Throughout the exhibit are giant sculptures created by the same people who made creatures for Lord of the Rings. These sculptures are of giant people that served in the war; mostly soldiers but even a nurse was sculpted. There are little captions by these creations that tell each person's story.

Once again, I'd like to thank Google for the image (it's not that I don't love photography, it's that my camera is too heavy and I'm slightly hipster in thinking I should live moments without always photographing them)



THEY LOOK SO REAL. It's absolutely insane! You can see the sweat on their brows, and even the flies on their food and wounds!

Te Papa also has a really beautiful Maori exhibit with a temple-like house inside that you can enter without your shoes. Perhaps it is an actual temple and not just temple-like, but I can't remember the exact label for this hut. You're not supposed to take any pictures while in the exhibit, but obviously if you search google you can find some. I won't post any here, just because...well, they told me not to take photos so I feel slightly wrong stealing and posting some from those who broke the rules! (insert laughing face emoji) Sometimes I try to be a good person.

There's also a small animal exhibit in Te Papa, but it's not very exciting. New Zealand's animal kingdom is like 45% birds, 45% marine life, and 10% wetas. Kidding...but seriously, my friend found a weta in her shower and just looking at her photos of it traumatized me.

Google don't fail me now!



Sick.

They named the studio that worked on LOTR after these creatures. People can tour the Weta Cave and see many of the epitaphs and creations used for the films. Even the head for the dragon from The Hobbit is there!! I really want to go... I haven't gotten used to the fact that I actually have money now, so there's many things I've been putting off doing that in reality I can probably do now. Like buy vegetables from the supermarket instead of never, because I can't make it to the fresh market on Sundays (where they're much cheaper- see previous blog post) due to work.

I almost spelled 'post' like 'poast.' I think that means it's time for me to wrap this up.

So that's all that I saw while I was at Te Papa, but there's many more exhibits (I think) that I still need to explore. The first friend I made in Wellington (if you're reading this, hi Jessica!) told me that she went there everyday for like 5 days! Clearly there is more for me to see.

I forgot how much I enjoy writing. Let me know if there's something about Wellington or anything else that you'd like me to write about!

Until next time,

.
.
.
.
.
.
xx Ka

I Love Cheap Veg!

Hello,

So last Sunday I went to the farmers market here in Wellington and I thought it would be a great chance to show you a bit of the city. Please pardon my videographer skills, as they are not up to par with most of the other people on YouTube. However, I like to think I added my own person spice to this dish ;)



Enjoy <3




xxKa




https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Vp0nJd_f9k

ANZ: My Banking Experience in New Zealand

Getting a bank account is a daunting task that hangs over any recently immigrated person’s head. In order to get a bank account, you need proof of address. In order to get proof of address, you need something mailed to you (like the letter from receiving your tax number, for example). In order to get your tax number, you need a bank account. This was the cycle I was up against for a few days, until I heard about the best kept travel secret thus far:

You can get proof of address from the hostel you are staying at.

I don’t know if this is true in all hostels, but at the ones in New Zealand I know that this is possible. I’m not sure if every bank would accept proof of address from your hostel, but I know the ones in New Zealand should. This is important because in order to get a job you need your tax number, and then in order to get your tax number…you get it.

When opening my bank account in Ireland, I needed a letter mailed to me by the government or some other reputable organization, or I needed a copy of my signed lease (if I were to have signed a lease, which I did not). Some banks didn’t accept my PPS number letter (that’s like a social security number) which made things even more difficult, because there was no other reason for the government to send me anything. In the end, I was able to make it work with my PPS letter at the Bank of Ireland and I am happy with that bank.

So here in Wellington, with proof of address in hand, I waltzed over to the nearest ASB branch and fearlessly walked up to the counter and greeted the worker. ASB was the bank that one of my CELTA classmates told me she used when she lived in Wellington on a Working Holiday, so I thought BRILL this will be my bank too.

Well.

The worker was smiley enough until I told him I wanted to open an account.

His lip twitched, “Do you have proof of address?” Why yes, I do and here you go. Silence. “Do you have an ID?” Yes, here is my passport kind sir. He looked through the pages of my passport with a furrowed brow. Was he looking for my NZ entry stamp? Because I was electronically scanned in so I didn’t have anything stamped in my passport. Was he a bank teller, or did I accidently walk into a New Zealand immigration office? I started to question this.

More silence. “Why do you want to open a bank account?” Because I want to get a job, nice banker man. “Do you have a visa?” Uh…yes, I have one, do you want to see it? Luckily I had it with me, so I passed it over and he examined it like he was trying to read a foreign language. Then he said he needed to ask his supervisor something and was gone.

I stood there picking at my nails, still being hopeful, but also feeling a bit scrutinized. I just wanted to open an account. I have the legal right to be here in New Zealand. What could be wrong?

He came back, the same nervous smile painted a bit more confidently on his face, and said, “I’m sorry but we don’t open accounts for people with this visa. I do, however, have a solution for you that I think will be the best option. You can go to Kiwi bank.”

Kiwi bank? That’s the bank that is inside the post office. I heard they were rubbish. I heard if you needed to discuss anything with a teller, you were doing it next to others who were managing their mail, and there wasn’t much privacy for you to talk about your financial business. Kiwi bank was the last bank I wanted to open an account with. My friend had a Working Holiday and she was with ASB….whyyyy banker man, whyyy?

I asked him if that was my only option. He said “Yes” with a flicker in his voice that told me he was a load of bollocks. I smiled and gathered all of my paperwork, slowly and painfully, simmering in the awkwardness of the moment. I stepped into the fresh air outside and took a minute to think.

Do I go to Kiwi bank? I felt my heart slipping down in my chest. I really didn’t want to go there.

Do I really have to go there? No. You know what? No. I’m going to walk into a different bank. ANZ. Ya that bank. I’m going to go to ANZ. If they reject me, so what.

SO WHAT?!

WHAT?! Rejection isn’t the worse feeling in the world! *laughs nervously to herself*

I puffed my chest out like the birds do to intimidate their foe, and pavonised (you like that CELTA classmates???) up to the line of people waiting for service at the nearest ANZ branch.

I heard from a new friend at the hostel (if you're reading this, hi Jessica!) that ANZ was a good bank so I was hopeful. After speaking with a woman at the desk, she scheduled a slot for me with Kasheef to open my account.

That's their logo. Doesn't it look like a person giving you a hug?! *u*

When I met your man, he was nothing but the epitome of excellent customer service. He was extremely friendly, explained everything to me so that I understood the most important aspects of my new account, made a few jokes, and he didn’t even ask to see my visa. All he needed was PROOF OF ADDRESS and an ID like a NORMAL bank would need to open an account. Honestly, just his smile and attitude made my day. I left a really nice review about him online afterwards.

So now…I HAS BANK ACCOUNT. And once you have a bank account…. you already know! (see paragraph 1)

If you happen to be considering opening a bank account in New Zealand, I really do recommend ANZ. Especially the one on Lambton Quay in Wellington. I’ve been there a few times after opening my account, and they helped me with everything and were so kind! They make it all so easy and pain free when banking can sometimes be a hassle and a stress!

I honestly felt like a criminal from the way they treated me at ASB....what was that about? In the end, I got my account and am with a great bank!

PS- Tomorrow is Sunday, so that means FARMERS MARKET. And guess who's got $3.50 cash for a bag of carrots, a head of lettuce, and some broccoli?? Someone who spent that money on, let's say, a bus ticket would have been really disappointed at their lack of vegetables for the week...

Just saying.

Until next time loves,

Ciao.

xxKa

The Things I Do For Duvet Covers

When I left Dublin on February 15, exactly one month and a day ago from today, I had to be careful with my packing because there was a weight limit of 25-30 kg for my journey. That's not a lot when you consider uprooting and replanting in another country.

However, while I was donating shoes that were still perfectly good and shirts that I was wearing on a weekly basis, I still managed to shove my duvet cover into my carry on. This duvet cover was the first one I bought when I moved to Ireland. I had to leave it behind when going back to the USA at the end of my Working Holiday in Dublin, but there it was for me again when I (unexpectedly) made it back a year later. I even dragged it with me to Edinburgh while I took my CELTA course, only to have found an air b&b that was fully furnished with bedding.

I haven't actually slept with it since I left Dublin at the end of 2015, but now here it is once more providing warm and comfortable blanketing for me in Wellington, New Zealand.

We've been through a lot together, and I've developed some sentimental feelings.

That's me and Duvey. 

Just kidding, I haven't named it, whatchu think?!

I might add that I reasoned bringing it with me so that I could save money by not having to buy a new one. Fair enough, right??



So today in the morning, I sent a message to a Facebook group that posts deals in Wellington about where I can buy the cheapest space heater and blankets. Even though it's summer here, my room still gets really cold on cloudy days and I can feel myself getting sick :( Wah

Instantly, a woman responded saying she'd donate some of her blankets to me! I was so shocked by her kindness! All I had to do was pick them up in Kilbirnie. That was perfect for me. I needed an excuse to workout, so I decided to run there and then I'd walk back with all the blankets. I put two Lidl bags (reusable grocery bags) into a backpack and was on my way.

Her place in Kilbirnie is about 4 miles (6.5 km) from my house, so after the tenth song played on my ipod I was there. It was a beautiful sunny day with a cool breeze- the perfect day for a trek.

I was surprised to find that she had collected heaps of things from her place for me to have, because she was moving out soon! Before I knew it, we were cramming 3 thick heavy blankets, a duvet, many pillow cases, a mirror, and a few pieces of clothing into my bags. She had to grab me a big black bin bag to fit everything.

She also gave me three duvet covers.

three. free. duvet covers.

Yet again, I had dragged this golden flowery goodness across the world with me for no reason. But that's ok. Like I said, sentimental feelings were involved so...

I left her apartment with a full backpack, two Lidl bags, and the bin bag and was on my way. At first, I was thinking 'this isn't so bad.' I had tied one of the Lidl bags to the strap on my backpack (I was feeling real smart for that little maneuver. hah)

After 15 minutes, I was dying. DYING. Like, out of breath, sweating, sore....and I had so much more to go. I wasn't even a mile into my journey. I started to day dream about cars pulling over and offering me help. Then I dreamed about the common folk who were walking in the same direction as me asking if I needed a hand. But somehow I knew, deep down, that I was going to have to go through this by myself.

Not even halfway there yet, and I'm feeling light headed. My stomach was turning around on itself. I hadn't eaten for four hours. When I was crossing the road, I didn't see a car coming and they HONKED at me...sounded like the honk from Hades, I swear that shit made me jump like Basketball Jones. I don't even know if that was a good reference, I just really like that song.

After the honk, I had to drop everything on the side of the path and take a breather. Resting wasn't as helpful as I thought it was going to be. My arms felt so weak, my head was tingling, and I just wanted to sit down more than anything. I had no food with me, no water, and...no money. I can't say I really gave this journey much thought before embarking on it.

I didn't let myself sit down because I knew it would be ten times harder to continue, and I literally couldn't stop because I had nothing with me. I wasn't going to feel better until I made it home and could have some water and rest. So I loaded up and headed out once more.

At this point I started saying 'god is with me and everything with be alright' in my head, over and over, and I'm not even religious. I don't know if I believe in a god. But I was sending a prayer to the universe, and just saying it actually made me feel stronger. I was able to muster up another spurt of strength before it got really bad again.

Was I going to die? No, no, that's silly. Was I going to get sick and need to go to the hospital? I instantly changed my thoughts after this one, focusing on my breathing. That really helped me. I would focus on breathing; sometimes in through my nose and out through my mouth, and other times more like I was at a pregnancy class. By the third mile I was properly wheezing.

Am I going to pass out? I watched as the streets became more crowded and still no one offered to help the human pack mule carry her things. I wondered if someone would help me if I passed out. Would that be a big enough sign? My breathing started to induce weird looks from my neighbors. The people in front of me would turn around and look when I got close enough. Others just looked at me like I was a nuisance when my bags would brush up against them.

But like I said before, I knew that this journey was meant to be made alone. I didn't actually expect anyone to offer help, although I was fantasizing about it...

By the time I reached the street that lead to my house (which goes up a hill) my eyes were rolling a bit. Then they started to close. You know that feeling when you're really tired and your eyes can't stay open. That was happening to me. I felt like I was going to throw up.

Then I finally reached my place (after an hour and 40 minutes of this hell), threw the bags in my room, and crawled upstairs to grab food and water. It was like some mechanism inside me turned on and I suddenly knew how to take care of exhaustion. I've never experienced anything like this before in my life, but I think I handled it pretty well.

First I ate a banana. I had to take a bite and let it sit in my mouth for a minute so I could breathe. Then I chewed a bit. Then I stopped to breathe again. I was wheezing for at least 15 minutes. I took little sips of water, and forced myself to sit up on the floor with my back against the bed. All I wanted to do was lay down, but I was worried that I would pass out. After finishing the banana, and steadying my breath a little more, I pulled myself up onto my bed and just plopped there like a potato. I was too weak to stand up.

From then on, things gradually became better. I ate more, I drank more. Even after finishing almost 2 litres of water, my pee was still dark (tmi? sorry not sorry).

Now as I lay here typing, I can feel every inch of my body from the soreness. But other than that, I'm ok. That was some crazy kind of experience. And if I learned anything from it, I'd have to say it was this:

Always bring money with you on long journeys. I don't care if you're trying to save, swallow your pride and spend $3.50 on a bus ticket.





If you've made it this far, you're a star.


Until next time


xxKa

Welcome to New Zealand! My Journey to Wellington

Wow, it's been a long time since I've written on here! So much as happened....

I left Ireland, lived at home in the USA for 11 months, came back to Dublin, visited Italy for the first time, moved to Edinburgh, became CELTA certified to teach English, moved back to Dublin for two months, spent a few days in London and saw Shere, Surrey, and now I'm on my 17th day in Wellington, New Zealand.

It has been an interesting experience so far.

I flew from Dublin into Wellington after 30+ hours, four flights, and three layovers, with tears in my eyes as I viewed the infamous windy Wellington sign on the cliffs near the airport. This sign is similar to the "Hollywood" sign in California, except the 'ton' part of 'Wellington' looks like it's being blown away.

That is not my picture, it's one from Google images. I would have taken a photo if I was actually excited to be arriving. 

The truth is, I was the opposite of excited. What's the word for that, anyways? Anti-cited. un-cited.

I was not excited to be arriving in Wellington. There were so many thoughts in my head, so many worries and doubts, and this did not look or feel like home. It was grey and raining. I was anxiety ridden. 

What is home supposed to look or feel like? I guess you just know when you're there.

The trickiest part of my journey was the 1 and a half hour layover I had in Brisbane, Australia. I wasn't sure if that would be enough time to make it. But I had to be positive.

When I checked my luggage in Dublin, they tagged it through to Australia. At that location, I would be changing to Singapore Airlines (operated by Virgin Australia) and they were not partnered with Aer Lingus (the airline I was departing on). Well, Singapore Airlines is a partner airline of Aer Lingus, but not when they are operated by Virgin Australia. That's why they couldn't tag it to Wellington. I guess. It got pretty confusing.

In London, my first layover, I spoke with a woman at the Singapore Airlines desk (because I still needed to check in for that last flight). She was able to check me in AND re-tag my luggage for Wellington! Happy days! Except she told me I needed to retrieve my luggage in Brisbane, then drop it back off at the check in desk... apparently tagging it was just going to save me time. I'm not sure how. I nodded and smiled like I knew what she was talking about.

Then I was off on a 12 hour flight to Singapore, where I was welcomed by tropical weather and Pikachus scattered throughout the airport! The airport train that passed through the terminals was painted all in Pikachus. There was a blow-up Pikachu next to some plants inside one of the halls. There were Pikachus on t-shirts. It was a happy site to see.

However, my smile faded after I spent fifteen minutes walking to my gate only to find there was a security check right before it. I passed gates 1-15 and they all looked normal, then SPAM security check before gates 16-19. I was expecting to have to go through another security check, I just thought it would have been when I got off the plane, not right before I got onto my next one. 

It would have been fine, except I completely forgot I had replenished my water bottle and they confiscated it! So I was left with another hour and NO water. Rawrs.

Then I spent 8 hours flying to Brisbane. I tried to mentally prepare myself for the hussle I was about to endure. I confirmed with the flight attendant that I wouldn't be needing a boarding card because this wasn't my final destination. I practiced my game face. I was ready to go.

Loaded with my bags and feeling like a pack mule, I sped walked through the terminal. After I passed through some duty free shopping, I arrived at a passport check. Wait, what? I hadn't needed to do this at any of my other stops! I asked a worker where to go, and told him I only had an hour and a half until my next flight. He pointed me to the appropriate line (which had over 50 people and wasn't moving) and told me which desk to go to after I've retrieved my luggage to get a new flight to Wellington. 

Boom. My heart dropped. I wasn't going to make my next flight.

I almost cried. Reluctantly, I shuffled to the end of the line and accepted my fate. Then I waited. And waited. And kept waiting. There was no sense of time, only rows of people.

I tried to peek at my neighbors' passports to see where everyone was from. No Australians in my line; they had the luxury of residential perks. I spotted an Italian couple and my heart fluttered. There were loads of red passports; no blue ones like mine that I could see. I slide my hands around my waist and hid my passport under my arm. When I finally neared the end, there was a worker checking boarding cards. I was told I didn't need one! When she got to me, she directed me to a DIFFERENT LINE and told me to ask the worker at the back how to get there. I had no time to be furious.

I went to this other line, presumably where I could scan my passport to get through, but the light blinked red. A nice worker came to help me and said, "why did they send you over here? You should be over there!" and I nearly lost it. He was kind enough to lift up the rope and put me next in line to see the passport checker person. The guy behind me said, "Welcome to our queue!"

I was finally there! The clouds were parting, and I could see the sun! When I spoke with the passport checker person, she said she could not let me in because I didn't have an Aussie visa. And then the sun vanished and dark clouds filed in above my head, and rain started to pour over everything.

How was I going to get my bag? Would they notice the Wellington tag and send it along? Was I given misinformation in London? I had no time to think, I just had to run where they told me to go. Before I knew it, I had passed through a security check and was sprinting to my gate. 

Now remember, I still had pack mule status.

They were announcing "final call for flight blah blah blah to Wellington" and I was wobbling like a penguin under the weight of my things. Still, I persevered. I did not stop running. I've never actually witnessed someone running through the airport before, but here I was sweating like a mother pheasant plucker. By the time I reached the desk, I was huffing and puffing. Before I could say anything he said, "Erika Bradbury?" I made an exasperated comment about my luggage, and the man had a look in the system quickly before nodding in a non-confident way and sending me off to the plane. 

I was too exhausted to dwell on his lack of confidence with the head nod. I made it to my flight literally ten minutes before take off. I was super happy and super lucky. 

My neighbors on the flight were a bunch of guys from a sports team. Rugby? Football? I'm not sure. They were wearing a blue uniform and they were all tall and thick. Probably rugby.

And now here we are at the part where I was looking at the Hollywood-Wellington sign out the airplane window through teary eyes. But it wasn't the long journey that made me cry. That's a story for *potentially* another time.

Thanks for reading and I'll be updating again soon!

Cheers,

xx Ka

Interpretive Dance

Hey guys.

I created a dance. I've been working on it all year (literally). Obviously not everyday... :P

I hope you enjoy!

xx Ka

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_CwztvsWm6k

Last Night

I was driving Carl, my white 2002 Saturn L100, with my dad in the passenger seat when all of a sudden a fire truck appeared on my right with its lights flashing.

I don't recall there being any shrieking sirens, but I needed to pull over and let the truck pass nonetheless. The truck was going weirdly slow though, and it was constantly on my right, preventing me from pulling to the side of the road.

It was dusk, so the sky wasn't completely dark but everything was in the shadows.

When I was finally able to pull over, it was down a dead end cul-de-sac in a suburb where the houses were packed in tight. The firetruck stopped behind my car and two policemen came out. They were running towards a house straight ahead with their guns pointed down.  My dad and I got out of our car and stood on the street to watch what happened.

The police submerged from the house with 5 or maybe more young teenage girls who were freaking out because they were caught drinking. One of them was crying "are we going to get fined?!" and the police were escorting them out like they were getting arrested. At this point I had assumed that a neighbor called making a noise complaint or something, and the cops were coming to break up this party. I walked back to Carl and opened the driver's side door to get in.

Then all of a sudden, there was a man who resembled Borat with a gun. He walked forcefully from the house and up to my car and aimed his gun at me. One of the cops caught him from behind and tried restraining his arms. They were struggling immensely, and I ducked down to hide behind the open door of my car. I could still see the man with his gun pointing at me through the door's window.

The cop shouted "DON'T SHOOT" and they struggled for a bit, but then he shot and it hit my dad. I couldn't see my dad from where I was crouched but somehow I knew it had hit him. I had my hands over my ears and I was ducked down before the shot. When I looked back at the guy through the window, my eyes were on him for literally one second and then he shot me.

The bullet hit me right in the crevice of my right collar bone. The second it pierced me everything went black. I could feel a deep warmth start to grow in the spot where it hit me. I remember bracing myself for the pain. Then I felt the sensation like after you've hit your funny bone in your elbow. At first it hurts like a bitch, but then afterwards once the pain starts to subside you still feel the sensitivity of it. That's kind of what I was feeling in my collar bone. And my breathing became shallow; I felt like I was about to choke and drown in my own blood.

But once the bullet hit me, I wasn't panicked. It was honestly a more peaceful feeling, like the feeling of relief. And after maybe one minute of being dead/dying, and noticing that no actual pain was coming from the bullet wound, I realized that I had been dreaming and this wasn't real life.

Then I woke up.

It was very strange.

The end.

xxKa

Irishtown Park

It hasn't been that long of a day.

Work lasted only 5 hours, so you got to sleep in and get out early. It's 3pm and you take your time leaving Starbucks, savoring a tall, sugar-free hazelnut americano with soy before embarking for home.

The sun is warm. Your skin begins to feel clammy under your winter coat, and you can't remember the last time you've walked outside without gloves on. It feels good. The old Georgian scenery is accompanied by strong winds passing. Little did you know they were the winds of foreshadow.

You unzip your coat and feel the soft breeze against your stomach. You already changed into your running clothes at work, so all that remains is to discard your excess baggage at the apartment then begin your jog. It was going to be just a small journey today. Or so you thought.

The walk back was a great warm-up; your calves were lose and ready to go. You strategically arrange your ipod clamped to the top of your leggings with the ear piece cord snaking under your cheetah sweater, so that it doesn't get tangled along your arms while you jog. Gladiators by Lorde fades in. You keep the music on low so that the sounds of nature are your real soundtrack. It was mostly for judging distance and time, anyways.

The pavement feels smooth under your feet. It's an easy glide from your apartment to the park. Really, the day couldn't have been better. It was an excellent combination of cool wind against your warm skin. You're already four songs deep when you see the ocean.

What a magnificent site. You've been to this park a few times before, but it never looked like it did today. The waves are perfectly blue, with white foam-brushed tops that melt onto the beach as they land. The birds were singing their warm-weathered joys across the bay and in the trees alongside the path. All the people, with their dogs or their friends or simply just themselves, looked completely content. After a couple legs of the path, it starts to sink in just how lucky you are to be here.

What an incredible opportunity you've been presented with. Have you taken it for granted until now? You think not, perhaps, but have you ever truly appreciated it?

You reminisce about your time here. All the things you've done. All the things you haven't done. All the things you made yourself miss out on. The things that have been holding you back. You think about the darkness, and what it has done to your life. How in a world full of consumers, you were being consumed.

But here you were, having a run alongside the ocean, with the sun shining on your back as well as your future. You think about how far you've come. What changes you've made thus far. And how that darkness seems to be lightening. You think about your life, and how much better you feel. How internal peace isn't just a fantasy anymore. You truly can heal yourself on your own.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But you see the sun, and you feel the wind, and everything else is unimportant. When was the last time you could say that? Think about it. When was the last time that you felt like there was truly a tangible way towards peace?

But you don't think about it. You don't need to. You just run.

The pier arrives sooner than you think it will. It has been a lovely stride thus far. The pavement changes form to thick rectangular bricks that line up like Tetris pieces. This is a bit of a challenge for you, because the cracks between the pieces are precarious, but nothing a little concentration couldn't handle. Your eyes scan the ground for proper landing spaces for your feet. It was like an elongated game of hop scotch, going a bit to the left or jumping slightly to the right to make sure you hit the square within the lines.

The wind picks up. It pushes against your right side and tries to falter your movements. How funny you must look to those who were walking, you think. Your struggle against the wind must have been a bit humorous because of the inevitable diagonal stride you were now running with.

Almost to the pier, about a half mile down, and you're smiling. You stop just to glance behind you at the beautiful ocean waves passing. The pavement glittered like Edward Cullen's skin. Life just felt so good in this moment.

But everything was about to change.

You tap the wall at the very end and turn to make your way back. This time around the wind is not your friend. It lashes harshly against the left side of your body, so powerful in fact, that it invades your nostrils. You think this is a feeling you can manage for the length back, until it starts to become painful.

You feel the sensation like water going up your nose. It tingles and burns inside your face. You have no other choice but to block your nose with your left hand, impairing your vision on that side, and continue to chug along with your right. The pavement is just as dangerous as before, and you continue your game of hop scotch. This time, however, is much more difficult because you now only have one arm and one eye.

After what feels like the longest half mile run of your life, you finally reach the end of the pier. Instead of a gratifying relief from the harsh wind, you are now welcomed by a storm of sand being whipped at your face. Your nose-blocking hand is now used as a shield. After a few minutes of running in this uncomfortable position, you come to terms with the grueling truth that the length back is not going to be as satisfying as you had hoped. It was going to be hell.

...

Bring it on.

The sun blares through the bars of a fence on your right, creating a strobe light effect as you zip past. It hurts your head a little. It is not safe to drop your shielding hand, but you test it from time to time. There's sand in your mouth. You chew on it.

You start to feel like you're running in place because of how strong the wind and sand are. 'Just keep going,' you tell yourself. 'It won't be much better if you walk, and this way you'll make it through faster. Don't stop running.' You imagine you must look like an American football player during practice when they push against their blocking sled.

You alternate between swallowing your boogers and swallowing your saliva. Each time you chose one, you sacrifice your face to the other.

As you turn a corner and continue to impel against the obstacles, a springy man wearing sunglasses bounces past you and jogs ahead as if the path were as smooth as butter. You curse him under your breath.

It's a long tiresome battle, physically and mentally, against the villainous forces of nature, but you finally make it towards the finish line. You envision the rock that sits at the start of the park and tell yourself that this rock will mark your stopping point. You will not stop until you reach this rock.

The wind and sand are less persistent once the trees start lining the path again. This is when you notice how completely worn out your legs are. You feel your weak muscles giving you puppy dog eyes, begging you to stop. "Please, we are so tired. Just rest for a while. There are benches! There is soft grass! Take this weight off of us and give it to your butt!" But you don't listen.

You belch loudly, because why not. There's already boogers and drool smeared across your face like dead bugs on a wind shield.

The rock of all rocks, the beautiful stone of the gods, the shebang of marvelous monuments is now in site. You somehow manage to muster up the last of your energy to sprint to the finish line. After reaching your designated end, you strip off your head phones and raise your hands in triumph. You did it! You defeated the obstacle course that is Irishtown Park. You survived that hell of a run and have lived to tell the tale!

Dogs are walking faster than you are. They pass you on your left as you wipe your booger/drool/sand stained face. You think you must look like a porn star with your mouth a gape, eyes closed, and ferocious breathing. It feels so good to wipe your face off though. Then you realize you're using the same hand you used to wipe your nose throughout the run.

Walking back is glorious. You think about how powerful you are for persisting and completing your mission. Your legs feel like thick, hard pillars underneath you. Your thighs don't even touch anymore; that's how much fat you just burned.

As you drag yourself past the houses in Ballsbridge, you smell the scent of burning wood. It takes you back to autumn days of forests and bonfires. It smells heavenly. You turn your head towards the smell. That street looks small and quaint with cute little houses along it. Entertaining thoughts of what that street must look like with a closer view come to mind.

But you no longer have control over your legs. Your exhausted muscles that feel like they've been pummeled with a meat tenderizer have severed the connection to your brain and are now functioning on their own. Their sole mission is to get home. "No bonfire for you, bish!!" They're a little pissed off.

The walk home was completely uneventful and you're starting to lose your sanity a bit. When you finally reach your street, you see a kitty. That's one you've never seen before! You start talking to the Scat Cat much louder than you probably should be in the public light of day. "Hey little guy! You are so cute! I've never seen you before! Hey there hun. Hey there. Hi. Hey hun! You're cute!" This is a sample of the dialogue with which you speak to the animal.

You see Muffs, another Scat Cat, on your left. You start talking to him too. A person walks past. It's about time you sat down.

You finally make it into your apartment and scale your steps to the bedroom. Nothing has ever felt softer than the surface of your duvet in this moment. It's like the cold side of the pillow on crack. The only thing capable of prying you from this cushy heaven is thinking about how you should write about your experience today.

So you write about your experience today.

And you read about my experience today.

xxKa

FlyeFit

Hello!

So naturally after I got my bank account, I signed up for a gym! I needed my bank card because that's what you use to get into the actual gym. There are blue barred doors, similar to the kind at train stations that you pass through after you submit your ticket, only they're tall to the ceiling and completely block the way. In order to get in, you have to scan your card. And they lock after you've moved them. Like revolving doors that lock after one person makes it through. I don't know.

But yes. So I am with FlyeFit! They are 24 hours which is super handy (cause I'm always going to the gym at 3 in the morning) and there's three different locations to chose from. The one I go to is about 5 minutes walk away. It's really nice!

If you believed me when I said that I go to the gym at 3 in the morning...gotcha! ;)

I had to buy trainers (sneakers) when I got here because I didn't bring any over with me. Luckily, there's a store called Penny's that sells things for RIDICULOUSLY cheap prices. They have everythingggg. However, the quality is questionable. But these shoes are great! I had to purchase insoles for them to add an extra layer between my foot and the thin foam-like sole of the shoes, but whatevs I'm cheap as fuck.

So FlyeFit. Dats mah spot! My spot, that is, if I feel like getting sweaty and working on my fitness. (If those are the only qualifications, then my local Tesco is also "my spot"...lol just kidding for reals, I'm not sweaty at the grocery store).

Except sometimes I am sweaty at the Tesco because my gym is RIGHT NEXT TO IT. My gym is right next to the grocery store. You can imagine the internal struggle everyday walking to the gym and going home from the gym. Sometimes I leave to go to the gym and end up coming home with cookies and never having gone to the gym ... O_O

So FlyeFit's logo looks kind of like the symbol for the band Flight Facilities. I don't know which came first

My gym here is not much different than Gold's Gym Express that I went to in Normal, Illinois. The layout is very different, but the types of machines offered, weights, and other facilities (Flight Facilities) are the same.

There are two levels. Once you make it past the troll at the gate, there is the level with the tredmills and other cardio machines, along with a make-shift football field that is almost the length of the room, but no where near the size of the real deal. It has that fake rubber, shredded material painted to look like the grass on the field.

Then you can go upstairs to where a lot of machines are for weight lifting as well as a room with weights and a mirrored wall. Also upstairs are the locker rooms. When I arrive at the gym, I always go upstairs, dump my stuff into a locker, and then go back downstairs for the tredmill.

Now I know what you're thinking. Damn, Erika at the gym?! She probably rocks the fitness fashion like a boss.

And you're wrong. I actually look pretty strange when I'm at the gym. I didn't bring any work out clothes with me, besides sports bras, and so what I wear are leggings and fashionable sweaters that I don't care for too much anymore. Anyone remember that light grey owl sweater I've worn the past three winters? Good, because that'd be weird if you paid that much attention to my clothes.

Besides that sweater, I also rock a black one with gold chain accents on it, and my cheetah sweater from H&M that I got in Edinburgh last summer. I also re-wear these outfits if they didn't get too sweaty the previous time...WOW Erika, you're so gross.

At first I was very nervous about going to the gym because I didn't know what the machines would be like. Instead of judging distance in miles, they use kilometers over here and I wasn't sure what level I'd have to place the machine on. Hell, I didn't know what to expect from the machines!

But actually I was SHOCKED and also comforted to find that the tredmill is the exact same brand as the one I ran on in Gold's Gym! Matrix, to be exact. It looks a little different, but the settings were the same! I always used "manual." And it's really easy to use! And even the cup holders are in the same spot and the emergency stop button is in the same spot and it's just so wonderful!

At first I felt like a bad ass because the settings were in km/hour and not mph. So instead of running at a steady pace of 6.5-7mph, I'm running at about 10-11 kmph. And instead of saying I ran 4 ish miles, I ran 7 km. Which makes me feel like a bamf. You can imagine my stride during my cool down.

Also weight is measured in kg which is your weight divided by 2.2. For example, if you weigh 110 pounds, you are 50 kg. So if someone says they lost 3 kg it's actually an accomplishment. If someone says they lost 3 pounds, you're like "so what?" or "did you just take a poop?" (I haven't lost weight and that's not my weight in kg, these are just examples ppl!) Also, to convert miles to km, you do the number of miles multiplied by 1.6

I really like the gym because it's a place where I can jam to my music. Seriously. When I walk on the tredmill, I'm practicing my catwalk. Sometimes I'm also dancing. I'm in the midst of choreographing an interpretive dance that I will film and show you later (this is real).

I am personally proud of my gym playlist, and am always adding to it. For me, it's a lot easier to run when I am running to the beat of the song. Here is a list of songs that I can run to in rhythm with the music (ranging from slower, bigger and bouncier strides to smaller, faster steps):

Bang-Bang: Jessie Jay and you know
Chalk Outline: Three Days Grace
Alone: Heart
It's Gonna Be Me: NSYNC
A New Way to Bleed Remix: Evanescence
I Just Had Sex: The Lonely Island
Touchin on My: 3Oh!3
Black Widow: Iggy and Rita
Off to the Races: Lana Del Rey
Whip My Hair: Willow Smith (the best. it's against my rules to not run when this plays)
Upgrade Ya: Beyonce and her Boo
Serial Killer: Lana Del Rey
Chandelier: Sia
Centuries: Fall Out Boy

Other songs that are on my playlist (but don't fully line up with my pace, yet still good!) are:
No Enemiesz: Kiesza
The Inuyasha theme song (this shouldn't surprise you)
Let it Go: The Alex Boye cover
Sia: Elastic Heart
Change Your Life: Iggy Azalea
And We Danced: Macklemore and Ryan Lewis
Original Don: Major Lazor
I am the Best: 2NE1
Take Me To Church: Hozier

and a bunch more. There's 44 songs, too many to list all!

So one day The Motto by Drake was playing when I entered the gym, and I smiled to myself as I screamed "fuck yes" on the inside. It was all I could do to keep from strutting to the locker room. And to be honest, I probably did. I know I did. But to avoid this confirmation, I neglected to look any of my passerbys in the face and gauge their reaction to my impromptu catwalk. When I reached the locker room and busted open the door in all my strutting glory, I found two girls dancing and clapping to the song. "Awe, hell ya I feel you girl!" was what came out of my mouth. And they totally laughed. At first I wasn't sure if I should have been embarrassed by my comment but that moment fleeted after a second as I thought "no regrets"

So that's everything about the gym! Hope you enjoyed this little entry-poo.

:)

xxKa

What the Fox Really Says

This was too good not to share.

There are foxes that roam the streets at night around my apartment. Sometimes I can hear them making what can only be described as a "howl" and tonight was one of those times.

At first I thought that maybe they were attacking one of the Scat Cats from the Rat Pack that live on our street (you'll hear about them in the near future). Or maybe they were ripping apart some poor defenseless bird.

However, I have come to the conclusion that this is merely what the fox says.

You'll see what I mean after you watch this video. Listen closely.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vGfqGJg9TAA&feature=youtu.be

Here is a lovely picture of my leg in the sun. Doesn't the sunshine look so inviting :3 xxKa

Starbucks

Hello!

Today's entry will highlight my Starbucks experience in the United States compared to my new experience working at Starbucks in Dublin. Let me take you on the journey.

I first started working at Starbucks in June 2008, where I worked at a cafe store in my home town of Bumble-Fuck, Illinois.

Oh. Excuse me, stupid auto-correct. I meant to say Mundelein, Illinois.

It was a great time working there. If you were a regular at this location around that year, you would remember the house-hold names of Todd and Rhonda. Those were the two Baristas that had been there the longest, and were ultimately the faces of that location (at least I'd say they were!). Rhonda used to joke that I was here daughter, because she was old enough to have been my mom and didn't have any kids of her own. She was super awesome, such a funny person! Todd was really into movies, and he was even an extra in the Dark Knight (they filmed in Chicago). I think you can maybe see him behind Heath Ledger in one scene. I was at that store for about 1 year. I even made a theme song for Starbucks while I worked there. Yes, of course I still remember it, and I would love to share it with you:

Starbucks. We make really good drinks
Coffee, tea...we'll have it on the brink
of the hand-off counter, it is there for you
deliciously made, nice coffee, that is freshly brewed
we are the Starbucks, we're really super cool
We donate all our expired pastries to all the schools
STARBUCKS, STARBUCKS, across from Dominics
in Mundelein, off route 176

Now, let me amend this song because there are many things that aren't true about it anymore. First of all, Starbucks cannot donate their expired pastries due to legalities. You know, if a person receiving this donation were to complain about getting sick from a pastry, Starbucks could be in trouble. It's a really big shame :( Also, Dominics...no longer...exists. SADDEST THING EVER. They were a great grocery store! I certainly chose them over Jewel Osco (all my Illinois friends are totally understanding me right now). And finally. The most depressing amendment to this catchy jingle...

That Starbucks closed down a few years ago. The Starbucks that birthed me into the world of coffee...the one that said "hey, let's give this girl a chance to caffeinate the world." They are no more.

Moving along. So after 1 year at that location, they said "BYE" and transferred me to a Starbucks in Wheeling which was strictly a drive-thru. It's the only Starbucks that I've EVER seen that has no cafe. It was literally a box the size of two sheds put together with maybe 2 or 3 tables outside the front, 4 parking spaces, and a drive-thru lane. There was a walk-up window where people could order drinks from too. It was just a really weird store. The most Baristas ever working at one time was 3. You couldn't fit anymore inside anyways, and even with three it was pretty cramped.

Luckily I was only there for 3 months over the summer, because it was about a 45 minute drive from my house and I'd have to leave at 3:45am to get there by 4:30 to open the store. >:[

Then I was transferred to the Starbucks that I would call home. The Starbucks that immediately comes to mind when I think about my time with the company in the past.

This Starbucks was a drive-thru and a cafe and we were BUSY. We had goals of making 50 drinks per 30 minutes during our morning rush, and I tell you. We were damn close a lot of the time. I still have a report that was printed once when I was on bar showing the hours and half-hours with the number of drinks made next to it. The progression was something like 12, 22, 35, 40, 47, 46, 46, 40, 29, and yes. That was me! I made those drinks that fast! XD

I worked at this store in Buffalo Grove for 2 years and met some of the best people I know there. I still think about them all the time. Here are some lovely pictures from this place for you to enjoy:

 I think I'm getting crowned in this picture^

 Queen B and Queen DT 4 Life

Some of the girls I worked with!

Ahhhh such a good time. Then I left to go to ISU and waste my money on a useless degree!!

SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Here I am in Dublin, Ireland working at Starbucks yet again! It's just a really fun job. One of those rare, minimum wage gigs that makes you feel slightly more important than other minimum wage gigs, and like you might actually be doing something (maybe) meaningful with your life.

But after being at this store for about 2 1/2 months, I've noticed some pretty interesting differences between the customers, food, drinks, and such from the US stores. Let me explain.

Pastries
All of our pastries at my Dublin store are locally baked so some of them look a bit different than the US versions.

Lemon Loaf US v. Lemon Loaf Ireland

(main differences are: there's lemon zest on top, no icing, and it's not as bright of yellow in Ireland)

Blueberry Scone US v. Raisin Scone Ireland

(this is what scones really look like!^)

Butter Croissant US v. Butter Croissant Ireland

Cinnamon Swirl Coffee Cake US v. Cinnamon Swirl Ireland

(We don't sell coffee cake in Ireland. This is what we call 'cinnamon swirl')

Now forget the drinks, forget the other pastries...the Cinnamon Swirl is hands down the best thing we sell at our Starbucks. It is soooo delicious! You can't even imagine. (Or can you?!?!)

In Ireland, we also sell: 

-fruit bread (which is like thick fruit toast)

-toasties (actual white or linseed toast)

-pan au chocolat (fancy for chocolate croissant)

-pan au raisin (fancy for something that looks like a cinnamon roll, but has no cinnamon or icing and instead has a vanilla-y cream with raisins)

-gluten-free brownie

-tiffen (which is a thick chocolate bar, but soft to bite into with a crispy-ish mix of sorts with the chocolate. Ours has raisins but others don't come with any)

-toffee crispie (fancy for toffee rice krispy treat with milk chocolate on top)

****we do not have morning buns, coffee cakes, mini pastries or cake pops, and the only scones we have are butter, wheat, and raisin.

We have other pastries too, but the ones listed are the most noticeably different. If you're really dying to know the whole menu, just message me. I'm not sure what pastries they sell in the US currently, but the ones we have now are completely different from when I worked there before!

Beverages

	US	Ireland
Vanilla Sugar-free Vanilla	X X	X X
Toffee Nut	X	Seasonal
White Mocha	X	X
Mocha Sugar-Free Mocha	X X	X (No sugar-free)
Caramel Sugar-free Caramel	X X	X We just got it!
Hazelnut Sugar-free Hazelnut	X X	X X
Cinnamon Dolce Sugar-Free Cinnamon Dolce	X X	We just got it! (but it’s called Cinnamon Syrup) (No sugar-free)
Peppermint Sugar-free Peppermint	X X	X (but currently out of stock :P) (No sugar-free)
Gingerbread	X	X
Peppermint Mocha	X	(technically you could make this beverage over here, but it was not pushed as a holiday beverage… I might be wrong about this, I started on Dec. 9)
Honey Almond Hot Chocolate	?	X
Signature Hot Chocolate	X	X
Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate	X (not sure if they still do)	(Nope)
Raspberry	X	(Nope)
Cinnamon Sugar Topping	X	(Nope)
Egg Nog	X	X
Soy Milk	X	X (called “Soya”)

And we don't have iced brewed coffee in Dublin, and we only brew one type of filtered coffee at a time (right now it's "seasonal" blend)

So there's really not too much of a difference. We only have 3 sugar-free options here in Ireland. Currently we are pushing the Columbia Narino shots (a more premium espresso than the regular espresso shots. Costs 30 cents more to upgrade) and the triple hot chocolate.

He's just a little guy! This is Columbiowl. He is a half-full bag of Columbia espresso beans. 

Customers

I notice a difference in customers here. My store is located in a more "posh" area of Dublin called Ballsbridge. Mostly our customers are business women and men because there are a lot of businesses nearby. My last Starbucks in the US was in a strip mall in Buffalo Grove, which is a more "posh" suburb. So I would consider the types of people coming in to be similar.

Mainly what I notice is that the people here are more polite and not as specific or picky with their orders. The most intricate beverage I can think of from a regular is a Quad Venti Soya Extra-extra-extra Hot Wet Latte. That is pretty specific. But when I worked in the US, we would get customers asking for customized drinks like this all the time. Here, there's only maybe 10 people at most in a day that get these kinds of beverages. Everyone else is just "tall americano" or "grande cappuccino" or "tall latte." Americano, latte, cappuccino. These are our top sellers.

Also in the US, people would try to sneak around their drink orders to save money. "I'll have a tall tea in a venti cup and fill the cup to the top with hot water." Or people with gold cards, who get free added shots by using their card, ask for "a grande americano with an extra shot in a venti cup with hot water to the top" which is essentially a venti americano. But they get it cheaper cause they get free added shots. No one here has ever done that, that I've known. There's ONE customer who comes in every single day who asks for a short americano in a tall cup with an added shot. So he does that. But he's really the only one.

Generally in the US if someone received a drink that they did not like, they would tell you, or make a face ,or complain (occasionally with attitude). Sometimes these customers would ask you to remake the drink just by judging the weight of the cup (you can tell how much foam is in the drink that way).

Here, I almost never get asked to remake a drink. Sometimes, I have to plead with the customer to let me remake the drink for them because I could tell they weren't 100% satisfied, but they wouldn't say it out loud. Sometimes they'll order a cappuccino but the person taking the order will write latte or something different, and when I call out "latte" they're like, "Oh...um...I ordered a cappuccino. But it's ok, it's ok! I'll just take this, it's fine!" I'm like, no seriously let me remake it for you!! NO WAIT COME BACK!

We do have our share of cranky customers. There's one that snaps at you if you don't put the coffee sleeve on her cup for her, and TO HELL with you if you ask her for her name. There's also PLENTY that come in while they're on their phones and pause only to tell you their drink, then thrust their payment at you while they continue their conversation. But honestly most of the time everyone is just lovely, and lots of them actually want to talk with you and enjoy making small talk. It's refreshing!

I think I've probably cried once or twice because of a customer in the US. That's not to say everyone there was crabby; we also had SO many lovely people come in! (Jan, you my girl! ;) ). We also saw a lot more people at my last Starbucks because we were a cafe and a drive-thru.

But generally I would say the people here are happier and more polite when they come in. They're also not in as big of a hurry.

WOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

So that was probably WAY more than you EVER wanted to know about Starbucks. And I really hope I mentioned all the major differences that I wanted to note along with the rest of the random rambling I ended up spewing out.

But yes!!!! If there is anything more, you know you gonna hear about it in another entry ;)

Sorry this was so long!

xxKa!