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Illustration by Bob AulHey you! Yeah, you, the bastard driving up in the Starbucks drive through. Let me tell you something about manners, you rude little prick. You should not drive up to the little speaker box at your local Starbucks in your shiny, expensive car and act all condescending to me. I may be nothing but a little window monkey to you, but I am the monkey in charge of your little caffeine fix. As you drive up, give us a minute to get to you. Don't shout at the box; there are others in the store and although you may be important, you still have to wait your fuckin' turn. When we are telling you your price, be nice and wait, don't just talk and drive off. And when we hand you your fucking half-caff, non-fat no-foam double tall latte, don't be such a cheap ass and drop something into the fuckin' tip box. If you can wait three minutes in the fucking line in your air-conditioned Hummer burning more gas than I burn in a week in my cheap-ass truck, you can afford to tip. We remember who you are, and we always can get you back. Just remember that blinding headache you had later. Want to know why? Two little syllables . . . decaf, sucker.

Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations—changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent—to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, 1666 N. Main St., Ste. 500, Santa Ana, CA 92701-7417, or e-mail us at


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