The Time The Gods Of Irony Smiled Upon Sam

Picture me.

Picture me clean-shaven, freshly-showered, and with a perfectly normal hairstyle. Picture me walking down the street wearing a snappy button-up shirt, matching blue sweater, and a pair of well-fitting corduroy pants notably devoid of holes or stains. Picture me carrying a backpack with the following contents: gloves, notepad, pens, and a clipboard with five crisp resumes. Yes, carefully written resumes, charming and witty resumes, resumes that could convince the most stodgy, uptight coffee-shop managers that I'm a man with exceptional "people skills." I'm a man who knows coffee, and knows how to make it even better. I'm a man who they should hire, today if possible!

Now picture me approaching the doors of a local Starbucks, the first stop on my coffee shop resume delivery tour. I'm confident. I'm prepared. I'm opening the door. I'm walking inside. I'm waiting in line. I'm still waiting in line. I'm glancing down at the stack of newspapers. I'm reading the headlines:

Starbucks Cutting 6,700 Jobs, Closing 300 Stores

"Welcome to Starbucks, can I get something started for ya?" the man with the green apron chirped.

Now picture me turning slightly red, then somewhat pale while standing at the front of the line. Picture my eyes widening, motionless, deer in the headlights. Picture my lips moving, ever so slowly, grasping for words, but failing to produce anything other than a soft hiss.

"You alright?" said the green apron.

Now picture me, without explanation and for no apparent reason, offering my spot in line to the woman behind me. Picture me turning around and drifting out of Starbucks like a thief in the night, never looking back, never to return.