Is #FirstWorldProblems still a thing?
Backstory #1. I had my photo taken for a visa requirement earlier in Photoline. In the 40-minute waiting period after, most of the following events took place.
Backstory #2. I have been craving for CBTL’s iced tea for at least three weeks now. I have been thwarted in the past by wrong timing.
Hot tea and soda only. my heart screamed.
I dragged my feet all the way to CBTL Rob (mainly because I was lazy and didn’t want to walk) hoping to finally buy myself their Southern Blend Iced Tea (my favourite iced tea anywhere; I can’t seem to replicate anything close to it, and it’s probably because I don’t have rose petals lying around). I go in and find myself confronted with the worst news possible: they were sold out.
I nearly cried, because the only alternative the barista could offer me was their packaged sparkling tea things. What do those even taste like? I knew they wouldn’t taste quite like quiet happiness and cool sweet days (which is basically what Southern Blend tastes like to me). They probably taste like disappointment, failure and undervalued children.
I was almost inconsolable. I looked for alternatives.
“NO YOGURT.” wtf red mango, wtf
Next, I took the escalator down and tried my chances with Red Mango. Similarly, but not to the same extent, I have been dying to try their original parfait.
Armed with renewed hope and enthusiasm, I ordered for the parfait. Guess what? They have no yogurt. WHAT KIND of yogurt bar has no yogurt?????? My mind was blown. My very existence was in question.
I had to pose the same crisis to the attendant. I asked, “What? What else do you even sell?” (Aside from water and a la carte toppings, probably). And she told me WAFFLES. Waffles. If I wanted waffles I would have gone to Waffle House. What kind of establishments do we allow in this country.
I wanted yogurt.
I was devastated.
COFFEE SUCKS FOREVS
At this point I was tired and dehydrated due to my sadness. The failure was crippling. The universe was against me. And I had debate training.
Making my way back to Faura after picking up my photos, I passed by Krispy Kreme and made the worst P110-worth mistake of my life. I bought Iced Mocha.
Who or what possessed me to do that? I don’t know. I should never drink coffee unless I’m curing a hangover or sobering up. It’s bad for my taste buds. It’s bad for my spirituality. If I tried to draw a mandala at that moment, I would have spat out a mess of black ichor to reflect my inner universe.
I may never recover.
And lastly. My nails.
And to conclude the night –maybe three hours from the first wave sadness, which was slightly assuaged by the fun training– I planned to have my nails done. They have been in a sorry state for decades. And life is really no fun with long nails.
Guess what (again)? By the time I was settled in Bora, the nail shops were closed. I don’t understand why both space and time and circumstances conspired against me tonight.
In the end I had to trim my nails myself. AND THERE IS A REASON why I always have my nails done by someone else.
Here I am, typing these sad and desolate words, with unevenly trimmed nails, one slightly bloody nail bed, and no nail polish (I don’t trust myself that much).
I will pray for myself, thank you.