Every time I walk in there, that little fucker gives me this look like, 'Really, David? Two sugars and a splash of oat milk?' I'm like bro, mind your own business. I'm a genius artiste with multiple partners who beg to satisfy me. Maybe if you spent less time judging my caffeine choices and more time catching mice, you'd get some respect around here. But no, you just sit there on the counter like you own the place. I'll keep ordering my coffee exactly how I like it, and if you don't like it, you can go chow down on some rat poison. Bye Felicia!