Pastry ho

I got a new job.  I am no longer selling children, civil rights, or hope for “progressive” politics.  I now am dole out pastries and fuck up lattes for a living.  I graduated college a year ago yesterday.  Or the day before, I can’t really remember.

I work with Olivia at La Boulange, corporate French cafe that has a bunch of San Francisco and they’re looking to build some sort of strange empire in the Bay Area and probably the whole world.  I haven’t cried yet, which is good, and so far, only the kitchen staff has yelled at me.  They are Mayan.  The don’t even really speak Spanish.

I treated myself to a huge mimosa and some donuts after work.  I felt pretty proud of myself