Dear Harry From Connecticut…

You are the bane of my existence. And before you get all “OOOooooOOOoooOOoohh, who’s HhhaaaaAArryyYY?” He is not an old boyfriend. He is a man with an impossible accent who does not understand espresso machines that calls into work and drives me up the friggin’ wall. “Hey, will this tiny espresso machine that costs $300 do a good job in my business?” NO! Not it will not! It’s rated for homes. Are you friggin’ kidding me, dude? “Ah yeah, well we don’t make many drinks a day.” Great, then don’t serve friggin’ espresso! It’s not even certified for commercial use, you’re gonna get fined. AHHHHHH!!!! Please never call me again! Please. please. PLEASE! I wanna break you in half.

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