Anyone who’s been to Starbucks with me (or any other place that takes your name when you order) knows that more often then not the order taker writes my name down as “Jerry”, or some variation thereof, but almost never the right way.
Well, yesterday Martha and I had lunch at Rubio’s, and it happened again, this time with a more amusing result, since the cashier’s name was “Garcia”.
it’s a sign, you’re doomed to make bad music and wander the land like a little lost puppy eating ice cream until your eventual passing.