Tim Whortons

That's it.
I've freaking had it.
I'm sick of Tim Hortons.

It might make me unpatriotic and get me deported but I'm not going to drink that burnt, tepid, swill anymore. I'm over-reacting  because I haven't had enough sleep or seen Victor since Monday morning, but I created a large blog post about the new fighter jets, defending our decision to keep tight lipped about the contract, not taking competing bids and spending all this money when we just spent a "wack-load" of money on our air force because the Russians were invading our air space, pushing further and further in, testing our reaction, not to forget the Russian spies that were so at home in our country that they were able to spy on foreign countries FROM our homeland, when I discovered that this whole issue has already been addressed and discussed ad nausea and my whole blog post makes me look stupid.

The $18 billion budget goes towards self-esteem training afterwards

Needless to say, I needed a pick-me-up.
The whole morning was a wash; I woke up just a little earlier than my alarm, set for 8:13, and panicked because I was late for class. Then I thought about it, and panicked because I was late for work. Then I thought about it again and figured out I wasn't late for either, just had an hour to get up and make breakfast before leaving. It is never a good sign to start the day in abstract confusion.
I decided I was not going to get a coffee because I've been drinking too much coffee lately and it's making me feel bad, but as I drove in through the rain with some jerk's highbeams illuminating my interior, I felt I deserved one.
I pulled into the drive-thru where some guy was so far back from the window I was about 3 feet from the speaker box, but I gamely hollered in my order anyway, pleased that it showed up correctly on the screen. When I drove up to pay I realized I didn't have any change, so I tried to use my "ultra-convenient" MasterCard pay pass, tapping on the thingy, which subsequently turned green. The lady behind the register soured and said it didn't work (which I will be checking my account for!) and soured even more when I said I was going to have to pay with interac. (I get paid to carry money, I'm not doing it for free for anyone, not even myself.) After it went through she did not say anything; No "Thank You" or "come again" or "here's your half-coffee, half-hot chocolate". Whatever, I thought, as I drove away, visions of caffeine in my head.
When I arrived at work, however, I discovered someone for a shift at six o'clock had booked off sick, and looking over the schedule, I could tell I was the most likely person to throw on the fire, but the shift covers the entirety of my classes that day, which I would rather not be skipping.
"Don't worry," reassures  Dear Reader, "You can just explain that you have classes and they'll find someone else."
Dear Reader is obviously a romantic. It has already been explained to me that my classes mean "bup-kiss" to the union or the company, and if they need to force me, they will, and there is precisely nothing I can do about it. Basically I can shut my mouth and work the shift, and hope they don't cover anything important in class, or I can refuse, walk out, and risk the inevitable discipline (this place issues them like hot cakes).

Usually the choice would be obvious but the problem is that the program I am in will not lead to any better employment prospects. It is a prerequisite for a program with better prospects, which I am not even guaranteed to get in. In fact, I'm hoping to not even be taking courses for almost a year after I'm done this semester. I will likely need employment during that time. Needless to say, I'm not ready to burn the bridges here yet, and it is only one class each, not even a midterm or quiz day, so maybe I should save the disciplines until I need them? It is immeasurably stupid that I need to perform these mental assessments.
This is not even my point. This is only outlining my fragile mental state as I sat down at my counter and pulled my special, illicit, indulgently-large-size mocha towards me, so when I say it was disgusting, I want you to understand the full impact. It was revolting. I think it was composed of hot chocolate and hot water, but since I have gotten so accustomed to Tim Hortons coffee being lousy, I could not completely ascertain whether it was or was simply bad. Usually I have to suffer through the burnt taste and almost-sour cream, but this was genuinely undrinkable. I actually poured it out.
I think this is the last straw. I'm not going to Tim Hortons anymore. They have failed me for the last time. 

Why, Tim Hortons? WHY?