I left my house early last Saturday hoping for a quick cup of coffee and a little pastry before I had a power meeting with my staff (I make them work weekends, teehee!). Anyhoo, I got to the Cup o’ Joe on Fifth at 7:45 a.m., only to find that they open at 8:00. WHO THE FUCK OPENS UP AT 8:00 ON A SATURDAY? Anyway, the tattooed and pierced service “worker” who smelled like pot (gross) refused to open for me, saying I’d have to wait until the coffee was made. WHATEVER. The manager of this place needs to be alerted to the fact that he employs a DISGUSTING drug user who refuses to take the SPECIAL NEEDS of his customers (including my children) into consideration. I seriously do not know how you own a place like this and NOT KNOW WHO WORKS FOR YOU, HE REPRESENTS YOUR BUSINESS TO THE PUBLIC. So I wait until 8:00 (the druggies actually opened late at 8:02). All I wanted was a dry triple shot soy latte with extra foam at 170 degrees and fast, is that asking too much?) So I made my order (trying to ignore who was making it) and THEN HAD TO WAIT FIVE MINUTES FOR THE ESPRESSO MACHINE TO WARM UP, DO YOU BELIEVE IT. So I had to wait for another five minutes. When the stoner made my drink (somehow oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry) HE MADE IT WRONG, HE PUT FOUR SHOTS IN IT AND THE SOY WAS NOT EVEN CLOSE TO 170, MORE LIKE 150. Look, I know why this guy works at a coffee shop, he’s a loser, but how hard can it be? I tasted this disgusting concoction, rolled my eyes, then told him that IT WAS UNACCEPTABLE AND THAT HE’D HAVE ME TO DEAL WITH UNTIL HE GOT IT RIGHT AND THAT THIS COFFEE WAS BILGE. This guy could’ve been a terrorist, he looked swarthy and arabic (I refuse to capitalize it). So he made it again AND GUESS WHAT IT WAS WRONG AGAIN he didn’t put enough foam on it. At this point I was running late and needed my coffee so I took it (even though it was atrocious). I paid him even though he should have paid me for the time it took him to open and make the drink. I was so angry giving him money of course I didn’t tip him, as he counted my change out to me I looked at him, put the change into my purse and thought to myself “Do the math, bitch.” OY FUCKING VEY CUP O' JOE MORE LIKE CUP O' CRAP.