You walk up to the cashier and buy a biscotti and tell the punk to keep the change.
At your favorite spot, you're a work monster. Kids cry, old people cough up mucous and try their ringtones, someone tries to ask if they can plug their computer in beside you, but you ignore them all. You are Steve Jobs, but your efficiency at the moment is closer to the children making iPads at Foxconn. You plow through the assignment with ease. In fact, you finished a little too fast, so you dick around on your phone to milk the clock a bit.
When you look up, everyone is gone except the barista. He's holding a broom and giving you a look like he's imagining cutting your head off, like he's smelling your head roast in a pile of flaming tires, like get the fuck out before I kill you, bro!
"Alright, I'm leaving," you say packing your stuff up and heading into the night.
You take a shortcut down a back alley and, because of your obviously weak frame, are immediately jumped.
"Give me that laptop," the goon says holding a knife up. The blade shines in the darkness. You take a gulp.
As the 19th century diver approaches a giant clam, a flash of brilliant golden light flares from within the shell. I emerge in a swirl of bubbles and do the timeless universal underwater hand signals for the following: ZODIAC KILLER, KKK, BLOOD OF YOUTH
If you still have any difficulty transitioning to chip readers, please refer to the FAQ compiled from average user reactions.
The Something Awful front page news tackles anything both off and on the Internet. Mostly "on" though, as we're all incredible nerds.