The Great 'Stache Catastrophe

As an introduction, if you didn't already know, I work at a Starbucks in downtown Chicago.  If your friendly neighborhood barista were Spiderman, I would be Rorschach: hardened by a life staring down the spiteful and rioting coffee drinker every morning between 7:30 and 9:30, when we have our heaviest rush of about 450 people. All the people I work with are damn good at their jobs, calloused by a million spilled 200 degree coffees and capable of satisfying the most demanding Decaf Triple Grande Skinny Cinnamon Dolce Latte Drinkers.

Tomorrow, two of us will be mustachioed.

Oliver (Operative Codename: Doctor Love) suggested that both of us, each in our own stages of bearded brilliance, both shave our beards and roll in with mustaches. I had to admit, though, that I had my reservations... mostly over walking around town looking like a douche bag.

The more I thought about it, though, the better the idea got, mostly because I vary rarely take the time to do something daringly dumb anymore.

I'll post a pic of the 'Stach when the deed is done.

-=Update=

We'll give this a try, although the girlfriend has already asked how long I'm going to keep this up.