What's With These People?

The move from Austin to San Diego went swimmingly. I'm staying three blocks from the beach, have made friends with a neighborhood grocer that has a fantastic little wine selection, and recently found the perfect coffee shop, along with bars, sushi, and taco stands.

I have a few glasses of wine before I tuck myself into my sleeping bag around 11 PM at night. The doors are left open every evening, and I rise to cool Pacific breezes sometime between 7-8:30 AM every morning. After a bowl of oatmeal and a granny smith apple I walk to the beach, and take my place in the waters of a cliff lined coast. After I kick the shit out of some mediocre waves I head back for a shower and a sandwich before cruising over to the little coffee shop I was talking about to hopefully finish the next book sometime in this decade.

Don't get me wrong, it's perfect, with hardwood floors, nice artwork, friendly patrons and open windows, it's just that people aren't weird here at all. So far they all do what normal people are supposed to do at cafes: read, work, and sip on hot drinks, all while showing totally acceptable forms of behavior and polite banter. I don't get it. I'll keep my eye out, and all of you posted though for any damn-the-man anarchy speeches, or a stick-up, or something, but so far everyone seems content with riding their bikes everywhere and the sunny 70 degree year round weather. Whatever. To these un-bizarre beans: you don't know who you are, yet...

Burnt Coffee and Bridges

I moved into a new place in the middle of May. There is only one parking spot per unit, and the sublet didn't include one for yours truly. No biggie. The landlord said there was a spot I could use if I didn't block anyone in. Perfect alternative since the building is just north of campus, but still swamped with students. She said everyone who lived there was as quiet and quaint as the building, and that the tenant directly below had been there the longest. It had not even been a week when I received a letter on my car from said tenant below. It read: "Hey, I want to be a chill neighbor, but I was hungover this morning and almost hit your car trying to back up. Could you not park there. -Cullen"

This is how I was parked when I received the letter.

I wrote back explaining that there are only three available parking spots out front, if everyone parks correctly; the rest are either 2hr limits, residential permit, or blocks away. Furthermore, I said I had permission, and parked as uncomfortably close to the bush on the hill you can't see, and had factored in everything he would need to back out except for his driving abilities under the influence, or its lingering remnants. Students were finally going home though, and I said I'd make every conscious effort to park out front, but would park in the back if I had to. Last, I encouraged him to speak to me personally if there were any other issues.

A month later, after only needing the back spot once I received a notice of a formal complaint from the landlord about the parking. He must've been waiting. She clarified that the spot was now only to be used for small allotments of time i.e. unloading groceries or friends stopping by. Fair enough, but my only apology to her was that she was involved at all because my neighbor wasn't mature enough to speak man to man.

Two years removed from college, I feel old for being near campus. He is living in a one bedroom and has gray in his facial hair, and started watching movies with the volume up pretty high at night, which makes me think he is an only child that never grew out of territorial tantrums. I am awoken around 7:30am every morning to the smell of burnt coffee. I can live with that annoyance. Who am I to judge how a man takes his coffee? However, recently the passive aggressive bastard has been coming home hammered at 2:07am, slamming his doors, and blaring this terrible base heavy Dracula rap for hours.

I let it slide the first time thinking that he may have just passed out accidentally with the music on, but it happened again last night. This time the music finally stopped at 4:41am. I had to be at work at 6am. Well, you should have seen the look on his face when he answered the door, after I began pounding at approximately 5:47am; to which I proceeded to explain how I was the storm uprooting his false sense of entitlement, and shed light on his contradicting character. He then got a lesson in how adults communicate, considerately share close living spaces, and was given a chance for a rebuttal that he didn't have the courage to take. To this bizarre bean, who WILDLY mistook me for some sort of punk bitch: you know who you are...

Basket Case

I've seen him twice in my hang out now. The first time I thought he was having a bad day, maybe lost a silly bet, was in a rush, or at worst was trying to simply attract some attention after a break up or something. I'm never surprised by what a man will do have a conversation ready and in the open when they've been out of the game for a while. In any case he came into the coffee shop with a laundry basket. The basket's contents were comprised, not of clothes, but instead with normal stuff you'd see in a coffee shop. Inside there was: a computer, computer charger, a notebook, pen, books and car keys. Alright. Obviously carrying your crap in a laundry basket is not a crime, but someone much brighter already found a more convenient and space efficient way to lug your stuff. It wasn't even a nice basket with the re-enforced rails and sturdy handles. It was one of those older flimsy guys that always caved in and sent you flying when you maybe had a drink or few and tried to start practicing for your spot on the Jamaican bobsled team by riding down a staircase in one.
It seems believable enough that he was just doing laundry and had a vacated spot in the basket while his clothes were doing their thing at the place where people go to clean their clothes. However, he came in again with all of the same things along with some napkins and a muffin this time. This made me pretty suspicious because I had seen him twice in about a week and a half. And, EVERY man knows that is not enough time to necessitate another wash. Just based on undergarments alone he would have had gone to a first round of smell checks for already worn first, followed by a switch to the more uncomfortable briefs next, and lastly followed by a shredded pair of undies left in the drawer for the sole purpose of being a reminder that the situation had just gotten real and it was officially laundry day (tomorrow). My deductions were confirmed when a girl made an inquiring joke about the reason for the basket and he got defensive saying, "What? I needed something to carry all of my stuff..." http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=37OWL7AzvHo --Riiigghht. To this bizarre bean who is way behind on the backpack revolution: you know who you are...

Life Lessons via Espresso

He came in and asked for a large cappuccino. Right away this order didn't seem to make sense. While there are many different definitions of a cappuccino, it is traditionally known as a drink of modest proportions made in thirds (1/3 espresso, 1/3 milk and 1/3 foam) and served in a smaller cup or mug on saucer. Being that all of our large drinks are served in a 20 oz cup with an additional shot on top of the two that we always start out with, I had to fill the other 17-18 oz left in the cup with equal parts milk and foam.

The man was upset with his immodest proportions when he took a sip and complained. Here is when we both inadvertently learned an important life lesson:

-Sir, this isn't what I ordered. There's too much foam.

-No, that is what you ordered, but maybe you wanted a latte. Lattes have mostly a sweeter mixture of steamed milk with a much smaller portion of a little foam on top.

-Yeah, that's what I want. Can I get one of those instead.

-Sure. That'll be $4.13.

-What!? I don't want two drinks! I just want the drink I originally wanted!

-Well, you have to tip at least a dollar to get a mind reading. [I could tell he didn't like this line and quickly switched gears.] Sir, I get that the cappuccino is not what you originally had in mind, but our company can't take the hit for our customers' mistakes. You have to know what you want to get what you want...

The last statement definitely took hold of both of us as we looked at each other bewildered with equal parts irritation and insight. Not another word was spoken as we both mulled everything over. The mind reading was taking place. We were both thinking: "You have to first know what you want in all walks of life to get what you want. Ain't that the damnedest thought to come from a coffee shop." To this bizarre bean who will probably never get a coffee drink order wrong ever again: you know who you are...

Ice Age State of Mind

People, people, peeeeoople, let's get one thing straight: I recognize that sarcasm can be a low form of comedy, especially when precisely directed at a less worthy adversary. I don't ever pick on intellectually deficient folk, BUT I do aim to challenge everybody to maintain a certain societal standard of reason, aptitude and basic common sense while in my presence. Anyone who doesn't similarly do this is simply un-American and contributing to the day that our public schools recruit Chinese citizens to come over here and teach our children the English language.

As this here story goes, our ice dispenser broke recently so we did the most logical and time efficient thing we could to keep our customer's drinks cold. We put a big bucket of ice in a convenient spot next to the soda machine on an elevated position with a scooper. Problem solved, right? Bah! Not in this day and age. What happened next turned into the greatest social cafe experiment the world has ever seen. Once we have concluded our findings and compiled them into a comprehensive report, I'm convinced that our contribution to humanity will be one that makes Dr. Zimbardo's obsolete.

1st: The big out of place bucket of ice was placed in the middle of the drink window to split the difference of those who get sodas on the left and a choice of 1 of 3 iced tea options on the right. This failed miserably to grab the attention of more than of those who stood irritated with nothing being dispensed from the broken ice machine.

2nd: We moved the bucket underneath the soda machine since everybody always went there regardless for ice independent of what drink they were getting. This attempt failed even worse as 3/4 of people never bothered to look down at all.

Last: We moved the elevated bucket out a foot so people would quite literally have to reach over it or go around to get to the soda machine where they previously got their ice. While this final attempt did drop the rate at which people "informed" us we were out of ice to well under 50%, it was still shocking how many continued to miss the mark altogether.

The play by play...

"Uhhh, like, you're like totes out of ice!"

"Calm down cool guy, there is TO-TAL-LY a bucket right in front of you."

"OHHHH." -- "Yeah, better luck next time, doofus."

Sure an out of order sign up could've been a quick fix, but that would've just hurt these patrons in the long run. To these bizarre beans who have had their ice handed to them on a silver platter their whole lives: you know who you are...

Cool Beans on a Warm Evening

Tis another suffocating summer swelter in the Lone Star State; the kind of mugginess that makes your buttcrack sweat even in the evening. This heat isn't good for hot chocolate, safe upward extensions of the arm, corduroy pants, nor hipsters that think cutoff jeans are stylish (or ever were for that matter), but it is good for one thing in particular: ice cream! Yes, this is the perfect evening for some ice cream with a righteous place down the road to go. That being said, Amy, her dog, Snoopy, and yours truly all started our walk for Amy's Ice Cream of course.

Well, when we got there the line was whack, Amy had to stay outside in the sauna with Snoop dog, she couldn't decide which flavor she fancied and said she'd just have a bite of mine, I told her another place would have to freeze over before that happened, and tensions were pretty much flaring up all around when one of the scooper dudes tried to do a trick with the ice cream and dropped it on the ground. Pit stained arms went up in accordance with grumbling in the crowd about a mutiny, and being closest to the door I decided to get out while I still could.

As fate would have it, we walked another couple of blocks further to get a pint at the corner store and came upon a bum before we could cross the street. Anticipating his begs I was instead caught off guard when he asked if I had any food. We were empty handed. Rather than consider him wildly un-observant I took this as a genuine request. I know what you're thinking. We got the chocolate chip cookie dough flavor. While walking back home I gave the bum the sandwich and chips that would've never been necessary had it not been for all of the people in front of me pissed off about ice cream at the other place. The bum's response was priceless, "Whoa! Cool BEANS!!" Ha! He also apologized for his appearance and for asking me for money before, but said he hadn't eaten in days. I reminded him that he didn't ask me for money, but for food. He replied, " You have a good heart. I don't know what your brain is like, but you have a good heart." To this bizarre bean: I should've gotten you a beer too...

A Tidbit About Tiles

While writing one evening I stopped for a restroom break. Amidst my business I looked ahead at the writing on the walls following left to right and casually scanned upwards. In a precarious position, and with no rhyme or reason, a random tile closer to the ceiling, which had obviously originally been blue, was at some point painted over yellow with a streaking brush. In a black marker two different writing styles shared a significant short conversation on the lone tile. It read:

Pen 1- "A blue tile pretending to be yellow."

Pen 2- "Aren't we all..."

Wow. Try getting hit with that truth while attempting to get through a quick piss. To these bizarre beans who somehow saw life's lessons in a single tile: you know who you are.