Storm clouds loomed over head when I arrived at a new coffee house. In the backyard area they were having a junkyard sale with what looked like a bunch of residents from the surrounding neighborhood bringing just that; junk. Heavy winds were forcing them to pack up their piles of crap, but not before I scored a hard cover copy of a Kurt Vonnegut novel on the cheap from a paperback Star Trek junkie.
Inside appeared to be the creation of two business partner's incoherent collaboration. On one side of the room there was a bar with the Sunday football games on, but fluffed up a bit with a couple of the largest round paper lamps I've ever seen dangling like testicles made up of the planet Jupiter from the exposed ac ducts and ceiling. On the other side was the coffee counter with random pieces of art just kind of strewn about without any themes or uniformity. This little lady behind the counter looked more like a frazzled librarian type that was too loud to keep her post. Anyone ever see the movie Liar Liar? Remember the eccentric woman in Jim Carrey's office who kept changing her hair style, and asking him what he thought when he couldn't lie? That is this girl behind the counter. When she asked what I wanted I said, "Just coffee." She looked like she was translating an obscure language, but couldn't figure out the code. "Wait, WHAAAAT did you say?" - "Just coffee."
Her boyfriend came in as her shift was ending. He stood about 5'4" decked out in slacks and a sharp button up. If dress weren't the most descriptive feature a person usually wears, I wouldn't feel the need to describe it in any way, but they were quite the opposing styles. They sat next to me on the couch. Thank God for the headphones and my focus that evening, because they proceeded to suck face and giggle like idiots, "I like you more." - "NO, I like you more!" (Great you're both lame. Neither of you win.) To my bewilderment, a guy came over from the bar across the building to announce, "I just came to say that you and your lady friend are sooo cute." They weren't cute. I wanted to back hand him immediately for emboldening their bothersome petting, but she took offense to his statement before I could stand up and rear back. "Lady friend? What I'm not fit to be considered an actual girlfriend?" (Boyfriend) "Ah, here we go..." - "WHAT!?" - "He was just complimenting us babe." - "I know, but LADYfriend sounds so informal don't you think?" And so the debate went with the guy awkwardly trapped trying to recant his failed sincerity when he should've just kept his happy ass at the bar all along.
I actually laughed to myself because, in 8 years, I've only dropped my guard enough to call two ladies my girlfriend. The rest have affectionately been described as ladyfriends also. To these bizarre beans canoodling like school kids next to me: you know who you are...
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
She Can Do it!
The walls that house this coffee shop were obviously built to surround a family in the 40's. The old wood and pipes are now painted into a green and maroon mural depicting those who influenced its creation into what it is today. I don't consider myself to be attributed to any particular look or style, but there are definitely some that I can't pull off. This barista can. She is beyond the hipsters, trapped between several eras I can't quite pinpoint, but it is genuine and hers; not to be recreated or attempted by any other. She has earned her spot behind the counter of this place.
She wears a long breezy skirt down to the ankles of her long slender frame. An old apron outlined in lace gives contrasting coloration to the earth tones below her exposed navel made visible by the short plain white tank top. Its crisscrossed thin rosie bra straps match the multiple dyed riveted pony tails encased by the patterned rag in her hair you could never find in a store now. She appears to be the daughter, and more feminine incarnation of the heroine from the famous WWII "We Can Do It!" portrait; domesticated and enjoying the previous allied victory that affords us the mentality of peace (even amidst constant war) in this country.
To this bizarre bean who seems to be the most fitting of all the misfits here, and better not betray my interpretation by returning home to a condo: you know who you are...
She wears a long breezy skirt down to the ankles of her long slender frame. An old apron outlined in lace gives contrasting coloration to the earth tones below her exposed navel made visible by the short plain white tank top. Its crisscrossed thin rosie bra straps match the multiple dyed riveted pony tails encased by the patterned rag in her hair you could never find in a store now. She appears to be the daughter, and more feminine incarnation of the heroine from the famous WWII "We Can Do It!" portrait; domesticated and enjoying the previous allied victory that affords us the mentality of peace (even amidst constant war) in this country.
To this bizarre bean who seems to be the most fitting of all the misfits here, and better not betray my interpretation by returning home to a condo: you know who you are...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
More Fun Lines at Work
To the girl who came in acting like she was hot shit, and later spilled her latte all over the floor (now sporting a completely different attitude):
Her- "I am so sorry."
Me- "Hey, it's fine. Whenever you're ready you can come up to the front, and we'll ring you up for the cleaning fee."
Her- "There's a cleaning fee?"
Me- "No."
A woman came in with two very small children. They were nagging, whining, pulling at her arm trying to be held. In addition she had a diaper bag, and was attempting to get her stroller in the door that the kids refused to sit in. I felt for her. She didn't want my sympathy. She ordered a few drinks, two cupcakes for the little ones, and also asked where the high chairs were. Despite the line behind her, I asked if I could help them beyond the counter. She said no. She had almost made it to the table of choice in one piece when she dropped one of the cupcakes on the floor. Hoping to avoid a screaming kid, as well as any more unnecessary stress in her life, I promptly brought her another cupcake. She bent down, picked the other up off the ground, and while refusing the new one said,
"Oh, no thanks. It's okay. Really. My kids eat off of the floor all the time."
-"Three second rule family huh?" (In a joking tone)
-"Sure." (In a very non-joking tone)
Another woman came in around 9:30am only to unexpectantly see our gleaming cupcake selection:
"OH. OH NO! OOOHHH God. Why? Wow. Oh, this is bad."
Me- "Mam, it's not like drinking. I won't judge you if you have one before noon. Hell, I wouldn't judge you if you had a drink before noon either."
I only divulge myself because I can usually keep a straight face through all of this, but this last one broke me. She asked for a dark chocolate mocha frappe with whipped cream. Cool, coming right up. Then she asked, "Oh, and can you make that as low calorie as possible?" People have every right to order whatever they want void of criticism, but not to say something that blatantly absent minded to me. I wanted to tell her to do a few laps around the building first if it was a pressing issue, but decided laughing aloud was harsh enough.
Her- "I am so sorry."
Me- "Hey, it's fine. Whenever you're ready you can come up to the front, and we'll ring you up for the cleaning fee."
Her- "There's a cleaning fee?"
Me- "No."
A woman came in with two very small children. They were nagging, whining, pulling at her arm trying to be held. In addition she had a diaper bag, and was attempting to get her stroller in the door that the kids refused to sit in. I felt for her. She didn't want my sympathy. She ordered a few drinks, two cupcakes for the little ones, and also asked where the high chairs were. Despite the line behind her, I asked if I could help them beyond the counter. She said no. She had almost made it to the table of choice in one piece when she dropped one of the cupcakes on the floor. Hoping to avoid a screaming kid, as well as any more unnecessary stress in her life, I promptly brought her another cupcake. She bent down, picked the other up off the ground, and while refusing the new one said,
"Oh, no thanks. It's okay. Really. My kids eat off of the floor all the time."
-"Three second rule family huh?" (In a joking tone)
-"Sure." (In a very non-joking tone)
Another woman came in around 9:30am only to unexpectantly see our gleaming cupcake selection:
"OH. OH NO! OOOHHH God. Why? Wow. Oh, this is bad."
Me- "Mam, it's not like drinking. I won't judge you if you have one before noon. Hell, I wouldn't judge you if you had a drink before noon either."
I only divulge myself because I can usually keep a straight face through all of this, but this last one broke me. She asked for a dark chocolate mocha frappe with whipped cream. Cool, coming right up. Then she asked, "Oh, and can you make that as low calorie as possible?" People have every right to order whatever they want void of criticism, but not to say something that blatantly absent minded to me. I wanted to tell her to do a few laps around the building first if it was a pressing issue, but decided laughing aloud was harsh enough.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Fun Lines While Working
As a customer returns to the counter:
-"Hey can I get a cup for water please?"
-"Sure, that'll be $2.15."
Blank stare
-"Really...?"
Me- "No."
A customer rings up a total of $2.15 for their order. They pull out a credit card, and ask if it's okay to use it for an order that small. I say:
"Ahh, actually we have a $17.00 minimum."
-"Really? $17.00?"
-"No."
We have mason jars titled, Cake Jar, with a fun descriptive name of what kind of cake is in them. Almost every other day I hear:
"Wow what are those Cake Jar things?"
Never able to resist:
Me- "Well, despite the misleading name, they really are just a cake in a jar."
-"Hey can I get a cup for water please?"
-"Sure, that'll be $2.15."
Blank stare
-"Really...?"
Me- "No."
A customer rings up a total of $2.15 for their order. They pull out a credit card, and ask if it's okay to use it for an order that small. I say:
"Ahh, actually we have a $17.00 minimum."
-"Really? $17.00?"
-"No."
We have mason jars titled, Cake Jar, with a fun descriptive name of what kind of cake is in them. Almost every other day I hear:
"Wow what are those Cake Jar things?"
Never able to resist:
Me- "Well, despite the misleading name, they really are just a cake in a jar."
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Just Another Day
A close friend recently told me about a character in his building of whom I apparently needed to meet. He too is a writer, and has been published in several nationally acclaimed magazines. Aside from a few descriptive mannerisms, the only details I received were that he had just moved here from L.A., was willing to hang out with anyone for the sake of conversation, and was a bit off. I said, "Great. What's his number? Sounds like he needs a new friend." Perhaps some might find it disconcerting to call someone you know nothing else about, while the counter has no warning of your call, or the fact that you have been given their number, but it seemed perfectly normal to me.
He answered the same way anyone would: "Hello? Hey, hold on I can barely hear you. I haven't slept in over a day while waiting for my medication to come in the mail, and am going to the store to grab a five hour energy drink to keep going. The wind is heavy right now. Wait, who is this?" We exchanged necessary accreditations in time for a quick invitation over to the new place.
He lives on the river. His mail is on the floor, along with everything else he owns; which is not much. A tv flipped upside down represents his only seat. There was transient world music flowing from a guitar amplifier hooked up to his computer, and the rest were unorderly piles of books strewn about various parts of the otherwise empty living room. They all had faded hard bindings with names of authors down a distinguished line of the few who knew of their brilliance. They outnumbered the rest of his belongings, and were the kind that seem to validate someone as a real artist. Whatever that means.
It was hard to finish any sentence with him. The energetic fatigue was apparent in his lack of focus and sporadic movements. Interruptions were constant, though genuine and unaware. He couldn't complete an idea without hearing an insightful line in a song that prompted the next song I "had" to hear. While peering over the screen his long deep drags on a cigarette dropped ashes on his keys. They would have never made it past his flailing hands swirling in the air to try to remember what he meant to say before. I kind of just sat back and enjoyed the spectacle over a cup of hot tea he mixed with pure cane maple syrup and organic half and half. To this bizarre bean who finally fell asleep mid sentence on the hardwood floor of his empty apartment while I quietly let myself out: you know who you are...
He answered the same way anyone would: "Hello? Hey, hold on I can barely hear you. I haven't slept in over a day while waiting for my medication to come in the mail, and am going to the store to grab a five hour energy drink to keep going. The wind is heavy right now. Wait, who is this?" We exchanged necessary accreditations in time for a quick invitation over to the new place.
He lives on the river. His mail is on the floor, along with everything else he owns; which is not much. A tv flipped upside down represents his only seat. There was transient world music flowing from a guitar amplifier hooked up to his computer, and the rest were unorderly piles of books strewn about various parts of the otherwise empty living room. They all had faded hard bindings with names of authors down a distinguished line of the few who knew of their brilliance. They outnumbered the rest of his belongings, and were the kind that seem to validate someone as a real artist. Whatever that means.
It was hard to finish any sentence with him. The energetic fatigue was apparent in his lack of focus and sporadic movements. Interruptions were constant, though genuine and unaware. He couldn't complete an idea without hearing an insightful line in a song that prompted the next song I "had" to hear. While peering over the screen his long deep drags on a cigarette dropped ashes on his keys. They would have never made it past his flailing hands swirling in the air to try to remember what he meant to say before. I kind of just sat back and enjoyed the spectacle over a cup of hot tea he mixed with pure cane maple syrup and organic half and half. To this bizarre bean who finally fell asleep mid sentence on the hardwood floor of his empty apartment while I quietly let myself out: you know who you are...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)