Good Things Happen

I don’t think it should take longer to get a cup of coffee than your average sentence at the DMV. And I’m not talking about ‘Standinaweofmyimportance Fucks’ I’m talking the place where high school lunch ladies go to die.

Listen lady, whether you have 2 1/2 or 3 sugars is barely going to register on your ‘Closer To Death Clock’ so live dangerously and dump in all three you heaving, humping porkadelic and stop badgering the beleaguered cashier who just wants to move the line along but can’t because you have to sip it, get an ice cube because it’s too hot, pour in your 2 1/2 sugars while making a mess the likes of which haven’t been seen since Baby Jonathan puked up his spaghetti O’s and liver dinner, then stir it until the ice is completely melted, sip it again BEFORE asking if the shot of espresso you never asked for is there.

And then, with the cashier scurrying to accommodate your whims, you have the balls to turn around to the murderous crowd plotting behind and roll your eyes at the inefficiency of this person only trying to get you in and out as soon as possible to stem the blood from rolling out of her ears which is rendered even more impossible because now you want something that contains more sugar than I’ve had in a month but with instructions which I will quote here,
‘I only want it if it’s very, very, fresh.”

Lady, the only very, very, fresh thing in here was the managers last menstrual flow. Grab your clog, an extra cup because the cup the coffee resides in is far too hot for your delicate hands, rush to your car which is parked 8.3 centimeters from the door blocking movement for anyone else before we make a very, very fresh corpse.

When I finally got out of the coffee shop I ran into a guy who told me he’s planning on using an area in front of our building to sell his cheap trinkets of last-minute affection for the upcoming holidays. My boss let him set up over Valentine’s Day so he now believes he’s got squatters rights. And people wonder why I’m not nice to people. You do something once and they expect it all the time. Like feeding newborn babies.

He tells me he’s planning a big Easter and bigger Mother’s Day. I’m staring at him as he says he’ll give me things to make my shit gift purchasing even less expensive. The fact that my boss and I each declined his kind offer of a thallium filled Teddy Bear for Valentine’s Day must have slipped his deteriorating mind.

I wave him off telling him he’ll have to talk to my boss. He keeps pressing as if I haven’t just told him to leave me alone when I decide to ask him a question.

“What about Father’s Day?”

The guy looks at me as if he’s using his last brain cell to remember how many sugars he uses in his coffee before asking me the question I always receive at junctures like this,


“Father’s Day. All over the place during Mother’s Day, Valentines Day, Easter, you guys set up little crapfests to prey on idiots who forgot that all the real totems of love have been purchased by people who planned as much as a full day ahead. But, on Father’s Day, nothing.”

I can tell what the guy’s thinking. He’s thinking, “Why did I stop this guy?” Who says I have no success in my day? I’m not going to allow this guy’s lack of sight to stop my juggernaut of just get away from me.

“Why can’t you set up your little tent filled with Dad things? Beer, the cone of silence, remotes that can only be operated when engulfed in farts.” In case he didn’t grasp my concept I lean in and say, “Manly farts, not those tootie little chick ones!”

I’m standing in front of this man with a big smile on my face. When you’re trying to chase someone off you’ve got to sell the madness. I find when you lock on someone’s eyes with a big smile on your face after you’ve said things like this they are only planning their escape.

Playing right into my hands! It’s like shooting barrels in a barrel factory.

While this man is bidding his hasty retreat, Little Ms. Coffee comes barreling out of the store. I watch the near collision. As much as I wanted it to happen (just to notch my evil fun tally) I’m glad it didn’t. The counter people didn’t deserve another visit from her. The shitseller didn’t deserve a sock full of coffee. I didn’t deserve such a notch.

But the woman did deserve some karma. And Karm didn’t let me down.

While sipping her coffee, opening her cellphone and pulling away from the curb, a car turned out of the drive through. I’m glad to report there was no collusion but being able to witness her coffee flip into her steering wheel while her phone spun in the air and her expression expanded three feet from her skull, well, even if the shitseller guy doesn’t follow my solid business concept, it’s been a good day.


2 responses to “Good Things Happen

  1. you live such a charmed life.

  2. You should’ve told “Mr. Shitseller” that he can setup in Dudley Square on Father’s Day. Oops, I didn’t say that…

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