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Monthly Archives: July 2011

In the Beginning…(Evil Couple – Part 1)

    This is the last flashback I will write. The only reason I am doing this is because I have gotten several emails from people interested in how I first met the Evil Couple. It runs longer than I am used to, so I will break it up into 2-3 blogs.

Let me first state that I am not stalking these people. I just happen to frequent the same Starbucks that they do. I can say that I frequent here a lot more now just because of them.

I like to stop by Starbuck’s prior to work and write, surf the net, answer emails…etc. One of my unfortunate habits is that I listen in on other peoples conversations. For the most part, this is boring.

And then I met……..Them.

When Thoreou said that most men live lifes of quiet desperation, he wasn’t just talking out of his ass. If you listen to someone elses conversation, it is inane and dumb. My conversations to, for the most part.

I first noticed them in line.

She is about 5’7, maybe 150. In her late 30’s. Blonde hair that would hang to the middle of her back, if there was any style to it. Instead, it kind of shoots out from the side of her head in kind of a blonde, “Roseanne Roseanna Danna” look for Saturday Night live fans. Its a lowered blonde afro for those who don’t watch. Her face is european, Czech type features. Cleaned up and dressed properly, this is a good looking woman. She wears a none-descript t-shirt that is XXL baggy. She is exceptional busty, and after turning to the side, there is enough jiggle to tell me that she is not wearing a bra. When each breast moves independent of its partner, something is up. She is wearing sweat pants made popular by Arnold Schwartzenegger back in the 70’s, when he was working out at Muscle Beach in Venice.
Standing behind her is a man in surgical scrubs. He is mid to late forties, distinguished, you would trust your life to him. Well groomed.

And they were together.

I know this because he was turned, looking at something outside the window when the next spot at the register opened up. She noticed that he was turned away and didn’t see, so she flicked out her hand, tapping him to get his attention.

And hit him in the nuts.

To be fair, it was low, but I couldn’t tell if it was a true nut shot.

His head whipped around quick enough, so it could have been.

She spoke to the cashier in low tones, her voice clipped and fast, but too low for me to hear.

The cashier was a little slow to grab the cup and begin writing. >

So she took it from him, the pen too.

    What caught my eye was that it was such a casually crappy thing to do, both me and the cashier were stunned.

    She finally handed it back and walked off, without a thank you, go to hell, an offer to pay, nothing.

    Awesome.

 
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Posted by on July 29, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Get it while its hot!

This happened several months back, but I wasn’t blogging the coffee shop happenings at that time.

However, it was amazing and I wouldn’t want anyone to miss it.

I was stationed at my usual forward listening post. For those who don’t know, that is the Starbuck’s near the pier in Manhattan Beach.

There was a woman, apparently in her forties, there with her little kid. It was a common thing to see in Manhattan, someone about a decade or so past the ideal baby handling age. Yes, this is pure age discrimination, but it has to do with the ability to recover from no sleep.

And she looked tired. She was sitting at a table with something latte-ish. She was on her phone talking to someone and her kid was going berzerk.

Most children sit in their stroller and the belt happens to be buckled.

This kid was strapped down like he might be a danger to himself and others. I didn’t realize Graco made a carrier with wrist restraints.

He was doing two things at once. The first was that he was thrashing back and forth, trying to get out of the restraints. At the same time, he had a running potty mouth directed at his mother.

“Mommy! Mommy! MOMMY! You bitch! Bitch! I’m talking to YOU! Dammit! Damn you, MOMMY!”

Mom’s reaction? Not even phased.

She told the person on the phone that “Carter is at it again, hang on.” She pulled the phone away from her head about 6 inches.

“Carter? What has mommy told you about that language?” Then the phone is back on her ear.

Carter continued his rant, thrashing in his carrier.

Good lord. This woman was raising a serial killer.

My mother would be in handcuffs for my murder by now.

It was then that I noticed the old woman sitting next to them. She had been sitting there when I came in.

She sipped her tea and only slightly raised her eyebrows at Carter and his antics.

This woman came from that great generation that raised the country. Maybe the daughter of immigrants. She was tough. Her kids were grown, had some grand kids in high school or college.

She had seen things.

This went on a few more minutes with new people coming in, ordering and feeling uncomfortable, getting their coffee and leaving.

Finally, the old woman finished her tea. She put her cup down, stood up, grabbed her purse, leaned over….

And slapped Carter across the mouth.

She leaned in and looked him in the eyes.

“You don’t talk to your mother with that language.”

She stood and straightened her dress. She turned to Carter’s mom, who sat stunned with the phone hanging about six to eight inches from her face.

The old woman poked her finger into mom’s face.

“I should slap YOU!”

And then she walked out, like a gunfighter leaving town after the big shoot out.

I smiled.

Justice had been served, hot and fresh, at Starbuck’s.

 
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Posted by on July 27, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Shoot out at the OK Corral

I am in a Starbucks near my house, doing some writing. Its not late evening, but its not early evening either.

I had just finished writing a paragraph that I really liked.

I am not sure when it happened, but I looked up, and everyone in Starbucks is armed.

What the hell?

There are ten people here, take away me and the two coffee maids behind the counter and there are 3 customs agents, 1 sheriff, 2 local policemen and 1 airport cop.

I believe I am now involved in a stake out.

As I look closely, automatics seem to be the weapon of choice for the decerning enforcement officer out on the town.

And, it seems that only the customs agents are not wearing kevlar vests. If its important enough to wear a sidearm, I want a vest, too.

But, I don’t get one. In this little episode of “Star Trek” I am that ensign you’ve never seen before this episode, and Captain Kirk just asked me to take a look behind that boulder over there.

Which means I die horribly, and all I get is an acting credit and union scale.

Now, if I was the only one in Starbucks armed with a phaser, that would be something else entirely.

I notice the general conditioning of everyone.

The customs agents are a little chunky, really chatty and generally seem like the cosmetics counter at Macy’s taking a coffee brake.

Next in the physical build line up in the airpot cop. His shape is kind of a oddity. I can’t figure out if he is short and fat or short and just built like a fire plug. Given that he order two, count them two, cheese danishes, I am putting my money on fat.

The two local cops are fit, serious and obviously take their jobs serious. Authoritarian yet approachable, just as they should be.

The sherrif is just frightening. He is huge, has spent some long hours at the gym and the firing range, from the look of his side arm. It is not standard issue and costs a small fortune. This is obviously not a job for him, it is his calling and he treats it so. Good. They always say you should have the wolves guard the sheep. This wolf is a barely restrained bad-ass.

I have a weird thing about the government and cops. By luck of the draw, the way I live my life breaks no laws. Consequently, I do not fear the police.

Its like the TSA searches. I like the idea that every little plastic box-cutter someone could have taped behind their testicles has been removed.

And why is that box cutter taped behind his testies? I don’t ask, I don’t tell.

Don’t taze me, bro.

 
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Posted by on July 22, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Better late than never

Just as I was about to leave and head to work, my favorite angry couple came in.

I think I’ll hang out.

There is a new player on the field. They have a young girl that appears to be a niece?

The wife is the sweetest I have ever seen. She is laughing and batting at his arm like a teenager on her first date.

The first sign of trouble comes with the choice of seating. The husband found a table near the entry. She never likes that. I have noticed that she prefers being at the back of the room, in the dark, like most creatures of the night. However, she is not willing to rip him a new one in front of the niece.

And it would appear that the barrista has pooched her soy latte. In the past this has been recipe for her loudly declaring that he is a “retarded asshole.” Him being her husband.

Nothing.

I am being ripped off here. This is pitiful. Her stellar performances of the past are tainted based on this.

The niece goes to use the bathroom.

The bathroom door closes and the wife opens up on him. Her voice is carrying over the whole starbucks, asking if he “is trying to shit on her day? Is he Stupid? “ Even the cashier has stopped working and the whole place is now this really awkward vibed pocket of time.

The niece is back. All returns to normal.

I am redeemed.

 
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Posted by on July 21, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Garrett the homeless guy.

When a forty-something woman pushing a dual stroller with two toddlers in it can walk into Starbucks in a pair of daisy-dukes and a wife beater, and looks hot. You know you are in southern California.

This is one of the busier Starbucks in Down town Manhattan Beach, 1 block from the pier.

As folks roll in for their morning fix, you cannot help but notice the style of dress and how radically it can change from one person to another.

In line right now. A woman in her late forties, business suit, severe heels and may have been a playboy bunny in her twenties, that hot.

A girl in her early twenties, heavily texting. She is dressed in sweats, t-shirt and hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. She rolled out of the rack and came here. She has to be going home after this, mainly because you cannot go anywhere but Starbucks while looking like this. Starbucks has a more flexible atmosphere.

The bike people. Three of them, men, in their fifties maybe. They must have missed the cut for the Tour de France this year, but it was not for lack of equipment. The bikes they leaned up against the news racks out front cost the same as new economy cars.

The aforementioned hot mom has now been joined by a friend in a pair of yoga stretch pants and a skin tight top. Were forty-somethings always this hot?

There is a homeless guy in line, silently waiting for his morning coffee and donut. He sits on the corner about a block away and talks angrily to himself all day, but when he is in Starbucks, he is quiet and polite. Like he realizes that its an odd place to be. He just wants his stuff with a minimum of fuss.

I was more than a little intrigued. I followed the homeless guy as he left. He noticed me walking behind him and stepped off to the side to let me go by. I stop and stare.

“Hi.”

We talk and kind of meander down the street for a few moments. He recognizes me. I have given him some change a few times as I walk by at lunch. His name is Garrett. He likes Starbucks because of their atmosphere and corpororate policies. He dislikes Coffee Bean because he feels their environmental policies are disingenuous. Evidently when he mutters to himself he is wading thru corporate policy.

As we walk, I am kind of amazed at how lucid the angry homeless guy that talks to himself is. We walk up to Noahs bagels and I buy bagels with creamcheese.

As we sit out front and eat, the look of total disdain being heaped on us by the other patrons is huge.

I find myself enjoying it more than is proper. I think I may be doing this more to be an ass than to do something nice for Garrett, who it turns out is pretty cool for a crazy homeless guy.

And I’m ok with that.

 
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Posted by on July 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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Thru the door and Garrett the homeless guy.

When a forty-something woman pushing a dual stroller with two toddlers in it can walk into Starbucks in a pair of daisy-dukes and a wife beater, and looks hot. You know you are in southern California.

This is one of the busier Starbucks in Down town Manhattan Beach, 1 block from the pier.

As folks roll in for their morning fix, you cannot help but notice the style of dress and how radically it can change from one person to another.

In line right now. A woman in her late forties, business suit, severe heels and may have been a playboy bunny in her twenties, that hot.

A girl in her early twenties, heavily texting. She is dressed in sweats, t-shirt and hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail. She rolled out of the rack and came here. She has to be going home after this, mainly because you cannot go anywhere but Starbucks while looking like this. Starbucks has a more flexible atmosphere.

The bike people. Three of them, men, in their fifties maybe. They must have missed the cut for the Tour de France this year, but it was not for lack of equipment. The bikes they leaned up against the news racks out front cost the same as new economy cars.

The aforementioned hot mom has now been joined by a friend in a pair of yoga stretch pants and a skin tight top. Were forty-somethings always this hot?

There is a homeless guy in line, silently waiting for his morning coffee and donut. He sits on the corner about a block away and talks angrily to himself all day, but when he is in Starbucks, he is quiet and polite. Like he realizes that its an odd place to be. He just wants his stuff with a minimum of fuss.

I was more than a little intrigued. I followed the homeless guy as he left. He noticed me walking behind him and stepped off to the side to let me go by. I stop and stare.

“Hi.”

We talk and kind of meander down the street for a few moments. He recognizes me. I have given him some change a few times as I walk by at lunch. His name is Garrett. He likes Starbucks because of their atmosphere and corpororate policies. He dislikes Coffee Bean because he feels their environmental policies are disingenuous. Evidently when he mutters to himself he is wading thru corporate policy.

As we walk, I am kind of amazed at how lucid the angry homeless guy that talks to himself is. We walk up to Noahs bagels and I buy bagels with creamcheese.

As we sit out front and eat, the look of total disdain being heaped on us by the other patrons is huge.

I find myself enjoying it more than is proper. I think I may be doing this more to be an ass than to do something nice for Garrett, who it turns out is pretty cool for a crazy homeless guy.

And I’m ok with that.

 
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Posted by on July 20, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

Half of my favorite couple!!!!

Husband seems to be MIA this morning. But the wife is here. Better, she is on the phone and talking loud enough for me to hear.

Joy!

A reference made concerning “mom” leads me to believe she is talking to her sister.

Her car is “A piece of shit” that is being repaired. As the conversation continues, it becomes evident that some body work is being done on her Mercedes.  She hit something and is angry that the body work is not covered by the warranty, so the “thieves” are going to use this as an excuse to raise the insurance cost. Her husband is being a coward and not standing up to them. Evidently, calling to yell at the insurance company would make them pay for it without raising the premium.

I love this woman.

There is a certain glow that surrounds that level of arrogance and delusion. As she has stated in the past, in the mornings, she feeds and dresses the twins, then drops them off at school. All of this is done with, I assume, her snarly attitude and sweat pants. Not even the hot girl yoga pants that are popular these days. Her sweat pant of choice is the thick gray sweat pants they wore at muscle beach 20 years ago.  And a t-shirt without, unless I am blind, no bra. This is a woman who has birthed twins less than a decade ago and is sporting DD’s.

Her entire manner is that of someone that is tired of your shit and thinks you are a moron. She treats everyone the same way. Cashier, barrista, people at the cream and sugar kiosk, and, of course, her husband.

Where is he, anyway? I don’t know that I have ever seen her without him, despite the fact that he must dream of being without her. A funny thought occurred to me. Some men fantasize about other women during sex with their wives. This guy must push himself up and over the top with thoughts of her losing her voice for a week or being away from the house for extended times.

She just told her sister that their mother is not able to live alone and should either go live with the sister or go to a home somewhere. Quote “Not close enough that I feel bad that I don’t go see her every week”.

This woman is the devil.

I have been accused of fabricating the entire “Starbucks couple” as a work of fiction.

Thank you.

The fact that anyone thinks I am a good enough writer to make this level of wicked up makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

 
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Posted by on July 13, 2011 in Uncategorized

 

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