I am so not happy right now.
I am sitting in the Coffee bean.
Its a little like being in hell. Or Phoenix, Arizona. Its a little too warm and there is a feeling in the back of your head that something is subtley wrong, but you just can’t put you finger on it.
The average age in Coffee Bean if I left would be high 60’s, low 70’s. I am fairly certain Ensure is on tap behind the counter. I am tempted to yell “Bingo” just to hear the whole room mutter the word “Fuck” under their breath.
That would be your average hell. This one is something special, like a turbo hell.
This is how bad it is.
I am watching the Penguins play Texas Hold-Em.
Maybe I should back up a bit.
When I got to Starbucks this morning, the place was swamped with the line coming away from the cashier towards the front door, looping around the deco shelving and heading for the back of the store, passing the pick up counter and stopping right outside the bathroom door. No seats and too many people.
I needed my morning coffee. Its not a convenience, its an addiction and I get that.
So, I headed up the street to Coffee Bean.
On the way, I passed Fitz-Carraldo, the new homeless guy on the scene. I was friends of a sort with one of the homeless named Garrett. He died recently of an overdose.
A few mornings later, like the new guy hired to replace the old crazy homeless guy, was a new crazy homeless guy.
And he had a crazy act that was pretty convincing.
Garrett used to sit on the corner not far from my office and argue with himself all day. The only time he stopped was to thank people for putting money in the little cup he had out. He would stop mid-rant and give them a very peasant smile and a thank you. The day before he died, he was learning Spanish to thank Mexican people who give him change. Kind of a forward thinking crazy homeless guy.
Fitz-Corraldo must be a newbe to the homeless game, or he might just be that bat-shit crazy.
There is no cup out for change. That is just poor business acumen.
He is about 5 foot 10 and weighs about 300 plus. He is darkly Latin, maybe from sitting in the sun all day. He doesn’t argue with himself all day like Garrett did, which I found twistedly endearing.
He has a deep baratone voice and he belts out bawdy Latin classics all day.
Mothers tend to clutch their children as they go by. Its just bad business.
I’ve tried to say hi a few times as I walk by. I have a weird love/hate relationship with the homeless. I love to interact with them purely to entertain myself and then I hate what a shit I am later.
Fitz-Corraldo does not respond to chit chat or hellos. He just keeps singing. So, we have never really met, I am not sure he is aware of the world around him.
And his name is not Fitz-Corraldo. I named him that because it sounded interesting at the time.
Anyway, on the Coffee Bean.
I am not a huge fan of their coffee. Mainly because they name them after the country the beans came from.
I once saw a news report that Nigerian rebels massacred a whole bunch of innocent villagers. Hence, Nigerian coffee has a bitter taste that I dislike immensely.
I can stand Costa Rican coffee because an old friend of mine moved there, so the coffee must be ok.
Don’t try and analyze that, its my method and it doesn’t hurt anybody, let it go.
So I creamed and sugared my Costa Rican and turned to survey the room.
Yeesh! God’s waiting room, here we are. Room for one more, honey. (Learn your Twilight Zone. Google it, Episode called 22)
I saw a seat that had enough room for me to set up my laptop.
There are 3 walkers and one oxygen tank that I have spied so far.
I just got my computer up and running and looked around while it was booting up.
Oh, my dear Lord.
I have heard accounts of people in horrific accidents talk about how time seemed to slow down during the grizzliest parts of the crash.
I understand that now.
I looked on in horror as I realized that the Penguins were sitting next to me. All the tables in Coffee Bean are about 6 inches apart and it kind of has that European noticable lack of personal space feel to it.
They were playing Texas Hold-Em. Badly. From a book. I barely took notice of the fact that all three were mispronouncing the word “Flop”. They called it Floop.
Maybe this is a Twilight Zone. Fitz-Corraldo hit me with a brick and killed me, and I am in hell, which happens to be Coffee Bean. I might be doomed to drinking Costa Rican forever. Which, in true hell fashion, they would run out of soon, and I would be left with Nigerian for all eternity.
I don’t remember coming thru the front door.
Before true panic could set in. I saw a table open up on the patio.
Like a man making a jailbreak, I packed up my shit and ran like a refugee.
I just hit the front door, not 10 feet from my patio table and safety, when an old couple snagged it. She was using a walker, he had an oxygen tank, and their little dog was yapping at everything around them.
The trifecta of old.
I give up. I will write this god damn blog later.